chenqing (she/her) ★ 22 ★ isfj ★ multifandom fic writer ★ obsessed with marvel, x-men, lord of the rings, the hobbit, house of the dragon & 3000 other things
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hi there, welcome to the chaoticness of this blog. everyone is welcome here and i write drabbles for the mcu (marvel cinematic universe), lord of the rings, the hobbit, house of the dragon and other fandoms. this is and will be a safe place for my followers whether they are a mcu fan, lotr/the hobbit fan, hotd fan, harry potter fan or all of the above! thank you for being here, i hope you can find something that catches your eye :) happy reading!
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gosh where do i begin? i didn't anticipate to be on a hiatus for so long. so many things has happened towards the end of 2025 (from September 2025 to now) going into this year. i got overwhelmed by a lot of things that were out of my control, it doesn't help that all of it was happening back to back and i couldn't even catch a break. i couldn't even have a chance to be consistent on my blog. i sincerely apologize to those who sent in requests and are waiting for them to be fulfilled, i'm still going to work on them to the best of my ability.
that being said though, i'm crossing my fingers that i'm able to be more active soon (possibly around June/July, not too sure yet). i officially made the tough decision to quit my full-time job and find another job to support myself and to return to school. basically, my full-time job was getting worse and it began to take a toll on me mentally and physically. despite my job paying me well, it wasn't worth putting my health and happiness on a backburner as well as showing my worst self to family and friends. now that i'm leaving my job soon, i hope to be active on my blog as soon as possible.
general warnings: music, fluff, smut, angst. There will be warnings on each drabble as well.
All the lines taken from the songs are not mine. Credits to the artists. I just used the lyrics for the plot, 'atmosphere' and inspiration in these drabbles.
▶️ Loki Laufeyson x 'Wannabe' - coming on February 10th
▶️ Daryl Dixon x 'Out on a Limb' - coming on February 13th
▶️ James Conrad x 'Beauty and the Beast' - coming on February 17th
▶️ Joshua 'Scud' Frohmeyer x 'Iris' - coming on February 20th
▶️ Jonathan Pine x 'Dancing With Tears in My Eyes' - coming on February 24th
▶️ Daryl Dixon x 'The Way You Make Me Feel' - coming on February 27th
▶️ Daryl Dixon x 'We Built This City' - coming on March 3rd
▶️ Loki Laufeyson x 'Quit Playing Games (with My Heart) - coming on March 6th
▶️ Joshua 'Scud' Frohmeyer x 'Goo Goo Muck' - coming on March 10th
▶️ Daryl Dixon x 'Every Breath You Take' - coming on March 13th
▶️ Loki Laufeyson x 'Everybody Wants To Rule The World' - coming on March 17th
▶️ Daryl Dixon x 'Sweet Child 'O Mine' -coming on March 20th
Thanks to everyone who requested. Thanks to everyone who reads my stories. Thanks for celebrating this with me. Without y'all this blog wouldn't be the same. I'm grateful.
@eleniblue @dixonsstinkysock @vbecker10 @mochie85 @catsladen @myusernamecuzimlazy @levislolita @angelicarlert @whsschuu @vngelisse @myescapefromthislife tagging you guys so you can see when your drabble is on. 🤗🫶🏻
moodboard by @chennqingg divider by @fictive-sl0th
Biker!Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader | No Outbreak AU
Warnings for this Chapter: romance & fluff, baby things, dad!Daryl, breastfeeding? teasing & humor, swear words
Word Count: 3,3k
a/n: Can I just say that I love Ruby with all my heart?
《 M a s t e r l i s t 》
《Chapter Thirty-Six》
《Epilogue》
Chapter Thirty-Seven...
...in which you and Daryl adapt to the new life as parents.
Parenthood was definitely something you had to get used to. Both, you and Daryl knew that now. To do just that took you quite a while - which was nothing to be embarrassed about.
The biggest 'issue' was changing diapers, though...
"Darlin'? I'll be goin' now, 'kay?" You looked over at him for a moment; nodding, "Sure, baby. See you later." then redirected your attention to Ruby again. Daryl wanted to leave, but stood in the doorway to watch you changing your daughter a moment longer than he intended to. That's when he saw it. The way you struggled with wrapping her in a new diaper.
You carefully placed Ruby on the changing table in her spacious room. "Alright, baby girl. Let's change your diaper, yeah?" You spoke to her in a soft voice; looking into her big blue eyes. "You and mama got this, right?" The little girl cooed and looked up at you; her tiny fingers curled into fists. You unbuttoned her onesie - the light blue one with the horses on it, and went to work.
Daryl, who had gotten ready to go on a quick run to the supermarket entered the nursery only a few moments later. You had almost run out of diapers and wipes - who'd have thought that?
So, he decided to step in.
"Sunshine?" Your gaze drifted to him once again - confused that he was still here. "Yeah?" He smiled softly and stepped over to you. "C'mere. Lemme help ya. I think I know a trick or two." You blinked at him - a little surprised and stunned at his intention. In a positive way, though. "Um, uh, okay. Sure." You stepped aside to make some space for him. "If ya want to wrap 'er in a new diaper ya can grab 'er legs 'n gently lift 'er up a bit. Like tha'." His hand gently took Ruby's legs and lifted her bum a bit off the changing table. "Looks a bit... brutal, babe." He nodded. "Yeah, I know, but 's not. It's actually better for 'er hips. 'S hip-friendly." You blinked again. "It is?" He nodded and grabbed a fresh diaper with his free hand. "Yeah. Now ya can easily put the diaper underneath her 'n wrap 'er up." Daryl lowered Ruby's short legs again and quickly finished changing her, before she'd start to wriggle around too much or even cry. The newborn wasn't quite a fan of getting her diaper changed...
You looked at Daryl with big eyes; stunned. "How... How do you know that?" Your husband smiled bashfully and blushed, while he buttoned his daughter's onesie again. "I, uh, I read a book 'bout parenthood," he admitted shyly. "You did?" He nodded in confirmation - and you smiled. "Aww, baby... That's so adorable. I love that - and it already came in handy." "R-Really?" Daryl asked; blushing even more. "Ya dun think tha's, uh, weird?" You instantly shook your head, "No, it's not! It's great, Dar." and kissed his cheek before you lifted your daughter back into your arms; supporting her head. The biker smiled and watched you pass him by. "I'll get the diapers 'n wipes."
The first six weeks with the new member of the family passed quicker than anticipated. A lot of people visited you and Daryl but especially Ruby; wanting to meet the baby girl. Your family, his brother, friends. Literally everyone. She was the star - as it should be. The most important thing, though, was, that beside all the visitors and the adjustments you all had to make, you didn't forget to enjoy life as a little family. Alone time.
"Ya sure yer up for this?" Your husband asked in a slightly concerned voice as he watched you slip in your winter jacket. It was late November - very cold by now. But today it was at least not raining (or snowing) and actually a little sunny.
You nodded. "I am. Perhaps not a very long distance, but... A short walk will do me good." The biker nodded, "'Kay." and started to prepare the stroller. "But yer gonna tell me when we need to stop 'n go back, yeah?" "Of course, baby." He nodded - slightly hesitant but satisfied with your answer. "Good. 'M gonna get Ruby." Daryl walked down the hallway, vanished in the living room and made a beeline to the wooden crib in which his daughter laid. He looked inside - finding the newborn wide awake but not crying. He smiled. "Hey, lil' monkey," her father cooed in that deep, gravelly voice. "Yer awake, huh?" As if on cue, the girl yawned and rubbed her tiny hands all over her face. Daryl couldn't help but chuckle lowly. "Barely, got it." He gently slipped his hands underneath Ruby's small body to lift her out of the crib and into his arms. "Are ya gonna join mama, daddy 'n Dog on a lil' walk, baby girl?" A small grunt left the girl's pouty lips; fingers curled into fists against Daryl's chest. "I take tha' as a yes. Let's getcha ready then, huh?"
Daryl just watched with a soft smile on his lips; while gently 'rocking' the stroller to help his daughter fall asleep. He had also released Dog to let him run around a bit; sniff, explore and do his business - but always keeping an eye on the Malinois.
While Daryl quickly went upstairs to swaddle Ruby up in some warmer clothes than just a onesie, you put on your shoes and put Dog into his harness and on the leash.
Once your daughter was neatly tucked into the stroller and wrapped up in a thick blanket to keep her from the cold, the biker slipped into his warm winter jacket as well and a pair of shoes; getting ready. "A'right. Yer still okay, darlin'?" You nodded; giving your husband a smile. "Let's go." Together, you made your way outside; past the garden and the garden door. Daryl - being the supportive partner he was, pushed the stroller and guided Dog on his leash; not putting too much of a strain on you.
You left the ranch to your workers and walked down the 'street' - more like path; alongside the meadows and fields you owned. After a ten minute walk, you reached the paddock. Arrow came running immediately, of course, as soon as he saw and recognised you. You smiled; slowly making your way to him. "Hiii, my love," you greeted your animal best friend. After hugging his neck, you pressed a kiss to his muzzle. Arrow snorted and nibbled on your shoulder clad jacket. You giggled. "Yeah, I love you, too."
Barely through the door to your home, you instantly got rid of your shoes, jacket and beanie and already made your way to the living room. Daryl freed the newborn girl from her cocoon and without doing more than kicking off his shoes, he followed you to the living room. Feeding Ruby was the priority. Your husband found you laying on the sofa; already prepared. You had slipped halfway out of your sweater and opened the nursing bra. With a smile, Daryl handed Ruby over to you. "There ya go, lil' asskicker." You giggled at his choice of words and took the girl carefully in your arms. Her tiny mouth opened and closed repeatedly; searching for her food source. Once you adjusted her, Ruby's lips instantly latched onto your breast to nurse.
"Ya wanna go a bit further, sunshine? Or go back home?" You redirected your attention back to your husband. "Um... I think I could walk a little further. What about Ruby? Is she asleep?" Daryl peeked inside the stroller again, then shook his head. "Nah. She's a bit antsy. Tried to give 'er a pacifier, but she ain't wantin' it." You nodded. "Then let's head back. I got the feeling she's probably getting hungry. It's already been, uh, almost three hours since I lastly fed her, so..." "A'right. Let's go back then. Dog!" The Malinois picked up his head as his dad called out his name. "C'mere!" And he came running instantly. He was a well-behaved, well-trained dog.
You bid your goodbye to Arrow - and two other horses who came to say hello, and walked together with your family back towards the ranch. Dog was trotting ahead; Daryl was pushing the stroller with his left hand while his right hand was laced with yours.
A few feet in front of the open wooden gate which led to the ranch, Ruby started to cry - full force. Daryl tried his best to soothe her but without much success. "Think ya were right. Lil' monkey is hungry." You gave him a crooked smile. "Yep, sounds like it." "Shh, baby girl. We're almost home, 'kay? Yer mama ain't tha' quick on her feet yet."
Now the penny dropped.
Your husband stood there and just stared; pure love reflecting in his eyes. He'd never get tired of watching you breastfeed the tiny human you and him had created. It was something so precious. A sweet, almost intimate moment. You though, couldn't help yourself but to tease him a little bit. "You're not the only one anymore who gets big eyes when I get the girls out." Your partner blinked, eyes lifting to look into yours. Then he scoffed. "I ain't-" "I know, baby," you instantly interrupted him to reassure him, "I'm just teasing you." and winked. "C'mere." You stretched out your free hand. The biker smiled and immediately stepped over to you; feet working automatically. He took your hand in his bigger one; thumb brushing over your knuckles in a loving manner.
Eyes locked, you smiled at him. He leaned in to press a lingering kiss against your forehead. The both of you continued to watch the tiny girl nurse; admiring her little hands which clawed gently into your soft skin and the airy, breathy gulps that left her lips.
"You have to share now, babe," you stated then with a giggle; picking up the teasing again. "Share wha'?" Your husband asked; seated beside you and still holding your hand. "The girls."
The man playfully rolled his eyes but smiled that cute boyish smile. "I dun mind sharin' 'em." He shrugged his shoulders. "'S long as it is with this cute, lil' bundle of joy 'ere..." You giggled. "Soon as she stopped breastfeeding, they're all yours again." "How long is tha' goin' to take? Jus' askin'." "About two or three years. Give or take..." The biker's eyes widened. "Tha' long?" You nodded; giggling. "'Kay. I dun mind. 'S important for 'er, so..." You exchanged a look - and a laugh. "I love you." He gave your hand a squeeze. "I love ya, too, darlin'."
After Ruby was finished, burped and already on the verge of sleep, Daryl left the living room again to put away the stroller and finally get Dog out of his harness. It didn't take him long - about ten minutes, but when he returned to the living room, his daughter wasn't the only one asleep. You had slept in as well with Ruby on your chest. Daryl's heart skipped a beat; butterflies erupting in his stomach. It was one of the sweetest, most beautiful and precious sights he had ever seen.
"Guess Ruby wasn't the only one bein' tired after the walk," he muttered to himself and tiptoed over to the sofa to cover you with a blanket. Daryl smiled; watched his girls sleep for a moment, and then left the living room again.
Hopping out of the car of your very good friend, Annie, and waving her goodbye, you made your way back towards the sweet farmhouse you called home. Unable to walk past the stables without greeting your animal best friends on the way, you made a quick stop there; checking in on the horses and ponies and made sure everything was how it should be - given the fact that Daryl still didn't allow you yet to go fulltime back to work after the birth. You didn't like it, but deep down knew that he was right.
This was the first time in weeks - months, that you took a small break from being a mama; spending some time with your friend while Daryl watched over the baby. You didn't know you needed it, but by god, you did. It was nice to see Annie again - other people in general and to just go out a bit. That sounded like you didn't enjoy being a mother - which was absolutely not true. You loved it with all your heart, but sometimes a break was important. Now you were back home - and couldn't wait to spend the rest of the day with your husband and daughter.
"Babe?" You called out in a hushed voice after closing the door behind you. "I'm home!" You received no answer - but got greeted nevertheless. Dog heard you - of course, he did - and came running from the living room. His paws hitting the floor was an unmistakable sound. You smiled and stopped in your movement to take off your shoes and squatted down instead; getting into position to greet Daryl's (yours kinda too, but mostly Daryl's) dog.
After Dog was fed, you decided to look after your family. Given the fact that your husband didn't hear you coming home, you assumed that he was upstairs with Ruby. So, you climbed the stairs - and as soon as your foot hit the top stair, you could hear it... Quiet music. Not a children's song, though. It was Nirvana. Something you got used to hear, since it was your partner's favourite band. If you guessed correctly, it was the song 'Heart-Shaped Box'.
"Heeey, buddy, hi." Dog was definitely excited to see his mum again. He squeaked in sheer excitement; tail wagging. You buried your hands in his thick fur to pet and cuddle him. The canine in return gave you that cute, stupid grin he often wore before his tongue darted out to lick your face. "Dog!" You giggled; squeezing your eyes shut. "Yeah, you're such a good boy. The best, in fact."
After some cuddles and belly rubs, you picked up the task to get rid of your shoes (and jacket) again, then tapped your thigh to tell Dog to follow you.
"C'mon, buddy. Time for dinner." It was, in fact time for his dinner. You prepared his meal in the kitchen; the canine not once leaving your side. Nevertheless, he waited patiently. Again, Daryl had taught him really well.
Since the music was really on low volume, it was hard to detect where it came from. Only one way to find out... You made your way down the hallway; passing each room - and found your destination... Your daughter's room.
He replaced the photograph in his hand once more. "And tha's me 'n yer uncle Merle on the day he opened his workshop." The man explained and shook his head again. "He's a damn pain in the ass, yer uncle, but he's blood. 'M missin' that bastard."
The door to the room was ajar - presumably so that Dog could slip inside if he wanted to. Nirvana played quietly in the background and you could clearly hear your husband talking. With a smile, you opened the door just a little wider and peeked inside. Daryl sat in the hammock chair with Ruby on his left thigh. One big hand held the tiny girl safely tucked against his belly, while the other hand was holding a photograph. You instantly noticed the small box you only knew too well standing close by on the changing table. It was Daryl's old and rusty 'memory' box; filled to the brim with pictures.
"See? 'N tha's yer mama and me on our first bike trip almost seven years ago. We did the route 66. It was real good. When yer older, 'm probably takin' ya on such a trip too. Wha' do ya think, lil' monkey?" Ruby's eyes were practically glued to the picture; looking at the object utterly fascinated. Of course, she didn't know yet what this even was what her father was showing her. "You 'n me on a daddy-daughter vacation?" Her little arms flailed at hearing Daryl's voice again; tiny feet kicking. She was definitely a quirky one. A squeaky coo left her lips - which Daryl took as a yes, for sure. Your partner chuckled, "Yah, thought so." and dipped his head to kiss her chestnut hair covered head. You leaned against the doorframe and watched them with a smile on your lips.
Then the biker placed the photo back inside the box and picked up another one. "Tha's yer daddy back when he was a young man with the first bike he bought. Think I was barely eighteen. Fuck, tha' was almost twenty-three years ago... Was real cheap 'n halfway broke, but I fixed it again. Spend hundreds of bucks to get tha' damn thing goin' again. Took me almost half a year. But once it was mobile..." Daryl ended his telling with a smirk and a shook of his head.
Yep, you'd have to definitely teach Daryl to not use swear words, once Ruby would start to talk - which would be most likely the challenge of your life, but well... Luckily your daughter didn't quite understand yet what you two were saying...
Ruby sighed greatly and stuck a tiny fist to her mouth; starting to suckle on it. This didn't go unnoticed by Daryl, of course. "Ya hungry, baby girl, huh? Think so." He placed the photo back in the box and closed the lid. "C'mon. We getcha sum'thin' to eat."
That was the moment you decided to make yourself noticeable. "I can feed her, if you want."
Your husband's eyes instantly snapped up to face the door. He smiled. "Hey, darlin'. Back again?" You nodded; "Mhm." giving him a smile in return and crossed the small distance between you and your little family. Leaning down, you captured Daryl's lips with yours in a lingering, sweet kiss. His free hand reached out instantly; cupping yours. "Was it good? Had some fun with Annie?" "Yeah, it was great." "Tha's good."
Your eyes flickered down to your daughter then. Crouching down to be on eye-level with her, you peppered her tiny cheek with kisses and making her squeak and laugh. "Hiii, baby girl." Her hands felt your face; fingers almost poking out your eye, but you didn't care. After greeting them properly, you used your husband's strong thigh to push you back up on your feet. Your fingers were still intertwined with his. Daryl didn't let go of you just yet.
"And you two? What were you two up to?" You asked then with a smile; looking at the memory box, then back at Daryl. He smiled. "I was showin' the lil' monkey all my bikes 'n old pictures." "While listening to Nirvana?" You pointed out the music which still played softly in the background - clearly from the small bluetooth box. "Yea, 'course. Gotta teach 'em young."
You couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, yeah, but... Isn't she a little too young yet?" Your husband shook his head, "Nah. Ruby's likin' it, ain't ya, lovebug?" and redirected his attention to his daughter; lowering his head to blow a raspberry on her neck - which caused the little girl to squeak excitedly. "See?"
You crossed your arms over your chest and lifted an eyebrow; smiling. "To me it seems that she's just overall excited to be with her daddy the whole afternoon." Daryl smiled proudly at your words and gave your hand a squeeze. "Yah, that, too."
A moment of silence passed in which you just smiled at each other. Then you squeezed his hand back.
"Come on. I believe we got a mouth to feet." The biker nodded and got up; Ruby tucked against his belly. "Lead the way, darlin'."
It had been a long day. One of those days where everything is just a bit too much and you feel like you're just dragging your body along.
You had tried your best to have some breaks, but even those were interrupted by either a random first year group running in the library, or a sudden light bulb in your head that reminded you do had an essay due.
It was annoying but you still made it. Finishing dinner in the great hall with as much energy you could muster before walking to your dorm to collapse into your bed.
Theo, being your very observant boyfriend, noticed your exhaustion pretty early in the day.
He'd tried to convince you earlier to just take a nap during class while he wrote down your notes but you were to stubborn.
Persisting that you could do it just fine. Theo knew better than that.
He had been in another random conversation with his friends at dinner before he noticed you dragging your feet out of the hall.
Without a second thought, Theo was right behind you.
He'd made it into your dorm only a minute after yourself and had to stifle a laugh at the position you were in.
Clearly you hadn't bothered with moving much the second you had gotten on your bed. You were laying stomach down in a not quite right starfish, your face buried into your soft pillows. Not even having enough energy to pull the blankets over yourself.
"Oh tesoro…you poor thing"
Hearing his voice your head came up a bit before falling straight back down with a mumbled whine.
Theo walked over quickly, pulling you up in his arms despite your protests.
"Sh, I've got you."
Slowly, he helped you get changed into some clothes to sleep in. Settling you down into the bed, actually under the covers this time.
You heard him shuffling around for a bit longer, presumably changing out of his own school uniform and throwing on whatever clothes he left last time he slept over.
The sigh you let out was instant when you felt him wrap around your back. Between him and the many blankets on your bed, you felt like you were the most comfortable you'd ever be in your life.
"You alright cara mia?" His voice spoke like velvet into his ear. A soft kiss to your hair being left right after.
You replied in a lazy hum.
"Just tired."
Theo's hold tighten against you in response, his cologne encircling you like you were becoming that much apart of him.
Another gentle kiss. And another. And one more for good measure.
“Coffee. I need coffee. Please, I’m begging you. Iced, hot, blended, an espresso shot, anything will do.”
Your complaint echoes through the empty yard area behind the manor, the same spot where you’d had your first training session the morning before. Ignoring the guttural sound your stomach makes, you do a few warm-up stretches before starting on your first lap of the day.
The sun isn’t even up yet, the sky still in the process of changing colours as the new day arrives. You’d dragged yourself out of bed after a long night of conversation with Kili, barely washing up before forcing yourself to get outside and start exercising to maintain and improve your shit stamina.
As you jog around the perimeter of the yard, your muscles ache in pain with each step, pushing yourself despite the stiffness from yesterday’s training.
After a few laps, you drop to the ground, gritting your teeth through sets of crunches and pushups (2 sets of 5 each, to be exact), determined to make the most of the morning. I can’t be the weak link, you remind yourself, pushing through the final few reps, ignoring the low twinge in your thigh. The oversized tunic flutters uncomfortably with each movement, shifting awkwardly as you stand and brush the dirt off.
Fed up, you glance around and spot a sword left among a pile of training equipment. With a sly grin, you pick it up and slice a few inches off the hem of your tunic, fashioning a makeshift crop top. Much better. The shorter length allows for freer movement, and you toss the excess fabric aside, resuming your stretches with a newfound sense of relief.
Just as you’re finishing up, a voice interrupts, catching you off guard. “Making the best of your morning, I see.”
You turn to find Fili standing there, a bemused look on his face, eyes flicking between the sword in your hand and your now-cropped tunic. His gaze lingers a bit longer than expected, and he clears his throat before stepping closer, an awkward but good-natured smile spreading across his face.
“So, is this what people wear back in your village?” he asks, trying to sound casual.
You smirk, hands on your hips. “If it’s good for moving, it’s good enough for me. Besides, I’d rather not trip over the fabric every time I do a lap.” You pat the now-shorter tunic with a shrug, brushing it off as no big deal.
Fili shakes his head, though he’s smiling. “Just don’t let Kili see you. He might decide to copy your ‘customizations’.” Before you can reply, he steps back into the manor, disappearing inside for a moment. When he returns, he’s holding another tunic — a bit longer and more fitted, clearly meant to cover more.
“Here,” he says, stepping forward with a cautious glance over his shoulder as he hands you the tunic. His voice drops slightly as if he’s letting you in on a secret. “Look, I’d feel better if you wore this one, especially while we’re in training. Not just for my sake, but for yours. Best not to let the others see either; wouldn’t want anyone else getting the wrong ideas.” He rubs the back of his neck, an awkward mix of sincerity and bashfulness.
You stifle a grin, slipping the tunic over your makeshift crop top and mentally shaking your head at the level of modesty here. Poor guy. If he ever saw a beach back home, he’d probably faint before he even got a good look at a bikini, you think, biting back an amused laugh.
Raising an eyebrow, you meet his gaze. “Better?”
He nods, clearly relieved, his shoulders relaxing. “Much better,” he says, with a quick smile that shows he’s satisfied. As you start your practice drills under his watchful eye, you try not to let the cumbersome fabric annoy you too much as your aching arm draws back the bowstring each time.
Dry firing, Fili had called it. He’d decided after yesterday to let you focus on your posture for now, instructing you to keep the leather glove on for your own safety and balance. The uncomfortable fabric feels well-worn, maybe one of his older ones he'd lent to you.
As you settle into your drills, you catch sight of Thorin at the edge of the yard, his figure partially obscured by the shadows of the morning light. He’s standing with his arms crossed, watching with an intensity that’s impossible to ignore. Fili, noticing his uncle’s presence, straightens almost reflexively, but Thorin gestures for you both to continue, his expression unreadable yet focused.
Short, dark, and brooding is more like it.
Though he doesn’t say a word, Thorin’s gaze is unmistakably assessing. You can feel him weighing your worth, considering what use you might be to their journey. It’s as if he’s mentally cataloguing your progress and endurance, his eyes revealing a silent calculation rather than the warmth or humour you’ve grown used to from the rest.
Fili’s eyes flick between you and Thorin, a brief, almost protective spark crossing his face. He clears his throat, then leans closer, his voice just loud enough for you to hear, “Don’t mind him too much. He’s just… always like that.” He attempts a reassuring smile but doesn’t quite shake his own nervousness.
“I guessed as much,” you whisper back sarcastically.
As you dry-fire your bow once more, you can’t help but feel like Thorin’s watchful presence has turned this from a simple practice session into a test. Every movement, every shift in your posture feels heightened under his gaze, and you find yourself wondering what he’s thinking.
Haven’t I proved myself already? Didn’t I defend him? Hell, I even got shot to help them escape!
Maybe the last one would be considered a norm here — which it really shouldn’t be. Regardless, you plan to hold that one over their heads for a while. You just haven’t had the opportunity to utilise it.
As you continue your training with Fili’s murmured corrections, Thorin turns without a word, walking away from you both. Ignoring him in favour of focusing on your posture, the training continues without a hitch.
Once you’ve finished and washed up, you change into yet another fresh set of clothes, this time a muted grey dress that reaches your ankles. You approach the balcony almost hesitantly, peeking out to check if Kili’s on the one next to yours again.
Luckily, the room he and Fili share is silent. Breathing a sigh of relief, you step out and scan the town below. What next? You’ve already come to the conclusion that you’d help Bard and his family escape, but how would you convince them?
As you lean against the balcony railing, your thoughts race through different scenarios, each one adding more urgency to your need for a solid contingency plan. The town below is peaceful now, but you know that tranquillity won’t last if Smaug comes storming out of the mountain. The problem is, you’re working with limited resources and even more limited trust from the people around you.
Your mind drifts back to strategies you’ve learned in your own world. Back home, you’d always had plans to fall back on thanks to preparation. Ways to avoid disaster, preparing an emergency bag, even what to do if there was a fire in the building. But here? People don’t know what’s coming, and that makes it harder to convince them.
You think about Bard, the only person here who seems to share any of your concerns about the dragon. He knows the danger, you remind yourself, but suspicion and local politics keep him from acting on it. You need a way to make him see that this isn’t just paranoia. You need to make him see that it’s a real threat.
But how do you get him to trust you enough to act without spilling details that could land you in worse trouble?
It’s not like you could just say: “Yo, the dragon you’re concerned about? The big, fire-breathing one in the mountain? He’s gonna come burn the place down. I’m telling you this now so you can leave before you get hurt.”
Forget about crazy, he’ll think I’m insane.
Besides, if Thorin catches wind of you spreading what he’d consider “fear-mongering,” it could jeopardise your place in the company.
A few ideas start to form as you pace back and forth. Maybe, rather than telling Bard outright, you could frame it as a hypothetical: Some kind of ‘What if the dragon actually attacked? What would you do?’ type of scenario. Let him think it through, let him imagine the worst and realise he needs a backup plan. That way, it’s his choice to act, not just a reaction to your warning.
As you mull over this approach, a voice behind you interrupts your thoughts. It’s Bilbo, looking curious and slightly concerned. “What are you doing out here so early?” he asks, his tone gentle but curious.
You hesitate, wondering how much to tell him. Bilbo’s sharp, though, and he can read the tension on your face. After a moment, you say, “Just… trying to figure out the best way to help. Without causing too much chaos.”
He raises his brows, then glances back toward the general direction of Bard’s house. “If you’re trying to convince Bard to prepare for… anything unexpected,” Bilbo says, choosing his words carefully, “then I’d suggest taking it slowly. He’s a practical man, but he’s not one for rash decisions.”
How’d he know?
You nod, realising that Bilbo is perhaps psychic. Smiling gratefully, you punch his arm gently. “Thanks, Bilbo. It’s… complicated, but you’re right. I need to go about this in a way that doesn’t make me look like I’ve lost my mind.”
He chuckles softly. “It seems we both have a knack for getting in over our heads. But if you need a partner in crime,” he adds, “I’ll be here.”
I wanna hug him so bad.
The stress and fatigue in your face must be more obvious than you thought, because Bilbo watches you a moment longer, then smiles knowingly. “I can see you’re itching to move. Maybe it would help if we paid Bard a visit now?” he suggests lightly, his gaze warm and encouraging.
You glance over, half-surprised but grateful. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”
“Oh, please,” he replies, rolling his eyes with a grin. “I’ve been on my feet long enough to handle a walk across town. Besides, I have a feeling you could use the company.”
With a laugh, you give in. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
As the two of you set off toward Bard’s house, Bilbo keeps the conversation light, talking about the market stalls you pass or the morning routines of the Lake-town residents. But he doesn’t miss a beat when your pace quickens now and then, even if you don’t realise it yourself.
“You’re doing that thing,” he says after a while, half-amused.
“What thing?”
“Like you’re expecting trouble any second. Relax; we’ll get there soon enough. Besides,” he glances around, “it’s better for people to see you as calm and collected. Less… suspicious.”
You can’t help but laugh. “You’re right, you’re right. Thanks, Bilbo.” The two of you share a look, a quiet understanding passing between you as you near Bard’s door. You feel strangely at ease with him beside you.
Tilda’s the first to spot you from a window, throwing open the door with as much force as possible before she rushes into your arms with a happy laugh. Being careful to avoid your injury, you bend down and scoop her into your arms for a brief hug.
“You came back! Does this mean we can listen to more fairy tales?” She asks brightly, only to pause when she sees Bilbo next to you. He’s unsure, shifting his weight from one foot to the other before offering her an awkward smile.
“Fairy tale?” He questions you with a slight grin.
Shrugging, you let go of Tilda before entering the house. “They asked, I delivered. Don’t shoot the messenger, bro.”
“I have been meaning to ask,” he says, hesitating momentarily before following both you and Tilda inside and shutting the door, “What does ‘bro’ mean?”
“It’s just a way of calling people,” you explain, Sigrid welcoming you with a smile from the kitchen. “It’s just easier for me to use. Don’t adopt it though, I quite enjoy the way you guys speak.”
“Well noted.”
Tilda then seizes the moment to ask, “aren’t you the Hobbit that came in with Da’ the other day?”
“Indeed I am,” Bilbo replies with a twinge of pride at being recognised, “My name is Bilbo Baggins of The Shire.” She nods in awe, eyes scanning his seated figure with newfound curiosity.
“So, what brings our guests to this part of town?” Sigrid enters with two cups, handing them to you both. Bilbo accepts it gratefully, though he decides to stay silent. You and Bilbo exchange a quick glance, an unspoken conversation passing between you both. His eyes hold a glimmer of curiosity, wondering how exactly you plan to bring up the topic.
Alright, I’ve got another story for you two,” you begin, catching Tilda’s attention as well. “Have you ever heard of a creature that has a weak spot? Say… maybe somewhere hidden or protected, but vulnerable if you know where to look?”
Sigrid’s brow furrows, and Tilda shakes her head. “Like a knight with a gap in his armour?” Bilbo helpfully asks.
“Exactly,” you say, nodding. “Imagine a creature with a scale missing—maybe right on its chest, above its heart. It could be big and powerful, but if you could just hit that one spot…” You trail off, letting the idea hang in the air, seeing if they take the bait.
Bilbo watches you from the corner of his eye, visibly intrigued by your approach.
Sigrid frowns thoughtfully. “So it would be possible to defeat it then?”
“Only with a lot of skill and luck,” you reply, keeping your tone light. “If anyone were brave enough to face it, they’d have to have a unique weapon forged by…let’s say, dwarves. ”
Bilbo sips his tea and clears his throat. “Quite the story, isn’t it?” he says, attempting to downplay the implications. He shoots you a subtle, approving look.
Sigrid leans against a chair, a thoughtful expression on her face. “It reminds me of one Da’ always told us about. Our ancestor, who knocked off a scale on Smaug’s chest.”
Tilda’s eyes widen, excitement lighting up her face as she chimes in. “Oh, that’s right! Da’ always says it was Girion, Lord of Dale, who almost took down the dragon! He managed to knock off a single scale. Just one! Imagine how brave he must have been.”
You lean forward, doing your best to maintain your poker face. “So, that means someone really could get close enough to Smaug, despite all the flames and everything? Interesting.”
Sigrid nods with a small smile. “Yes, but Da’ also says that’s why we have to be careful. We shouldn’t believe in old tales too much.” Her smile fades a bit, her expression turning pensive. “Still… sometimes I wonder what we’d do if the dragon came back.”
Tilda doesn’t miss a beat, her voice brimming with the bright enthusiasm only a child could have. “If he came back, we’d just need to find his weak spot again! Right? Maybe you could help us,” she adds, looking between you and Bilbo.
You share a quick, amused glance with Bilbo before turning back to the girls. “Well, if anything like that were to happen,” you say, carefully choosing your words, “it might be a good idea to be ready. But sometimes, it’s even smarter to think about… moving somewhere safer. Just in case.”
Sigrid and Tilda exchange glances, and Tilda frowns thoughtfully. “Like leaving?”
“Just temporarily,” you add with a reassuring smile. “Think of it like a mini-adventure. That way, if anything were to happen, you’d be safe and sound somewhere nearby.”
Bilbo nods, sipping his tea again with a serious expression. “It’s good advice, you know. And no one’s saying the dragon will return. But, as they say in the Shire… better to be prepared.”
Sigrid and Tilda look contemplative, their eyes bright with curiosity and concern. “What about the others?” Sigrid asks, her voice soft but direct.
“The others?” you echo, blinking as you process her question.
Bilbo's expression sharpens, and he raises an eyebrow at your confusion. “Yes, the people of Lake-town, beyond just Bard’s family,” he says, his tone calm but his gaze watchful. He studies you, and you catch the way his eyes narrow ever so slightly. For a brief moment, it feels like he's seeing straight through you.
A slight flicker of realisation seems to pass over him, and you feel a sudden rush of discomfort. Had he figured out what you’d been thinking?
You stumble over your words. “Oh! Right, of course… Lake-town. The, um, whole town,” you add, with a smile that feels embarrassingly forced. “I just meant Bard’s family because… well, they’re right here. But obviously, everyone else too.”
Bilbo continues watching you, his expression unreadable but not entirely trusting. Trying to brush off the awkwardness, you clear your throat and turn to Tilda and Sigrid. “We should keep everyone safe, all of Lake-town if we can. But starting with you all seemed… I guess, just practical.”
There’s a heavy silence, and Bilbo finally offers a small, polite nod. But you know the seed of doubt is there. He’s realised you’re more focused on the people closest to you, not necessarily everyone. You wonder if he’ll bring it up later, but for now, he lets it go.
Shifting uncomfortably, you smile at Tilda. “Anyway… it’s just a hypothetical, of course. Hopefully nothing happens at all!”
She grins back, and Bilbo’s expression softens slightly as he sips his tea. But you can still feel his silent judgement lingering.
“Can you tell us another story?” Tilda fiddles with her doll, glancing at her older sister. “I think Sigrid would want to hear one.” Her attempt at disguising her own request makes you smile, while Sigrid rolls her eyes.
“Sure,” you settle into the chair, hands cupping the warm cup before you begin. “Once upon a time in a land far far away, there lived an ogre. His name was Shrek.”
— — — — — —
You’re mid-retelling of the Shrek movie, your voice growing more animated as you recall the absurd moments of the film. You even find yourself acting out some of the characters, exaggerating the Gingerbread Man’s voice to the best of your ability. Bilbo, who’s listening intently, chuckles at your antics. From his expression though, you can tell he’s still unsure about a lot of what you’re saying.
Or maybe he’s thinking that I’m a lunatic.
“—and then the dragon breathes fire and burns everything in sight, and you know what Shrek does? He just—” you pause as the door opens with a soft creak, cutting off your sentence. Bard steps into the room, his eyes flicking between you and Bilbo. Bain, who’s right behind him, is carrying a hefty load of fish.
They both stop in their tracks, looking surprised to see you sitting there, so casually on the chair. Their eyes widen slightly when they process Bilbo in the seat opposite yours, the hobbit choosing to nod his head in greeting.
Bard resumes his trek into the house, Sigrid and Tilda greeting him enthusiastically as ever. While he sets down the tools in a corner of the room, Bain places the fish atop a table. Bard glances at both you and Bilbo, removing his gloves before he speaks.
“I assume you’ll be paying for dinner?”
The words slip out before you can stop yourself. “Just put it on the Master’s tab. I bet he won’t notice.” There’s a small part of you that’s relieved to see Bard’s usual stoic expression soften slightly at the joke.
"I’m sure he’d love to hear that." He sets his gloves aside, walking over to the table with Bain. They begin to sort through the fish with practised ease.
Tilda, noticing the awkwardness of the moment, tries to ease the tension by chiming in cheerfully. “Dinner’s almost ready, Da’! I think everyone will like the fish tonight!”
You watch as the family falls back into their usual rhythm, Bard and Bain working together while Sigrid and Tilda busy themselves with the preparations. It’s clear they’re all used to these routines, a comforting normalcy that feels a bit out of place in the midst of everything that’s coming.
The moment stretches a little too long before Bard glances back at you and Bilbo, almost as if seeing you there suddenly makes him more aware of your presence.
"So, what exactly were you two discussing?" he asks, his tone curious but also guarded, as though there’s a bit more weighing on him than just your unexpected presence.
Bilbo stirs slightly in his chair, giving a small, nervous cough. "Well, we were... exchanging stories." His voice is sheepish, but there's a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he tries to explain without getting into specifics.
You can’t help but grin. “You’re gonna love it, Bard. Bilbo’s got a knack for picking up on the best details.”
“And your preparation for the journey ahead?”
Your smile falters for a moment, a brief flicker of uncertainty passing across your face. “It’s going alright.” Bilbo, the unofficial mediator of the group, jumps in to smooth things over. “She’s getting trained in archery by the best in our company.”
Bard raises an eyebrow in amusement. “Archery, you say? In the time you have left?”
“She’s quite good at it too,” Bilbo adds, nodding in approval, which only makes your cheeks burn hotter. You shake your head, trying to downplay it.
But then your eyes meet Bard’s. Something in his gaze shifts — an unspoken acknowledgment, and maybe even approval, that takes you off guard. The warmth of your embarrassment fades for a second, replaced by a strange sense of... validation.
“It’s better to be somewhat prepared, than none at all,” Bard finally says, his voice thoughtful. But the tone shifts then, his face hardening ever so slightly. “Will you be accompanying them in their quest to reclaim Erebor?”
The question lingers in the air, heavy, unrelenting. Everyone in the room turns toward you, eyes full of expectation. A pressure builds in your chest, your heart thudding in your ears. You open your mouth, but the words refuse to come. It’s as if something is lodged in your throat, the answer slipping away just out of reach.
Bilbo watches you, a flicker of understanding passing across his features, and for a split second, it feels like the whole room is holding its breath. You swallow hard, willing your voice to steady. But the silence stretches, unbearable and thick with unspoken things.
You look away, staring at the floor as if it holds the answers you need, but you can’t bring yourself to speak. How do you even explain to them? How do you tell them that the choice isn’t as simple as it seems?
Finally, Bilbo clears his throat softly, as if trying to break the tension without making it worse. "She’s... not one to rush decisions," he says, his voice gentle, his eyes a little more sympathetic. "But it’s a big choice. For all of us."
Bard’s gaze softens slightly, but there’s still that hard edge to his voice as he speaks again, quieter this time. "I understand. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wonder whether you’re here because of the mission or something else. You seem like you have your own fight to pick."
Sigrid watches the interaction closely, but it’s Bain who speaks up next, cutting through the tension like a knife. "Come on, you can’t expect her to just make a decision like that on the spot."
You force a chuckle, though it feels hollow. "I wish it were that simple," you murmur, raising your gaze briefly to meet Bard’s once more, but it’s too much. You look away quickly.
"None of this is simple," Bard says, though there’s a subtle compassion in his tone now. "I’m not trying to pressure you. You don’t owe me an answer."
"She’ll figure it out," Bilbo adds, his words light but laced with concern. "We’ve got time."
The mention of time makes your stomach tighten. You know better than anyone that time is a luxury you might not have. The limited knowledge you hold twists itself deeper, like a knife digging itself through you with no mercy.
The dinner goes by smoothly, with Tilda sharing about what she’d learnt from you today — Bard had raised his brow at the mention of a talking donkey, which you conveniently choose not to explain.
After it concludes, he walks both of you back to the manor. As you approach the gates, the mood shifts abruptly. Guards step forward, blocking your way with their weapons drawn. Bard halts, his brow furrowing in irritation as he steps closer to them. “What is the meaning of this?” he demands, his voice low but dangerous.
“Yeah, what the fuck?” You add, unhelpfully at that.
The guards exchange a glance, perhaps recognising you as part of Thorin’s group. “The master has arranged separate lodgings for you. The rest of your company has already moved their things. Just follow the path, turn left, and you’ll find it.” His tone is dismissive, as if your presence is nothing more than a bother. “Now move along.”
Bard’s jaw clenches, his gaze hardening as he steps closer, but he doesn't push further. Instead, he mutters under his breath, clearly frustrated. “There’s no point trying to argue with them. They’re doing the Master’s bidding, and that’s all that matters to them.” He turns toward you, giving a frustrated wave toward the path. “Come on. Let’s just go.”
As Bard leads you down the wooden path, the new manor comes into view, standing just a bit more modest than the Master’s residence. It’s still large enough to accommodate the full company, but there’s a certain quiet dignity to it, with its ivy-covered walls and the flickering light from lanterns casting a warm glow across the steps.
The closer you get, the more you notice the distinct lack of chatter and festivities compared to the Master’s manor. It feels like an oasis of calm, despite its size. Bard glances back toward you and Bilbo, his expression softened by the walk and the lingering tension with the guards. “This should be comfortable enough for all of you,” he says with a small, almost sarcastic smile. “Not quite as grand as the Master’s, but it’ll do.”
He turns to Bilbo, offering a polite nod. “You both take care of yourselves tonight. I imagine you’ll need your rest for what comes next.”
Bilbo returns the nod, tipping his head with a quiet “Thank you, Bard. We’ll make sure to get settled in.” He looks back at you for a moment, and you catch a glimmer of relief in his eyes as the stress of the day seems to ebb away with each step further from the Master’s manor.
Stopping at the entrance, the heavy wooden doors of the manor open to reveal a large, decorated space inside. You exchange one last glance with Bard, who offers a curt but warm smile before stepping back.
“Good night,” you say, nodding to him. “Thanks again for everything.”
“Goodnight,” Bard responds, tipping his hat. He turns and walks back toward the direction of the Master’s manor, leaving you and Bilbo to enter the new lodging.
You hesitate on the threshold, watching his retreating figure. A gnawing feeling grows in your stomach. There’s something important you need to say…something that could help, something you’ve been holding back. You swallow your unease, eyes darting to Bilbo for just a moment before calling out to Bard.
“Bard!” Your voice is louder than you expected, causing him to pause and glance back over his shoulder.
His expression is curious, but you can’t bring yourself to elaborate, your heart racing with the weight of your sudden decision. You can’t explain it all, not now, not like this.
“Find the Black Arrow,” you blurt, the words slipping out before you can stop them.
Bard’s eyes narrow slightly, his brow furrowing as he takes in the cryptic remark, but before he can ask further, you quickly step back into the manor, your pulse quickening.
With your nerves on edge and the pressure of what you've just said weighing on you, you hurry inside. You lean against it for a moment, trying to steady your breathing, but the unease lingers.
What the fuck did I just do?
“What was that all about?” Looking up at Bilbo’s question, you send him a weary smile. It’s pained enough for him to suck in a sharp breath, releasing the tension in his shoulders. “I see.” The simple statement is enough for you to feel a sense of relief somehow, knowing you’re not alone.
He starts down the hallways, but pauses to look back. “Do you need a moment?”
With your racing heart starting to calm, and your breathing evening out, you shake your head. Pushing yourself off the wall you’re leaning against, you follow him down the hallway, cheerful voices and rambunctious laughter acting as a compass for you to follow.
Sure enough, you soon reach the dining hall where you’re greeted by the sight of the dwarves in various stages of merrymaking. Thorin is seated at the head of the table, a mug in hand, surrounded by Fili, Kili, and the others. There’s an air of lightheartedness here, a stark contrast to the tension you’ve been feeling all day.
“Ah, there they are!” Bofur exclaims from his seat, raising a mug in your direction as he spots you. “Come, join us! There’s plenty of food!”
You and Bilbo exchange a look, the invitation a warm relief after the events of the evening. “Don’t mind if we do,” Bilbo says, a chuckle escaping him as you both move toward the table.
As you sit down, you can’t help but notice that the dwarves are in high spirits, their laughter filling the room as they eat and talk.
"Looks like we've got quite the feast here," you murmur to Bilbo, who’s already helping himself to some bread and cheese. His eyes twinkle with the familiar comfort of a meal shared with friends. “And we’ve just had dinner too.”
“Still,” he replies, handing you a piece of cheese, “It’s just what we need.”
a/n: hi :) sorry I havent been giving this as much love, it's been a tough few months lmao
| 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | main 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁 |
“See, now why anyone would do this willingly is the question I wanna ask.”
Fili chuckles, shrugging innocently though his eyes gleam with mischief. “Oh, come on! This is a proud Dwarven tradition. And besides,” he nudges the bow a little closer to your hand, “you need to learn. Can’t have you running out of rocks to throw if things get tight.”
Rolling your eyes, you sigh and take the bow, feeling the unfamiliar weight settle in your grip. You give it a testing pull, and the string barely budges. “Right, I’m pretty sure rocks will be better in a pinch. I’ve never even held a bow, dude.”
Fili’s grin widens as he steps closer, adjusting your stance with a light touch to your elbow. “Just takes a little getting used to. First, let’s figure out your dominant eye. You’ll need both eyes open when you shoot, so it’s best to know which one to focus with.”
“Dominant eye?” you echo, raising a brow.
“Trust me,” he says, as if he’s performed this test a hundred times. “All you need to do is pick an object over there — like the Lonely Mountain in the distance — and point your finger at it.”
Feeling curious, you raise your finger, pointing at the tree while keeping both eyes open. “Okay, now what?”
“Close each eye, one at a time,” he instructs. “Whichever eye you keep open where your finger stays over the tree, that’s your dominant eye.”
You follow his directions, closing one eye and then the other. When you finally identify your dominant eye, Fili nods approvingly. “See? Now you know which eye to trust. You’ll need that when you start aiming.”
You glance at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “So, what’s next?”
“Now we actually start shooting.” Fili takes a step back, watching you closely as you adjust your grip and bring the bow up. His voice is reassuring as he guides you through each step. “Relax your shoulders, pull the string back steadily, and focus on that dominant eye. Just... breathe.”
Following his instructions and bracing yourself, you pull the string with all the focus you can muster and let the arrow fly, only to see it plop to the ground barely a few feet away. Fili snickers, covering his mouth to try and hide it.
“Not bad for a first shot! If you survive my training, you might actually make a passable archer.” His grin is wide, mischievous yet proud, as if he already sees a hint of promise.
He tilts his head, noticing your still-stiff posture. Stepping forward, he lightly presses down on your shoulders. “Relax here. You’re all tense, and it’ll throw your aim off every time.” He guides you into a better stance, and you take a deep breath, feeling the subtle change in balance.
After a few more attempts and even more clattering arrows, Fili eyes the weapon in your hand thoughtfully. “You know,” he says, reaching behind him, “I may have borrowed a few extra bows. Different weights, different pulls. Figured it’d be good to find what suits you best.”
With a smirk, he hands you a slightly lighter bow, clearly delighted with his ‘borrowed’ collection. “The Master doesn’t exactly have a close eye on his inventory,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Try this one.”
You take the new bow, immediately noticing the lighter weight. “A bit more my speed,” you admit, taking a testing pull on the string. The bowstring yields more easily, and you glance at him with a half-smile before raising it to aim at the target again. This time, the arrow flies a bit closer to its mark, though it still falls short.
“See? Improvement already.” Fili’s eyes shine with approval, and he passes you another bow to test, this one with an even gentler draw. “This one’s good for finesse shots. Not great for power, but you’ll get better control.”
You try again, focusing on your stance and on relaxing your grip. The quiet morning feels almost peaceful, the crisp air interrupted only by Fili’s murmured tips and the faint whoosh of each arrow. Finally, you get a shot that lands a little nearer to the target, though still far from perfect.
Fili laughs, clapping you on the shoulder. “Good enough for someone with no experience. By tomorrow, you’ll be an expert.”
Fighting back the giddiness you feel from the improvement you’ve made, you chuckle. “If by ‘expert,’ you mean someone who might actually hit the target once by pure luck, then sure.”
He grins back, unphased. “Exactly. So, ready to try a few more? Or do you need a break already?”
The challenge in his tone makes you straighten, accepting the next bow he hands over. With each try, you feel a bit more comfortable, gradually picking up his tips and adjusting your aim. It’s hard work, but there’s something satisfying in finally starting to see improvement…Even if only by inches.
Releasing your posture momentarily, you flex your already sore fingers, the feeling of leather digging into your skin strange and uncomfortable. It hadn’t even occurred to you to learn a weapon properly since you’d been here, which in hindsight is incredibly dumb.
Fili watches as you shake out your hand, a knowing grin spreading across his face. “Ah, don’t worry. The first few weeks, I couldn’t hit a target even if I was staring straight at it.” He nudges you with his elbow. “I might have almost taken out my own foot more than once.”
“Really?” you ask, trying to imagine the usually skilled Fili as a novice.
“Oh, yes,” he laughs. “Nearly scared poor Kili to death one time — he made me swear off archery for a month after that. But I kept at it, learned to handle the bow properly, and here we are.” He gestures grandly, earning a small chuckle from you.
“Well, I’ll try to aim away from my feet then,” you reply dryly, earning another laugh from Fili.
“Good idea. And hey, if I can manage, there’s hope for you yet,” he says, clapping you on the shoulder encouragingly. His expression softens just slightly. “Just don’t give up. Everyone misses at first.”
You give him a grateful nod, trying to refocus on the target at hand. The arrow flies in the same wobbly manner and still misses, but it doesn’t discourage you from pulling out another from the quiver slung across your back.
After a few more shots, your muscles begin to ache from holding the posture you’re not entirely used to. Even muscles you weren’t aware of begin to complain in the form of the occasional sting.
As you line up yet another shot while your body is screaming in protest, you hear a gruff chuckle from behind. “Looks like you’ve got some fight in you after all,” Dwalin rumbles approvingly, his arms crossed as he watches your awkward attempts with an amused glint in his eye.
“Not bad for a beginner,” Gloin chimes in, squinting at your form. “Could use a bit more power, but not bad.” He gives a sharp nod, though the slight smirk on his face suggests he’s as entertained as he is impressed.
You manage a grin over your shoulder, adjusting your grip despite the soreness creeping into your fingers. “If by ‘not bad’, you mean ‘insanely horrific’, then I’m doing great.”
Bilbo, standing nearby with a cautious expression, gives you an encouraging thumbs-up. “Just aim a little higher,” he suggests, as if he’s trying to be helpful, though you suspect he’s as clueless about archery as you are.
Fili snickers, crossing his arms as he stands by, clearly pleased by the attention your training session has gathered. “Look at that! Seems you’ve drawn a crowd. They all want to see if you’ll finally hit something.” He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper, “Just don’t let it go to your head.”
“Or her foot,” Gloin mutters, earning a laugh from Dwalin.
You release the arrow, which wobbles through the air and lands frustratingly far from the target. With a groan, you let the bow fall to your side, flexing your sore fingers. Fili, noticing your fatigue, finally holds up a hand.
“All right, all right, that’s enough for now,” he says, clapping you on the shoulder. “Wouldn’t want you to be too tired to miss the real action later.”
You exhale with relief, grateful for the break. As you rub at your aching arms, Bilbo offers you a water skin, which you accept gratefully. “Not too shabby, you know,” he says with a grin, trying to reassure you. “It’s better than I could manage!”
“Give it a few more days, and you’ll be a passable archer,” Dwalin says with a nod. “Maybe even useful in a fight.”
You roll your eyes, chuckling. “I’ll try not to trip over my own arrows then.”
“Had her up since dawn,” Fili chimes in, sitting down on the ground with his own water skin. Suspecting that he hadn’t even taken one for you, his student, makes you squint at him with a playful frown. “Made some progress, she almost dropped the bow on her first try!”
That makes the three dwarves erupt into a fit of laughter. Rolling your eyes with a good-natured grin, you let their jeers slide off your back. “Just you wait. One day, I might even be able to help you guys.”
“Not unless ya’ beat Kili first. Young lad’s the best archer of us all,” Dwalin says gruffly, though you can sense the underlying smile of approval at your grit.
As Dwalin’s laughter dies down, you lean forward with a smirk. “I doubt he was always that gifted though. What was he like as a kid, anyway? I bet he was a handful.”
Fili’s eyes light up with mischief, his grin widening as he takes a swig from his water skin. “Oh, you have no idea. There was one time — during one of our first training sessions, mind you — Kili almost shot our own mother in the arm.”
Your eyes widen, and a laugh escapes before you can stop it. “He did what?”
“Aye,” Fili chuckles, clearly savouring the memory. “He was so eager to prove he could handle a bow. Got his stance all wrong, fired way too early, and that arrow just barely missed her.” He raises his fingers, showing a hair’s breadth. “Had her dodging like a fox, she did. I thought she’d wallop him into next week.”
Dwalin snorts, shaking his head. “Always was a spirited one, Kili. Bit more fire than sense, if you ask me.”
“Guess that hasn’t changed much, has it?” you add cheekily, unable to help the smile creeping onto your face as you imagine a younger, overenthusiastic Kili causing chaos.
Bilbo grins, clearly enjoying the story as much as you are. “Makes me wonder what she thought of her sons learning to fight.”
Fili’s face softens slightly, his tone more thoughtful. “She was proud of us, I think. But always worried too. Never wanted us in danger, but she understood it came with the family. Still, I swear, she probably started growing grey hairs from that day.”
You laugh. “Well, if Kili can make it through almost taking out his own mother, then maybe I’ll survive a few more lessons without maiming myself.”
“Perhaps,” Fili replies with a grin, “but don’t think that means I’m going easy on you.”
“Didn’t expect any less,” you say, picking up the bow again, feeling your muscles protest.
“You’re still standing, so that’s a good sign,” Fili comments, noticing how your grip tightens as you draw the bowstring again.
You roll your shoulders, trying to shake off the aching muscles, but it only adds to your frustration. “I swear, this is going to be the death of me.”
Fili chuckles, unbothered by your discomfort. “Don’t worry. Once you get it, you won’t even think about it. You’ll do it in your sleep, like Kili. Just without the risk of shooting your own mother in the arm.”
You manage a half-smile, feeling a wave of determination. “Yeah, right. I'll definitely be aiming for the bullseye next time, no problem."
Fili gives you a look of mock horror. "Don't get too confident. You're still under my watch, and if I have anything to say about it, you're not shooting arrows like Kili anytime soon.”
“Guess I’ll just have to keep at it then.” You take aim again, the bowstring creaking slightly as you release it with more force this time. The arrow flies, wobbling, but it’s better than before.
Fili's eyes light up as it thuds into the target. "Better! See? Progress."
Just as you take aim for another shot, a voice calls out from behind, dripping with amusement. “Careful brother, she might just outshine you with that bow if you’re not cautious.”
You glance over your shoulder to see Kili approaching, a smirk playing at his lips. Fili rolls his eyes, scoffing. “I wouldn’t worry about that, brother. I’d say I’m a bit more of an expert here, and someone has to teach her how to aim straight.”
Kili steps forward, inspecting your stance with an exaggeratedly critical eye. “Hmm, maybe you just need the right motivation. How about a little friendly competition?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the prospect.
You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, so now it’s two teachers against one student? Doesn’t seem fair.” Your heart wriggles a little in your chest in delight at his presence, but you squash it down. For now, you wouldn’t think about your feelings or his, you just wanted to have fun with them both.
Dwalin, Bilbo, and Gloin had taken their leave a while ago, the sun already in the middle of the cloudy sky. Sweat drips down the back of your tunic, trailing down the sides of your face. During the break, you’d managed to snag a random rag to tie your hair up, momentarily mourning the absence of elastic bands in this world.
“Don’t worry,” Kili says, picking up a stray arrow. “I’ll go easy on you… if you can manage to hit this.” He gestures to a spot on the target, just below the bullseye.
“Please,” you scoff, unable to hide the competitive streak kicking in at his challenge. “I could hit that.”
And hit him up while at it.
Mildly flustered by the fleeting thought that darts through your mind, you take a deep breath to calm yourself. Reigning in the heinous thoughts that threaten to burst forth from the makeshift dam you’d crafted in your head, you assume your posture once more and notch the arrow.
Its wooden shaft brushes past your exposed fingertips, gradually growing used to the leather glove on your hands. The sensation of using muscles you’d never exerted before is still odd, but you knew that over time you’d also learn to use them properly.
Watching in anticipation, your hopes crash down faster than they’d risen as the arrow embeds itself into the ground…at least two feet away from the target. You don’t have to turn to sense the brothers holding back their fits of laughter.
“Okay, I get it,” you grumble, crossing your arms and taking a few steps back. Kili presses his lips together in a thin line, though his eyes still gleam with unsaid teasing. “It’s my first day,” you remind them, pointing at him accusingly, “and you said you’d go easy on me!”
“He did.” Fili exhales slowly, the furrow of his brows showing just how much he’s holding back from ribbing the utter life out of you. Shifting your weight to lean on one leg, you regard Kili with a sceptical frown. How good could he be, anyway?
Before you can even blink, a loud thud sounds from the target. An arrow had embedded itself into the thick wood, straight in the bullseye. You turn your head from Kili’s grinning self to the target, disbelief in your eyes.
“No fucking way.” You shake your head. “Do it again?”
Kili gives you a cheeky shrug, eyes flashing with a hint of mischief. “Alright,” he says, voice low and steady, “watch closely this time.” He turns toward the target, his usual playfulness replaced by a sharp, almost mesmerising focus.
You watch as he draws his bow, the strong lines of his arms taut and steady, his stance shifting into something grounded and unshakable. His fingers curl over the bowstring with practised ease, each movement deliberate.
The world seems to narrow as he lines up his shot. The wind ruffles his hair just enough to frame the intense, piercing look in his eyes, dark and unwavering, locked onto the target. You feel a strange pull, an ache you can’t quite place, as his gaze doesn’t waver for even a second. He releases the arrow, and it sails through the air, swift and sure, striking dead centre.
A chill prickles down your spine, and you realise you’ve been holding your breath. He glances over his shoulder, catching your stare, a flicker of satisfaction dancing in his expression. The smirk he gives you says he knows exactly the effect he has. How easily he can command your attention without even trying.
“Need me to show you again?” His voice is a low murmur, laced with teasing.
You clear your throat, trying to recover, but it’s impossible to hide the way your pulse thrums under his gaze. “Maybe… one more time,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.
Fili’s eyes flick between you and Kili, a spark of knowing amusement dancing in his expression. He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “Ah, Kili,” he drawls, loud enough for you both to hear. “Didn’t think you’d be going this hard to impress another so soon.”
Kili shoots his brother a warning look, face reddening as he straightens from his stance. “That’s not—” he begins, but Fili interrupts with a grin.
“Sure it isn’t,” Fili smirks, nudging him with a light jab. “But if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re pulling the same moves I saw the last time a certain red-haired elf was around.”
He raises his eyebrows at you, a sly grin pulling at his mouth. “If he starts serenading you next, that’s when you’ll know he’s really lost it.”
Fili leans back against the tree, still watching, clearly enjoying every second of his brother’s sudden discomfort. But beneath the teasing, there’s an edge of interest in how you respond, as if Fili’s testing to see how you’ll handle his brother’s attention.
Whew. Be cool. You’re cool. You’re so cool right now. Cooler than ice. Or cucumber. What’s the proverb again?
With a playful grin, you cross your arms and tilt your head, summoning an air of mock disinterest despite the undeniable draw of watching Kili’s effortless skill. “Not bad, Kili. But don’t think one bullseye makes you a master. I’d still bet on myself in an archery showdown,” you joke with a smirk, though your eyes can’t help but follow the confident way he stands, bow in hand, relaxed yet entirely focused.
Kili’s lips tug into a smile, his eyes twinkling with challenge. “Oh? Bold words. I might have to take you up on that,” he replies, his tone low, almost daring you.
Dear God, the things I’d let him do to me-
To deflect the rising tension and the gradual heat pooling in your stomach, you turn to Fili, raising an eyebrow. “So Fili, are all Dwarves secret archery pros, or is your brother just trying to show off?”
Fili laughs, clearly amused, glancing between you and Kili. “Well, I’d say he’s a special case,” he replies with a smirk. “But don’t let him fool you. One bullseye and he’ll be talking about it for days. It’s a good thing he’s better with a sword than a bow, or we’d never hear the end of it.”
You chuckle, letting out a relieved breath as the moment lightens. Taking a small step back, you gesture grandly toward the target. “Go ahead, master archer,” you comment mischievously. “I’ll step aside and let the experts show off.”
Kili raises an eyebrow, though the glint of interest in his gaze doesn’t waver. “Don’t go too far though, otherwise you won’t be able to observe properly.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at that.
As he prepares his next shot, you watch him, your half-smile hiding the thrill of excitement fluttering in your chest. This time, you allow yourself a brief moment to admire his concentration, the way his shoulders align, the look of easy confidence on his face. For just a heartbeat, you feel caught, as if he’s the only thing in sight. Then, snapping out of it, you mask your reaction with a smirk and say, “Guess I’ll have to keep at it if I want to give you real competition.”
Kili chuckles as he releases another arrow, and Fili, watching all this unfold, leans over with a sly grin. “I’d say you’re making good progress already.”
After more bickering with the brothers and enduring Fili’s relentless practice drills, it’s finally time for dinner. You wash up quickly, feeling worn yet satisfied, and make your way down the dimly lit hallway toward the dining hall. But as your footsteps echo, an unsettling sensation prickles up your spine.
It’s quiet. Too quiet. The usual hum of activity from servants bustling around is absent, likely because they’re all busy preparing the feast. Yet, you can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching you from a distance.
You quicken your pace, trying to dismiss the unease gnawing at you, when a shadow flickers at the edge of your vision. You halt, instinctively tensing, and turn — only to find Alfrid standing a few feet away, watching you with what you can only describe as an oily smile. You didn’t hear him approach. In fact, it’s as if he’s materialised out of thin air.
“Lost, are we?” he murmurs, stepping closer than necessary. His gaze slithers over you, assessing, as he continues with a tone that’s meant to be friendly but lands far from it. “You know, it’s not safe out there. Dwarves and dragons, battles brewing... A clever young woman like yourself would be wise to stay here, where it’s safe.” He pauses, and his lips curl in a thin, mocking smile. “Let the others go off on their reckless journey. Surely they don’t expect you to join them. After all…” His voice drops, the words oozing with false sympathy, “…not everyone is likely to come back.”
The insinuation makes your skin crawl. You feel your hands clenching into fists, the urge to punch the smirk right off his face growing with each second he lingers too close. Just as you draw back your good leg to kick him in the balls, you hear a familiar voice behind you.
“Ah, there you are!” Bilbo strides into view, looking pointedly at Alfrid with a furrowed brow. “I believe we’re needed in the dining hall,” he says, his tone leaving little room for argument. Alfrid’s gaze lingers on you for a beat too long before he steps back with a sneer, muttering something under his breath as he disappears down the hallway.
You release the breath you didn’t realise you were holding, sending Bilbo a grateful look. He raises his brows, concerned. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” you say, still watching the direction Alfrid went, your jaw tight. “But I think I’ve lost my appetite.”
— — — — — —
You like the company of the dwarves, you really do. But god were you grateful for when dinner ended and you could slip away back to your shared room. Bilbo and Balin are already knocked out once again from the drinking, and you find yourself drawn to the balcony once more upon washing up and changing into a nightgown.
As you step out onto the balcony, the cool evening breeze helps ease the tension that’s lingered since the hallway. The stars that shone so brightly just last night are slightly shrouded by the clouds. As you stare at the moon, lost in thought, a slight shuffle to your right draws your attention.
It’s only when you finally look over that you realise you’re not alone. Kili is there on his own balcony, looking as if he’s been waiting. He catches your eye, a smirk already forming. “Enjoying the view?” he calls over, leaning casually against the rail.
You roll your eyes, unable to suppress a grin. “More than I enjoyed archery today, that’s for sure.”
He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I told you it’d be rough on those muscles. Feel sore yet?”
You stretch your arms exaggeratedly and groan. “Is that why you’re here? To gloat?”
Kili tilts his head to the side, a spark of challenge in his eyes. "Oh, I’m here on a serious mission. After a harsh session, it’s best to look up at the night sky and view the stars as your target." He gestures upward, the night sky sprawling out with pinpricks of light, casting a gentle glow over the mountains.
“You see that cluster there?” he points to a group of stars, his tone shifting, more focused yet tinted with a warmth that makes you feel all fuzzy inside. “That’s Menelvagor, the swordsman,” he says, nodding toward a constellation with a proud gleam. “An old hero, they say, who watches over us. Protects us while we sleep.”
You follow his gaze and trace the stars he points out, surprised by the sudden calm in his voice. For all his teasing, there’s a reverence in the way he describes them, a side of him you hadn’t seen before.
“And that one over there…” He leans a bit closer, raising his arm to guide your eyes across the night sky. “Wilwarin, the butterfly. Not exactly the fiercest thing up there,” he adds with a laugh, “but maybe even fierce warriors need a bit of beauty to keep them grounded.”
You glance back at him, catching the gentleness in his expression as he continues. “You know, it’s strange, but out on the road, they keep us company. Like old friends.”
A grin tugs at your lips. “Are you trying to distract me from my sore muscles, or is this just your way of showing off?”
He laughs, looking almost sheepish. “Maybe both.” He quirks a brow. “Come on, I’m sharing sacred family knowledge here. Do you know how many apprentices I've made stargaze with me?”
“Oh? How many?”
“None.” He grins, and something shifts in the silence that follows. The stars seem brighter, closer somehow, with Kili’s warmth beside you.
You fall into an easy rhythm, speaking in low voices, drifting from talk of the stars to lighter topics. He asks about your own stars back home, prompting you to share tales of constellations you remember. Except that you don’t recall much, only the Big Dipper and Orion, so the topic naturally shifts to cloud-watching.
You even told him about the time you saw a cloud that looked like the brainchild of a penguin shaped like a banana. He’d asked what a penguin was. You didn’t elaborate.
Eventually, he nudges your arm. “You know, you don’t have to keep coming to practice. Could always just enjoy the view from here.”
You raise an eyebrow, unable to suppress your smile. “Nice try, Kili. But I’m hitting a bullseye before we leave this place, whether you believe it or not.”
“Alright, alright.” He laughs, the sound soft in the night. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. Tomorrow’s practice is going to be twice as difficult.”
He lets the quiet return, and the two of you watch the stars in a peaceful silence, the air between you tinted with a newfound solace that wasn’t there before.
I have reached the 3k follower milestone already a while back but I didn't quite have the time to organise something for this - until now. It's time to celebrate. But before we get this party started, I just wanted to say thank you! To each and every one of you! Thanks for getting me this far. Thanks for reading my work. Thanks for supporting me! 🧡
Event Rules:
I'm going to reopen my requests.
Requests will be only accepted when they land in my inbox. I want to keep track of this.
You are allowed to request an 80s or 90s song. Every song that's not from those decades won't be accepted because that's not what this special is about. You get what I mean. :)
Please send requests only for the characters I listed. I want to give you the best experience and by requesting a character I didn't line up, I can't guarantee you this - which would be a shame for you and me.
No nonnies this time. Simply because I want to be able to reach out to you in case I have questions regarding the song or request. If you don't want your name to be published and stay anonymous, just let me know. That's completely alright. 🤗
I probably won't take more than twenty to thirty requests because I get overwhelmed quickly. I hope you can understand that.
Once I'm closing my requests again, they are closed. Every request sent in afterwards won't be written. I'm sorry. Just protecting my mental health. Like I already said. I get overwhelmed quickly. 🧡
I'll start writing the drabbles once requests are closed again. Collecting first, then writing.
Please be patient with me. I'm trying to get to your request as fast as I can but sometimes writing just takes time. Or life gets inbetween.
How to request:
Send me the song and artist into my inbox and pair it with a character of your choice.
You can also add a genre. (Fluff, Smut, Angst)
Example: 'That's All by Genesis for Daryl Dixon. (Angst)'
Have some patience, a cookie and a cup of tea or coffee and let me try my best to turn this into a drabble. ☕️
Characters I'm going to write for:
Daryl Dixon - The Walking Dead
Sam Porter Bridges - Death Stranding
Joshua 'Scud' Frohmeyer - Blade 2 (I never wrote for him but I'd be willing to try.)
Diego Sheen - Sky (I never wrote for him either, but same with Scud, I'd be willing to try.)
Daniel Pine - From the World of John Wick: Ballerina
Jonathan Pine - The Night Manager
Loki Laufeyson - MCU
James Conrad - Kong: Skull Island
If you have any questions regarding this event, please feel free to text me anytime! 🧡
...and now... HIT ME UP, GUYS! I am so excited for this! 🥳
Can you do a one shot fic with Aragorn and young reader where he's like a father or an older brother figure to her? Thanks
Sure! I love this walking green flag man and I just KNOW he’s the best dad/older brother figure out there 🥺💕 time for a little bit of platonic fluff~
The Highest Praise- Aragorn x F!Teen!Reader (Platonic)
You'd seen the man about: tall, dark, and bearing elven symbols the likes of which you had only seen illuminated onto manuscripts. A leaf of Lórien, not to mention the ring you'd seen glistening upon his finger— was that a serpent?
They'd whispered of him, even older boys. Young men, really: the few remaining riders, stablehands, the teenaged ones closer in years to you. Some said he used elvish magic to calm horses, that he could have taken on a legion of orcs himself before his fall on the way to Helm's Deep, that he challenged king Théoden himself. The latter statement you took with the proverbial grain of salt considering he remained in Théoden's counsel upon his return, not to mention the profound change the wizard had brought about in the man. He whom you'd been taught to respect as your leader, to believe was once a great man.
You had begun to believe in great men again.
Why, though, were you to fade into darkness at the backs of these men? Tumble into obscurity when such a fate of renown was yanked from you. Oh, to be a great woman like those of old, like your favorite tales of Haleth, head of the Haladin and great shieldmaiden. No, swordsman. A daughter of men just like yourself.
Your weeks of running bread to the smithy had yielded two unexpected boons: friendship with the blacksmith's daughter and access to the man's supplies. He unlike the many floating, nagging heads of older and lesser men saw you as fit enough to learn the craft, an apprenticeship he'd already leant his daughter. No son, but he well made do— his words, not yours. You wanted a sword like Aragorn's, simple but long, colored at the handle, although if you'd had your way it would be purple.
Purple it was not, but it was a sword. Aragorn's was simple, and yours at least bore a small engraving at the hilt. No engraving could save you from what was to come, though, perhaps not even the blessings of the elves. No matter the appearance of your sword, would your hand be true?
~
Helms swallowed the petite heads of boys several years your junior, casting golden curls in shadow. Gold and silver alike were consumed in darkness, faces far from ready for battle. Where, then, was yours? Only time would tell, you reflected as you snuck deeper into the armory. Long or short, your hair would not matter. Your face, your voice, now those may pose the greatest—
"Looking for something?"
A jolt shot up the length of your spine, stiffening it despite the calm of the voice addressing you. The words were low, a buzz reverberating to your heart with a strange mixture of foreboding and reassurance. You felt no threat, though, only a tinge of mourning, a faraway shadow other even to that of the enemy who loomed over you all.
The eyes you met told the same story, deep and blue that sat in torchlight like fallen stars, forever separated from their homes. Everyone they loved. At the man’s throat lie the glistening green leaf of Lórien that marked him as traveler and elf-friend. Some had said the man not fair, but that haunted strength was far more appealing than the beautiful falsehoods many peddled those days. A truth you knew you had to reciprocate.
“A helm, my lord,” you sighed.
“Indeed?” Dark brows raised, prompting you to continue though one more word escaped him. “For…?”
“Myself.” Aragorn, the calm storm of rumor, fell from your sight as your head hung, shame at your carelessness tugging the weight of your gaze from your sockets— each eye as cast in lead, a burden of expectation of the words to come.
“Do you have a sword?”
Not what you expected. Every phrase your mind had uttered had been quite the opposite, in fact, but then that made sense. Here was something—someone—real. All you could do was nod and let the man continue, hands hovering at your sides so as not to give away its location. Just in case.
“Let me see it.”
A command and yet so mild. You remained frozen, though.
“The Riders examine theirs before battle,” Aragorn added.
Reaching a hand up, you nodded again and grasped between your shoulder blades. The sheath you wore was perhaps less than practical, but stealthy it was. A guard searching beneath your clothing was grounds for retaliation, especially at your age, if they even thought of it at all. Your simply carven sword emerged hilt-first, four shining feet produced from the back of your dress and placed in the hand of the ranger.
“This is a good sword. Forged in Edoras, no doubt.”
“Yes, my lord. When I first saw your hunting party I wanted one like yours.”
“Like mine…” Genuine shock widened Aragorn’s stormy eyes, but a little smile crept slowly onto his lips as he shook his head, half in awe and half in denial. “But as a shieldmaiden of Rohan, this blade is far more fitting. It has traveled from Edoras to Helm’s Deep and I suspect it rides to the feet of Gondor next.”
Heat crept to your cheeks at your exposure, but Aragorn made no moves to withhold the sword; standing straight, he ran one last finger over the delicately engraved Simbelmynë before giving your weapon a swing so swift and sharp you heard the air cut at its sides. Wordlessly he handed it to you, unsheathing his own blade and before you could fully realize what had happened you were parrying it, planting your feet firmly upon fortress stone. Another smile spread across Aragorn’s face.
“Good, good. The staunchness of your heart will carry you even beyond the lengths this blade will take you. It reminds me of a friend. In fact you are so similar in manner I would have cause to suspect you’ve met.”
He had just called you staunch. “Is that a compliment?”
His smile did not waver for once. “My friend, it is the highest praise. What was your name?”
You told him. He repeated it. “Your courage gives me hope, and surely your people."
Once again, your gaze dropped from his, slinking sheepishly down to the sole of your brown laced boot. "I am still afraid," you admitted, flashes of leaping wargs overtaking your men from the hills, respected warriors tossed like dolls from great jaws and speared by orcs crossing the walls of your mind.
"Not a man among us will not be," the ranger assured you, "Ride with us, and by our lives we will keep you safe."
Fear was not what loosened the dams. Foreboding had made its home in all hearts like a dragon jealously curled upon its hoard, but the confidence in your elder's eyes broke you. Tears welled up behind your gaze and sent you lurching forward, throwing your arms around him. He hadn't gathered his mail yet, so there was a certain give, a flow of fabric before his arms gently encircled your shoulders. This man believed in you, and you him. Not the myth, but the ranger.
Little did you know at that embrace, at that respective break in dams and mourning, you had met more than a tale that day. He who commanded undead armies. Wielder of the Flame of the West and king of Middle Earth. More than your king, though, Aragorn was the man you saved from a sneak beheading. The one you and Gimli played a trick on at camp. The man who in your father's memory would give you away on your wedding day with an affectionate squeeze to your arm before taking his place before you, binding you deeper to families found.
rules: copy/paste the last line you wrote, and then tag some other people who you're excited to see what they're working on to keep the game going!
My last line is from the yet unnamed hybrids fic designed as "pound puppies" in my folder lol
Yet no matter how many pots she shaped or glazes she mixed, the fifth hybrid -the one with the black tail, the missing limb, and that sharp, cynical gaze- kept intruding on her thoughts.
NPT: @sashaisready @its-in-the-woods @societyfolklore @knowledgeableknitter @navybrat817 @x-press-it and anyone who wants to participate!
"Steve nosed into your hair, damp with heat and sleep, breathing in deeply. You smelled like home. Like sunshine and honey and salt. Like everything he’d missed. Everything he’d come back for."
This is the last line of a request someone sent that i've been working on for probably to long- and when i say working on it, i mean mostly in my head LOL
Was this all a game to him?? Playing with your emotions and making you wait for not even a morsel of a hint?? How could he do this! Perhaps all this time it was all a trick, perhaps using you for fun times while he was stuck here on Midgard until he got his ticket out.. God of lies after all..
summary: you've always liked being independent and theo adores that about you, but when you're too stubborn to even take a sick day he knows he has to intervene.
warnings: theo gets angry and punches someone and you are very very ill
a/n: she's back!!! lol guys low key been more than a year hello?? anyways just easing myself back into it. i might disappear again but i'm gonna feed you guys nonetheless
Sunlight filtered through the cracks in the curtains, casting faint golden lines the edges of the duvet. The warmth in the dormitory was soft, still and quiet for once. You stirred beneath the covers, your cheek pressed against a bare shoulder that radiated the kind of heat only another person could provide. Arms were loosely draped around you, one hand curled protectively over your hip the other resting warm and steady near your ribs. A steady heartbeat pulsed beneath your ear.
Theo.
His messy curls fanned out on the pillow beside you and a small smile crept its way onto your lips. With a careful hand, you reached out and brushed the strands away from his eyes. His lashes fluttered briefly but he didn’t wake, not until you moved again, shifting your weight as your nose brushed his collarbone.
He inhaled sharply, arms tightening automatically around you and a low, sleepy rumble vibrated in his chest. “G’morning, mia cara…” He murmured, his voice gravelly and unguarded. “How long’ve you been awake?”
“Not long, was just resting before all the noise.”
Theo chuckled against your hair, and the soft sound made your chest ache. “Yeah, well… it’s Quidditch day. Can’t have our star chaser sleeping through practice, can we?”
You groaned, nose wrinkling. “You mean hell hour.”
Ever since Slytherin’s near-miss in the last match, Flint had doubled training. The pitch had become your prison. Early mornings. Late nights. Endless drills. Your body wasn’t built for this constant strain. Especially not on top of essays and exams. It was only a matter of time before something gave way.
And Theo knew it.
He had seen the subtle decline - the way you started slumping in your seat during meals, the trembling of your fingers when you held your fork, the way your eyes glazed over in class. He noticed how you stopped finishing meals, how your laugh got quieter, how the dark circles under your eyes deepened like bruises. Yet, you claimed you were fine. He had pestered and pestered you, begging you to take a break but you refused.
“Y/n, you know you can miss a session. It isn’t the end of the world, I’ll just tell Flint you’re not feeling well.”
“No.” You pushed yourself out of bed despite the familiar pounding feeling at the back of your head. “I’m okay Theo.”
You scramble around the dorm, fishing your stuff from the floor and pulling the familiar kit over your body as you ignore the growing ache of your muscles. You knew Theo only cared for your wellbeing but you were determined to handle it by yourself. It would all be worth it in the end and by then you would be able to have hours of sleep and rest while cuddled with your boyfriend. You just had to make it through a few hours and then the rest of the weekend would be yours.
Theo watched you from his bed, your slow movements were a tell-tale sign that you were exhausted despite your claims. He knew you were stubborn, knew you would refuse help but he also knew that if he pushed it you would get angry and lash out. So he opted to stay quiet, letting you be while silently caring for you from the shadows. You didn’t notice when he would refill your cup of water at the dining table to urge you to drink more or when he would organise your notes so you didn’t waste time fretting over where they were. Theo knew you well enough to know that you didn’t like asking for help, afterall you liked being independent and it was one of the great qualities of why he loved you. But it didn’t stop him from worrying.
He sighed, grabbing a shirt to pull over his head before pushing himself out of bed. “Promise me if things get too tiring you’ll sit out?” His scent engulfed your senses as he wrapped his arms around you.
You grasp at the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer so you could feel the familiar warmth he exuded. “I promise.”
“I’m not joking bella. Any pain you feel and you're off to the side.”
You look up at your boyfriend and you spot the way his eyebrows are knotted together, frown evident on his lips. You smile as you lean up to give him a quick kiss. “I know Theo, don’t worry, I’m okay.”
He didn’t believe you. Not really. But he kissed your forehead anyway, like a silent hope, and let you go.
//
The chill wasn’t refreshing anymore. It was slicing. Your muscles felt pulled too tight, like coiled wire under your skin. Your joints ached with a slow, grinding heat, as if they were being twisted out of alignment one degree at a time. Your temples throbbed in sync with your pulse - a hot, stabbing rhythm that made you flinch with every shout or whistle that cut across the field.
You clenched your broomstick tighter, trying to ignore the pressure already gathering behind your eyes. A thin film of sweat had already broken out across your forehead, sticking strands of your hair to your skin. Your balance felt wrong and you felt the broom vibrate from underneath you in a way that made your body want to lurch. The light hurt too. The sky started to brighten even more and each sliver of sunlight felt like needles in your eyes. The migraine pressed harder against your skull, squeezing your vision into a narrow tunnel edged with static and flickers of white. It wasn’t just a headache anymore.
Still, you flew.
Still, you smiled.
Still, you caught and passed and dove - until your hands were shaking so badly you missed a pass you’d normally catch in your sleep. The quaffle grazed your fingers and dropped to the ground.
Theo was at your side in an instant.
“Y/n.” He said, worry etched deep in every syllable. “Principessa. Are you okay? You promised me.”
You smiled at him through gritted teeth. “I’m fine. Just a bit off today.”
“Focus Y/n.” Flint’s blunt remark cut through the air and you nodded weakly before flying away. Your throat felt raw, as if no words were able to come out.
The quaffle spun at you and you reached your hands out ready to catch but it grazed past, lightly skimming your fingertips. Your face flushed and you weren’t sure whether it was because you missed the easiest pass or because of the growing heat that gnawed at you relentlessly.
Your boyfriend eyed you as you flew away, already readying yourself for another pass. He knew something was up and he had spent most of practice trying to focus but you would draw his attention. Even though you insisted that you were okay, Theo wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t going to let you suffer for any longer. He blew out a breath as he made his way towards Marcus, ready to tell him that the both of you were heading back inside to get some rest.
Then he heard it. A thud then shouts of your name and it took milliseconds for Theo to whip around and spot your body on the grass. Theo’s heart pounded against his ribs as he sprinted across the pitch, the cold air slicing at his skin as he dropped to his knees beside you.
You were crumpled on the ground, your broom lying just a few feet away, your body curled like you were trying to make yourself smaller against the pain. Your skin was pale, but slick with sweat - burning hot under his touch.
“Y/n.” He breathed, cupping your cheek. “Y/n, look at me, hey, stay with me.”
Your eyes fluttered open weakly but didn’t quite focus and the heat pouring off your skin made his stomach twist. He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead.
Boiling.
“Shit.” He whispered, brushing hair back from your clammy face. “You’ve got a fever. Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”
You barely managed to murmur his name before your eyes rolled back again, your body sagging against the grass like a puppet with cut strings.
“Theo!” Marcus Flint stormed toward them. “What the hell’s going on? Get her up. Practice isn’t over, she’s just winded.”
Theo’s head snapped up. “She’s not winded. She’s sick, Flint. She’s running a damn fever!”
Flint scoffed. “She probably skipped breakfast. Get her some water and let her sit out for a bit. She can finish the last drills after.”
Theo stood slowly, something cold and sharp coiling in his chest.
“You’re not serious.”
“She’s on the team like everyone else and we’ve got to win the cup. No excuses.” Flint said, already turning away. “She’ll be fine.”
Something snapped.
Theo’s fist met Flint’s jaw with a sickening crack, the sound echoing across the pitch. The Slytherin captain staggered back, stunned, blood already trickling from the corner of his lip.
“She is done for today.” Theo growled, eyes blazing. “You should’ve called this practice off the moment she started shaking midair.”
Everyone froze. Players hovered midair, jaws slack as they watched the scene unfold.
Theo didn’t wait for a response. He dropped back to the ground, carefully slipping one arm under your knees, the other around your shoulders. You didn’t stir. Your breathing was shallow, your forehead still blazing against his neck as he lifted you gently into his arms. He carried you across the grounds without hesitation, the cold wind biting at his face but never once breaking his pace. His jaw was set, eyes hard. The castle never felt so far away.
By the time he reached the Slytherin dorms, he was nearly breathless from the weight of you, but he never let it show. He pushed his way into his room and laid you carefully on his bed. You were shivering now, yet still burning beneath his touch.
“Theo…” You rasped, barely audible.
“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you now, alright?” He whispered, already grabbing a cool cloth and pressing it to your forehead. “You’re burning up, mia cara. You should’ve told me.”
You let out a weak sound, a weird mixture between a laugh and a cough. “Didn’t want to miss practice…”
Theo shook his head, eyes softening despite the anger still simmering inside him. “You almost passed out in the air. No practice is worth that.”
He sat down beside you, one hand lacing through yours while the other gently wiped sweat from your brow. He summoned fresh blankets, a fever draught from his stash, water and a small charm to cool the room.
“You’re staying here.” He murmured as he brushed a kiss to your temple. “And I’m staying with you.”
And as your breathing evened just a little and as the sweat continued to bead on your skin, he never once looked away. Not even for a second.
Summary: Sometimes running away from a wedding leads you exactly where you're meant to be — preferably into the arms of a much better guy.
A/N: These fics just keep getting longer and longer. again lowkey kinda hate this and i feel like i made theo heavily ooc but it is what it is ig
Theo hated churches.
He wasn’t particularly religious—never cared much for the belief in some higher power watching over them all. After all, if someone like that did exist, his mother—a devout, gentle woman—wouldn’t have been ripped from the earth so soon. It should’ve been his father, not her. At least, that’s what he’d thought as a boy.
Still, despite his aversion to anything even remotely sacred, he found himself sitting alone in the pews of a quiet chapel. The sun streamed through stained glass, washing the room in warm, fractured color. He didn’t believe in prayer, but he came here anyway. This had been his mother’s favorite place before she died, and somehow, being here made him feel closer to her—like she might hear him, if only faintly.
“Mamma,” He murmured, voice low, “sometimes I truly wonder what my future was meant to look like.”
The war was over, but the silence it left behind was deafening. He spent a lot of time now, wondering about his place in the world. He and the rest of his mates—Berkshire, Riddle, Malfoy, and Zabini—had played a crucial role, working as double agents under Dumbledore’s orders. But because their involvement had remained classified, carefully buried under the Ministry’s politics, they were still seen as Slytherins first. As former sympathizers. As a threat. Pariahs.
It stung. He had done the right thing, when it mattered most. And yet, he wondered if this cold reception was all he’d ever receive.
A few years ago, he hadn't even expected to live this long. His younger self had been certain he’d never survive the war—that he’d be killed for his betrayal of Voldemort and reunited with his mother much sooner than expected. But he had survived. And now, once again, he was adrift.
That’s why he came back here—hoping for clarity, for a sign. But as always, the silence answered him back.
He sighed softly, rising to his feet and tucking his hands into his coat pockets, ready to leave. His shoes echoed against the marble floor as he turned toward the exit.
But before he could cross the threshold, the chapel doors burst open with a loud bang.
Theo blinked.
A vision in white stumbled inside.
Satin, lace, curls escaping from a veil. Breathless. Flushed. A wild gleam in her eye.
His heart paused mid-beat as he recognized the chaos incarnate now standing in the aisle, clutching the skirt of her wedding dress like she’d just escaped a dragon, veil askew, bouquet long gone, and cheeks flushed pink like she’d run from hell itself.
His mouth opened before he could stop it.
“(L/N)?” The name left his mouth before he could stop it, soft and shocked and just a little bit disbelieving.
You looked up, startled — like you hadn’t expected to see another soul inside — and your eyes widened in delight.
“Theodore Nott!” You beamed, chest still rising and falling in heavy breaths, curls frizzing at the edges, voice giddy and strange, “Fancy seeing you here! Gosh, I haven't seen you since Hogwarts! How are you? And the others—Riddle, Berkshire, and the lot? All good, I hope.”
Theo stared at you in complete bewilderment as you keeled over to catch your breath, tugging off your veil and fanning yourself with it like some kind of deranged society lady.
“Merlin’s sweaty balls,” You gasped, dramatic as ever, “It’s impossible to breathe in this damn corset.”
“They’re good,” Theo said slowly, brow furrowed, “I’m sorry, are you in a wedding dress?”
You nodded, breathless, laughing like the question itself was hilarious, “Unfortunately, yes. Bit of a pity I didn’t realize I didn’t want to marry the sorry bloke thirty minutes ago. Would’ve made my escape a lot easier if I wasn’t drowning in fifty pounds of satin.”
He blinked at you, still speechless, hands deep in his coat pockets.
“I mean—” You barreled on, eyes wide and shining, “there I was, standing at the altar, looking at my so-called fiancé, and it just hit me: I cannot wake up to his sorry mug for the rest of my life. To hell with my parents. And society. I don’t want to be a Bulstrode. That name sounds like the arse-end of a toad, don’t you think?”
You paused, eyes narrowing playfully, “(Y/N) (L/N) sounds so much nicer, doesn’t it?”
Theo arched an unimpressed brow, “You know you can get married without changing your last name, right?”
At that, you absolutely lost it—doubling over in wheezing laughter, slapping your knee like he’d just told the funniest joke in history.
“You always were such a crack-up, Theodore!” You gasped between giggles, “Where are my manners? What brings you here today? Certainly not for the wedding, I hope—because, well—” You gestured at yourself, still panting in the middle of the cathedral, “you can probably tell that’s not happening.”
Before Theodore could get a word in, the sound of heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway. Your eyes went comically wide as you pressed yourself flat against the stone wall, wedged just behind the chapel door as it swung open with a bang.
In marched your father—red-faced, sweaty, and breathing like a charging Hippogriff. His eyes locked onto Theodore like he was a bloodhound catching a scent.
“Have you seen a girl in a wedding dress?” He barked.
Theo quirked a brow, gaze sliding—slowly, deliberately—to the right, where you were doing your best impression of a human statue. From where he stood, he could see you mouthing frantic no’s, shaking your head so violently he was almost certain you’d give yourself whiplash. Your hands were flying in wild, desperate gestures, pleading silently.
He turned back to your father, the picture of calm.
“No, sir.”
Your father squinted, suspicious—but apparently not enough to question it. “Well, if you do,” He huffed, already half-turning, “you tell her to march her sorry behind back into that hall and marry the boy, or she’ll be sorry.”
The door slammed shut behind him.
You clutched your chest like you’d just survived a curse, eyes squeezed shut as you slid bonelessly to the floor in your crumpled wedding dress.
“That,” You breathed, “was nerve-wracking.”
You peeked up at him with a grateful look, “You’re a good liar, Nott. Thank you.”
Theo looked down at the breathless, sweaty heap you’d become, still sprawled on the stone floor like a very distressed meringue. With an amused smirk, he cleared his throat, “Well… good luck with everything, (L/N). Let me know if you actually go through with becoming a Bulstrode. I’ll send a wedding gift.”
You gaped up at him in horror as he began to sidestep the tangled mass of satin and lace that was your gown, clearly preparing to leave the chapel and abandon you to your doom. Without thinking, you grabbed his calf—your perfectly manicured nails digging into his trousers, the massive engagement ring catching the light like a cursed artifact.
“What?! You can’t go now! You have to get me out of here!”
Theo arched a skeptical brow, “And why, exactly, would I do that?”
You pointed at him in outrage, still clutching his leg like a deranged bride octopus, “You just lied to my father! That makes you an accomplice. A—A conspirator! You're already implicated!”
Theo looked thoroughly unimpressed, “I could just tell him you were hiding behind the door like a terrified possum.”
You gasped, “You wouldn’t.”
He tilted his head, “Try me.”
Panic glittered in your eyes before you straightened your spine and went full Slytherin, “Fine. You want to play that game? I’ll tell everyone you’re my secret paramour. That you seduced me, took my virtue in the belfry, and that’s why I fled the altar.”
Theo’s mouth dropped open, scandalized, “I beg your pardon?”
You clasped your hands together, expression softening into exaggerated, pleading sweetness, “Please, Theodore. I’m not asking for your soul. Just… apparate me out of here. One quick jump and I’ll be out of your life forever.”
He stared at you. Then sighed.
“Merlin help me,” He muttered, “You’re even more unhinged than I remember.”
“So that’s a yes?”
He offered you a hand, “Only if you swear not to mention the word ‘virtue’ ever again.”
You grinned, already taking his hand, “Deal, my paramour.”
He groaned. Loudly.
Theo stepped closer, one hand sliding around your waist, tugging you flush against him. You blinked up at him, stunned into silence by the proximity. Up close, you finally understood why half the girls in your year had harbored crushes on him. He had that kind of face—the infuriatingly beautiful kind that made your stomach swoop before your brain could catch up.
Then—with a sharp crack—the world twisted out from under your feet.
You landed hard against him, fingers fisting the lapels of his jacket like your life depended on it. Which, to be fair, it had.
Warm sunlight spilled over your face, the bustling sounds of the street around you cutting through the fading disorientation. You blinked. Then smiled.
You were free.
Theo watched you quietly as your eyes danced over every detail—the streetlamp, the baker’s cart, a child chasing a butterfly. Everything ordinary now seemed extraordinary through your gaze. You looked like someone seeing the world for the first time.
“Are you good, (L/N)?” He asked, low and cautious.
You didn’t take your eyes off the street. “A new world’s waiting for me,” You said softly, “It’s… terrifying.”
He didn’t say anything, but his grip around your waist didn’t loosen.
You stood there, trembling fingers still tangled in the fabric of his coat, heart pounding like it was trying to sprint back to the cathedral.
Theodore’s sharp gaze softened as he took in your messy lipstick, sweat-dampened curls, and the way you clung to him like the world had just tipped sideways. You looked like a woman on the edge of disaster—or greatness. Maybe both.
"Where were you planning to go?" He asked quietly.
You blinked up at him, dumbly, your glassy eyes beginning to sting as the reality of what you’d just done crashed over you like cold water.
Oh Merlin.
What had you done?
You didn’t have a house. You didn’t have a job. You didn’t have money of your own. Your entire life had been orchestrated by your father—who’d been all too eager to sell you off to your so-called fiancé—and you’d just thrown a wrench in his perfect little plan.
"I... I hadn’t thought that far." You admitted, voice barely a whisper as your bottom lip began to tremble.
Theo sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, “Bloody hell.”
You started to stammer, trying to save face, “Look—I’ll figure it out. I just needed to get away. You don’t have to—”
“Don’t be dense,” He muttered, “Come on.”
You furrowed your brows, confused, “Come on where?”
“My home,” He said bluntly, “You’re clearly overwhelmed, and you need to breathe somewhere that isn’t a chapel or the middle of a bloody street. You can crash in the guest room. I’ll pour a cup of tea. Or Firewhisky, if you’re feeling rebellious.”
You stared at him, stunned silent, “You’d really do that for me?”
In all honesty, Theodore had no idea why he was doing this for you.
Maybe it was the way your eyes looked—raw and frightened—that struck something in him. He remembered that look. Back when his mother died. Back when he was stuck between two worlds, pretending to be loyal to the Death Eaters while secretly fighting for the other side. When the war ended, and he had no bloody idea who he was without it.
He knew helplessness like an old friend. And though he’d never admit it aloud, he also knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight if he walked away now—knowing you were out there, wandering the streets in a bloody wedding dress or dragged back to marry someone you didn’t love.
“Yeah,” He said finally, “I would.”
You exhaled shakily, blinking back tears, “Okay.”
“Okay.” He echoed.
He held your arm carefully—like you were a glass about to crack—and apparated you both away.
By the time your feet touched down again, you were standing in a warmly lit corridor outside a tall, modern-looking door. Theodore slid a key out of his coat pocket and unlocked it with a click.
“My flat.” He said simply, stepping aside to let you in.
You blinked, glancing around as you followed him, “Wait. Don’t you have a whole family manor somewhere?”
He raised a brow as he tossed his coat onto a sleek brass hook, “Not fancy enough for you, darling? Would you rather go to the five-star resort your family booked for your honeymoon instead?”
You gaped, then closed your mouth, then opened it again—only to come up short, “Touché.”
He chuckled, pushing open the door, “I live in a flat because the manor’s too bloody big for just me. I might move back in when I’m older, but right now? No one needs twenty-three bedrooms unless they’re running a boarding school.”
You rolled your eyes, stepping inside after him, “Just say you’re rich and move on,” you muttered.
You were mid-sigh when your eyes took in the space—and almost instantly, the tension in your shoulders loosened. His flat wasn’t enormous, but it was stunning. Dark hardwood floors, rich emerald and charcoal accents, and floor-to-ceiling windows framed the London skyline like a painting. The air smelled faintly of pine, leather, and something warm—like spice and magic.
Books lined custom-built shelves along one wall, and a record player quietly spun something soft and jazzy in the corner. A massive velvet sofa sat in the center of the open-plan living area, flanked by brass sconces and a few well-kept plants.
Theo disappeared into a side room, leaving you standing awkwardly in your crumpled wedding dress in the middle of his living room. When he returned, he had a folded stack of clothes in his hands.
“I grabbed whatever looked closest to your size,” He said, handing them over with a half-shrug, “Might still be a bit big—but it’s cozy, at least.”
You unfolded the hoodie and held it up. It fell nearly to your knees.
“You’re joking.”
“Or you could stay in your wedding dress. Very sexy.”
You let out a laugh, “You got me again.”
You eyed the clothes, then glanced back up at him, “You sure none of your… lady friends left something behind? Something a bit more...appropriate?”
Theo smirked, unfazed, “I don’t keep a lost and found bin, sweetheart. But nice try.”
You grinned despite yourself, clutching the clothes to your chest.
“Go on,” He added, gesturing toward the hallway, “First door on the right—bathroom’s there. Take your time. Come out when you’re ready. I’ll sort dinner.”
“You cook?”
He looked at you, mock-offended, “I’m Italian.”
“That’s not a yes.”
Theo placed a hand over his heart, feigning injury, “Wow. So little faith.”
You laughed—a real one this time—as you padded off toward the bathroom, the ridiculous rustle of your wedding dress trailing behind you. Hoodie and sweats in hand, feet aching, heart still thudding from everything you’d run from.
But somehow, in the warmth of this space, with the sound of jazz humming in the background and Theo cooking up dinner—you started to feel something you hadn’t felt in a long time.
Safe.
Maybe, just maybe… you were going to be okay.
When you finally emerged from the bathroom, the last remnants of your old life had gone swirling down the drain—hairspray, waterproof mascara, and everything else that once held you together. You felt… lighter. Your skin was clean, your hair damp, and the oversized hoodie you wore—Theo’s—smelled faintly of cedar and citrus. It hung down to your thighs like a dress, and the joggers were barely hanging onto your waist.
The scent hit you first—garlic, tomatoes, fresh herbs—and your stomach let out a traitorous growl.
Theo looked up from the stove, giving you a once-over before turning back to stir the pot. “Look at you,” He said with a lopsided smirk, “Didn’t think my clothes would suit you that well.”
You gave him a smirk and did a twirl to show off the outfit—just in time for the joggers to fall right to your ankles. You both burst into laughter.
“The elastic’s useless and the drawstring’s just for decoration.” You said, tossing the offending trousers over the back of a chair.
“Wouldn’t be the first time I charmed the pants off a woman.” Theo replied smoothly.
You snorted, shaking your head.
He slid a bowl across the island toward you—tagliatelle with a thick, rich Bolognese sauce, steam curling up like it had its own mind.
You took one bite, and your eyes fluttered shut. “Oh my god,” You groaned, “This is… this is unreal.”
He gave a small shrug, “I told you.”
You were already shoveling in another forkful, “I haven’t eaten something that didn’t taste like sadness in months.”
Theo leaned against the counter, watching with amusement, “Easy, love. You keep going at that pace, you’ll make those giant joggers fit.”
You swallowed and let out a dramatic sigh, “Wedding diet. I’ve been living off steamed vegetables and heartbreak.”
He laughed, deep and full, “Well, lucky you. There’s more where that came from. And gelato in the freezer.”
Your head snapped up, “You’re kidding.”
“‘Chi mangia bene, vive bene,’” He said with a smirk, “‘Those who eat well, live well.’ My mamma drilled that into me.”
You blinked, then smiled, “Incredibly smart woman.”
For the first time in what felt like forever, your smile didn’t feel like something you had to fake or force. You sat there, in someone else’s hoodie, with sauce on your cheek and your hair still damp, in a flat that smelled like warmth and comfort and garlic.
Theo reached across the table, brushing his thumb gently against the corner of your mouth, “You’ve got a bit of sauce—right there.”
You blinked, startled by the tenderness of the gesture. His hand lingered a second longer than necessary before he pulled back.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go home?” He asked, quieter now.
You gave him a half-smile, soft but guarded, “Sick of me already?”
His lips quirked, but his eyes stayed serious, “I just mean… are you sure you won’t regret this? People get cold feet. Panic at the altar. Happens all the time, or so I hear. And the longer you stay here—the more real this gets—the harder it’ll be to undo without fallout.”
You sat still for a moment, then set your fork down, appetite forgotten.
“It wasn’t cold feet,” You said, voice low, “I never wanted to get married.”
Theo didn’t interrupt. He just waited.
“My father did. Desperately. He’s been obsessed with bloodlines and alliances since before I could walk. Marrying into the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Like that still means anything in this world.” You let out a bitter laugh, “Somehow that old bastard managed to squirm his way out of Azkaban after the war. And now he’s back to doing what he does best—peddling blood purity and ruining my life.”
Theo’s jaw tensed, but he said nothing.
“I spent months shoving my feelings down, just trying to be the daughter he wanted. The obedient one. Because what choice did I have?” Your fingers curled around the fabric of his hoodie, “But when I was standing there—at the altar, staring down a future I didn’t choose—I realized something. Maybe I didn’t have choices before. But I could make one now.”
Silence stretched between you for a beat.
Then, softly, Theo said, “That was brave.”
You let out a watery laugh, swiping your sleeve beneath your eyes, “Please. Not like you, playing double agent for Dumbledore. Now that was brave.”
He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “That was reckless.”
“It was noble. Valiant,” You said, voice steadier now, “Really, the kind of madness only a true Slytherin could be ambitious enough to pull off.”
Theo arched a brow, “Flattery? From you?”
You gave him a crooked grin, “Don’t get used to it. Mine was just… selfish. Desperate.”
He looked at you, the warmth in his gaze soft but unwavering, “It’s good to be selfish sometimes.”
You held his gaze, breath catching slightly when his eyes didn’t waver. There was something weighty in the silence—something soft and unspoken stretching between you, tugging gently at the space that separated your bodies.
Theo’s fingers drummed once against the tabletop, then stilled. Neither of you moved.
Your pulse thrummed in your ears. He looked at you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your face, and for a second, just one second, you let yourself wonder what it would feel like to close the distance.
Then you blinked, cleared your throat, and reached for his plate. “Well. Since you think it’s good to be selfish,” You said, trying to sound casual, “I’m gonna eat the rest of your pasta.”
Theo let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh—or a sigh. Maybe both, “Oi—at least leave room for dessert.”
***
Loud, boisterous laughter was the first thing that dragged Theo out of a half-dream. He groaned, arm flinging over his eyes as the unmistakable sound of his front door swinging open—without ceremony—hit him like a freight train.
“What the—who the hell is making all that noise?” He muttered, voice hoarse as he blinked toward the ceiling.
The culprits were, predictably, already raiding his kitchen like starved hyenas: Draco, Lorenzo, Mattheo, and Blaise, helping themselves to his fresh bread and the groceries he’d actually gone out and picked himself—because unlike those degenerates, he cared about food quality.
He should’ve never given them spare keys.
“For emergencies,” He’d said. “Only if it’s important,” He’d said.
Idiotic. Clearly, their definition of ‘emergency’ included hungover brunches and unsolicited early morning gossip.
“Morning, sunshine,” Draco drawled with an infuriating smirk, already sprawled across Theo’s sofa, eating the hand-picked strawberries Theo had searched three markets to find, “You’re just in time for the morning news”
Theo groaned louder and face-planted into the cushions, “Could you shut up? Some of us are trying to sleep in our own damn flat.”
“Oh, come on,” Blaise said, smirking as he rifled through Theo’s cabinets, “You must’ve heard by now. (L/N). You remember her—Pansy's roommate. She left Bulstrode at the altar. Just ran right out.”
Lorenzo let out a low whistle, “Left Bulstrode standing there like an absolute mug. At the altar, mate. In front of everyone. Just turned and walked straight out mid-vows. I mean—iconic.”
Mattheo, chewing thoughtfully on a stolen slice of sourdough, shrugged, “Serves him right. No way Bulstrode was ever gonna bag a babe like (L/N). He’s got the charm of a wet napkin.”
“And get this,” Blaise said, lowering his voice into a tone of mock-conspiracy, eyes glinting, “Rumor is—she had a lover on the side. Secret romance, hidden rendezvous, the whole nine yards. Some bloke she’s apparently been in love with for ages. No one knows who, though.”
Theo, face still hidden by the couch cushions, flinched.
Blaise squinted at him, “You look... twitchy. Something you wanna share with the group?”
Before Theo could invent an excuse, a sound cut through the room—soft footsteps padding across the floorboards.
The guest bedroom door creaked open.
You stepped out, bleary-eyed, rubbing your face with the sleeve of Theo’s oversized hoodie—his hoodie that hung off your frame like it had been stitched for you. Your hair was tousled from sleep, legs bare, the joggers you’d worn the night before still draped over a chair in the corner, clearly forgotten.
Theo’s eyes flicked up to you for a moment—heart skipping a beat at the sight of your flushed cheeks and mussed hair—but he quickly masked the softness with a cool, unreadable glance.
Every sound in the room died on cue.
You blinked at the kitchen full of frozen Slytherins and offered a sheepish smile, “Um… morning?”
The silence that followed was nothing short of reverent.
Mattheo dropped his toast. Lorenzo’s jaw unhinged. Draco choked on a strawberry. Blaise turned—slowly, dramatically—to Theo with the grin of a man who had just unearthed a scandal.
And then—chaos.
“No bloody way,” Blaise said, pointing an accusatory finger, “You?! You’re the lover?!”
“No, no,” Theo said immediately, sitting up straighter, “She’s not—I mean, it’s not— It’s not like that.”
You nodded, “It’s really not what it looks like.”
“She’s not—” Theo added, standing abruptly.
“We’re not—” You said at the same time.
“Dating.” You both finished in unison.
The pause that followed was only broken by Blaise’s slow, disbelieving laugh, “You two seriously rehearsed that or something?”
Mattheo’s gaze flicked from you, to the hoodie, to Theo’s bedhead and thoroughly disheveled state, “You sly, secretive little bastard.”
“You’re blushing,” Lorenzo cackled, pointing at Theo.
“I’m not blushing.”
“You’re so red your freckles are blending in.”
“You lot need to leave,” Theo growled, yanking the mug out of Draco’s hand.
“Oh, we’ll leave,” Mattheo said, standing with an exaggerated sigh, “Just as soon as we finish processing the greatest plot twist since Dumbledore kicked it.”
“I don’t know,” Lorenzo mused, “This might top it. Runaway bride finds solace in former classmate’s bed—”
“Spare room!” You and Theo barked at once.
“Oh right,” Blaise said, lazily gesturing to you, “Because that totally explains the no-pants situation.”
You threw up your hands, “He doesn’t have any trousers that fit me!”
Mattheo let out a low whistle, “Stars above, I wish I had popcorn.”
Theo’s jaw clenched, “She needed a place to stay. I offered. That’s it.”
“And I accepted. Platonically.” You stressed.
“And Theodore isn’t some adulterous whore,” You added with a sigh, “He’s just an unfortunate bloke with terrible timing who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
The way your voice softened at the end made something twist in Theo’s chest.
“Well, you did good,” Lorenzo said, grabbing another slice of bread, “Bulstrode’s an ugly git anyway.”
You shared a glance with Theo who gave you a soft, barely there smile that was meant to reassure you in a way that conveyed, 'See? What you did wasn't so bad.'
“So what’s the plan now?” Blaise asked, eyeing the two of you over his coffee, “You two just gonna keep playing house?”
“Oi, ease up,” Theo said, casting him a warning look, “Don’t overwhelm her.”
He glanced at you briefly, then added, “We talked last night.”
“Ooo, pillow talk.” Mattheo smirked—earning himself a slap to the back of the head.
Theo rolled his eyes, “We were talking, and I offered to let her stay here. As long as she needs.”
You caught Theo’s eye and saw a softness there that only came out when he looked at you. In that moment, the chaos of friends and gossip faded away, leaving just the quiet promise of safety and belonging between you two.
***
You sat cross-legged on the floor, the open suitcase in front of you spilling out clothes, books, and a few small trinkets you’d brought from your old life. The boxes stacked neatly nearby were still untouched—silent reminders that this was real, that you were here now.
Getting your things back from your home had been easier than expected. You’d slipped in while your father was at work, your heart racing as you moved quietly through the familiar halls. The moment your hand wrapped around your wand—left behind for safekeeping during the wedding—it felt like you could finally breathe again. You packed up your life swiftly, shrinking and sending each box to Theo’s flat before you could second-guess yourself.
“It feels weird seeing all my stuff here.” You murmured, running your fingers over your old Slytherin scarf. A soft smile tugged at your lips as memories from Hogsmeade weekends and late-night gossip sessions filled your head. Back in school, your dormmates used to call dibs on the boys in your year—Pansy obviously claimed Draco, Daphne was hell-bent on Mattheo (she had a thing for bad boys, she used to say). The others squabbled over Blaise and Lorenzo, leaving you with Theo by default. You’d taken it in stride, because Merlin forbid you end up with Crabbe or Goyle. If only sixth-year you knew you’d one day be living with Theo Nott after bolting from your own wedding.
“Like this is really happening.” You said softly.
Theo leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching you with a look you couldn’t quite place. You let your eyes rake over him—how he somehow made jeans and a simple black long-sleeved tee look sinfully good without even trying.
“Don’t you want to unpack?” He asked after a moment, voice casual, “Make it feel a bit more like yours?”
You shook your head, teeth tugging at your lower lip, “I don’t want to get too comfortable. I need to move out soon, find my own place. Can’t just settle in someone else’s flat.”
Your eyes drifted to the empty dresser and the bare walls, imagining them filled with your perfume bottles, your shoes lined up in the closet, your keepsakes resting in quiet corners of the room. It felt… indulgent. And dangerous.
Theo pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room with that quiet confidence that always made your stomach flip. He crouched beside you, fingers brushing yours as he gently pulled the scarf from your hands.
“Don’t be so pressured,” He said softly, “Take your time.”
Your breath caught at the tenderness in his voice, so at odds with the sarcasm he usually deflected with. His gaze held yours—warm, steady, unflinching.
“What kind of fake adulterous whore would I be,” he added, smirking just a little, “if I didn’t give you a comfortable place to stay while you figure things out?”
You let out a shaky laugh, swatting his arm as your cheeks flushed. The warmth in his eyes made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear. It felt... safe. For the first time in a long time.
He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering just a second too long. Your breath hitched. Your heart thudded. And before you could stop yourself, your gaze flicked to his mouth.
The moment hung there—suspended and fragile—until it broke like glass.
Theo cleared his throat and pulled back. You dropped your gaze and fanned your burning cheeks, pretending not to notice the way your entire body buzzed with unspoken tension.
He stood, casting a quick glance around the room before his eyes landed on a box labeled “Bathroom.” With a quiet smile, he bent to pick it up.
“I’ll go put this over there.” He said, voice gentler now even though you both were well aware he could've used his magic to charm the objects in its place.
You watched him go, heart fluttering wildly in your chest, feeling strangely steady for the first time in days.
Strangely at home.
***
Watching Theo get ready for work every morning had become your newest, most humbling routine. In the quiet hours before he left—hair perfectly styled, cufflinks glinting faintly in the sunlight—you were struck with the growing realization that your life was a blank page. And not in the hopeful, inspiring way. No, it felt like staring at an overdue assignment you had no idea how to finish.
When he was home, everything felt a little easier—light conversation over breakfast, quiet companionship in the evenings, his effortless presence filling the flat with a calm you hadn’t realized you craved. But once he was out the door, you were left with hours that stretched out like an endless, silent ache. And with that ache came the inevitable realization: you weren’t here to play house with Theodore Nott. You needed to get your life in order.
Which was why, this morning, you were dressed. Not just dressed—put together. A soft, Chanel-inspired ensemble hugged your form, elegant and mature, polished right down to the glossy sheen of your lips.
Across the table, Theo sat in his usual tailored suit and tie, sipping his coffee while reading the newspaper.
He was a dream roommate—unbothered, polite, attentive without being invasive. He cooked most mornings and evenings, and you handled lunch and dishes out of principle more than anything else. And yet, no matter how well you split the duties, you still felt like a freeloader in silk pajamas. He never asked you to contribute, never brought up rent or groceries or anything at all.
Which, ironically, only made the guilt settle heavier in your chest.
It was unbearable. So this newfound spark of motivation—this desire to prove you could stand on your own two feet again—burned fast and hot.
He was fixing his watch by the mirror beside the door, running gelled fingers through his hair, smoothing it back with that practiced grace. You stepped over, holding his coat in one hand and yours in the other, and offered it to him with a quiet, “Here.”
He murmured a small thanks as he slipped into it, but you didn’t step back.
Instead, you reached up to adjust his tie, fingers deft as you corrected the slight tilt in the knot. “I know you’re just going to mess it up the second you get to the office,” you said, smiling softly, “but it’s driving me crazy.”
You smoothed the tie down gently, fingertips brushing the lapels of his coat. When your eyes lifted, you caught him staring—not at your eyes, but your lips, still slick with gloss from your post-breakfast touch-up, and suddenly it felt like a mistake to stand this close, in this kind of silence, with him looking at you like that.
You met his gaze. Your heart stuttered.
Was he leaning in?
Or were you imagining it—some cruel trick your body played when it got too used to his scent, his proximity, the low hum of affection that vibrated just beneath the surface?
Before you could answer, he inhaled sharply and stepped back, the moment snapping like a taut string.
“Busy day today?” He asked, voice neutral, composed.
You cleared your throat, recovering quickly.
“Yeah,” You said, grabbing your purse and your coat, avoiding his eyes, “I’m visiting Slughorn at Hogwarts. I was always good at potions, and he used to favor me—mostly because I always showed up to those ridiculous Slug Club meetings.” You gave a faint chuckle.
“I heard he’s still teaching and struggling to keep up with his personal research. I was kind of his unofficial assistant in seventh year, so… I’m hoping he’ll consider taking me on. As an apprentice or something.”
You kept your tone light, casual, even though your pulse thudded in your throat. You avoided his eyes as you adjusted the strap of your purse.
Theo held the door open for you, and your heart flipped in your chest like it always did when he did things like that without thinking—like it was natural. Like you belonged here.
“Good luck, (Y/N).” He said simply, his voice low but earnest.
You turned your head slightly, offering him a small smile. The way he was looking at you made your steps falter for just a second.
“Thank you.” You said, voice barely above a whisper.
And then you walked on, heels clicking softly on the marble floor, heart fluttering like mad against your ribs.
***
You practically skipped down the stone steps of Hogwarts, the weight of your nervous anticipation completely lifted from your shoulders. The crisp air smelled of old parchment and damp moss, and for once, you didn’t mind. Your cheeks were flushed, your hands clutching the letter Slughorn had scrawled in excitement after your meeting: an official offer to join him as his private research assistant, with the intent of training you to become a certified Potions Master.
Your heart was hammering by the time you reached Theo’s flat, and you didn’t even knock—just flung the door open and stepped inside, calling his name like a storm announcing itself.
“Theo!”
He appeared from the hallway, towel slung over his shoulder, clearly mid-way through drying his hair, shirt sleeves rolled up, “What? Are you okay?”
You beamed so brightly you could’ve lit the whole room with just the force of it, “I got it—I got the position! I’m going to train with Slughorn! He’s taking me on!”
For a second, Theo just blinked at you, frozen in place. Then your words seemed to register fully and he opened his mouth to say something—but before he could, you launched yourself at him.
Your arms flung around his neck, and he caught you with a startled grunt, stumbling back half a step before wrapping his arms tightly around your waist, instinctively keeping you upright. You laughed, giddy and breathless against his shoulder, your legs kicking slightly off the ground.
“I knew you would.” He said against your temple, voice low and warm and slightly amused, though the hug he gave you was grounding, solid, and real.
You pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes bright, “I’m going to be a Potions Master.”
Theo’s hands stayed on your waist, his lips twitching into a rare, open smile, “You’re going to be brilliant.”
You didn’t know what possessed you then—maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the way he was still holding you like you were something precious—but you leaned in without thinking and pressed a kiss to his cheek, quick and full of warmth.
Theo blinked, stunned.
You blinked, too, realizing what you just did.
He slowly set you down on your feet, clearing his throat, but the faintest shade of pink had crept up his neck.
"Thank you, Theo." You whispered, looking up at him like he hung the moon in the sky, "For everything."
***
You were halfway through folding the laundry while Theo showered when the door flew open with no warning, the sharp click of heels on hardwood echoing like the cue for a dramatic entrance.
“Surprise, darling!” Pansy announced grandly, stepping into the apartment with a flourish, a pastry box in one hand and designer sunglasses in the other, “I brought macarons from that place you liked in Paris—Theo, you better be decent!”
She strutted into the living room expecting to find her best friend brooding over black coffee, muttering about case files or the Ministry’s latest idiocy.
Instead, she found you.
Her heel halted mid-click. Her eyes went wide, lips parting in stunned recognition.
“(Y/N)?”
You blinked, holding a half-folded jumper, “Hi—?”
The pastry box slipped from her fingers, forgotten as she gasped.
“(Y/N)!”
Before you could react, she barreled across the room, arms wide, heels thudding across the floor. She crashed into you with a hug that nearly knocked you into the couch, her perfume wrapping around you like a familiar blanket as she squeezed you breathless.
You laughed, arms wrapping around her just as tightly, “Oh God, I’m so sorry I didn’t make it to the wedding! I couldn’t get a Portkey in time—I felt awful. I’ve missed you so much!”
Pansy pulled back to get a proper look at you, holding you at arm’s length like she needed to confirm you were real, “Oh, how’s newlywed life treating you? How’s your husband—” she started brightly, then trailed off.
Her eyes scanned your outfit—comfy shorts and an old Quidditch tee—and then flicked to the half-folded laundry scattered across the coffee table.
And that was precisely the moment Theo stepped out of the bathroom.
Shirtless. Damp. Joggers slung low on his hips. A towel around his neck, his hair still dripping.
Pansy blinked. You blinked. Theo froze like a deer in headlights.
Her eyes snapped between you and Theo. Once. Twice.
Her jaw dropped.
“No. Bloody. Way.”
You swallowed hard, “I, uh... I ran from the altar. I’ve been living here for a month. Surprise?”
A beat of silence.
Then—
“You absolute plonkers!” Pansy shouted, whirling around like a furious peacock as the front door opened again and the rest of the boys filtered in—Draco, Blaise, Mattheo, Enzo—all pausing mid-step at the scene.
Theo grimaced.
Pansy turned on Draco with fury, “You ranted to me for an hour last night about Potter’s work ethic, but you didn’t think to mention that one of my closest friends from school ran out of her own wedding and moved in with Theo?”
Draco’s eyes widened, “I thought you knew!”
“You lot are unbelievable.” She huffed, throwing her hands up.
Draco looked caught somewhere between amusement and panic. Blaise choked on a laugh. Mattheo raised his hands in mock innocence.
Pansy, eyes glittering with mischief, turned back to you with an exasperated scoff, “We’re getting drinks tonight. You and I are going to unpack every bloody bit of this madness. And if there’s any scandal you’re hiding from me, I swear to Merlin—”
You gave her a sheepish smile, heart fluttering with the kind of warmth that only old friendships could bring.
“I wish. But I can’t tonight. I’m working with Slughorn now—officially—and I’ve got my first full day tomorrow. Still need to study up a bit. I really don’t want to get fired before I even make it to lunch.”
Pansy’s features softened instantly. She stepped forward, cupping your cheeks with warm hands and smoothing your hair in a way that made your eyes sting.
“Slughorn?” She breathed, proud and a little misty, “You’re working with Slughorn? That’s incredible. I’m so proud of you.”
Your throat tightened, “Thanks, Pansy. God, I missed you. Let’s do a proper catch-up this weekend, yeah? I don’t want to keep you from your homecoming party—you should go have fun.”
She nodded and pulled you into one last tight hug. “This weekend,” she warned playfully, “or I swear I’ll come kidnap you from this flat myself.”
You laughed, hugging her back, “Deal.”
Just then, Theo reappeared in the living room, now fully dressed and slipping his watch onto his wrist. He reached for his coat, but you were already there, stepping behind him to help him shrug it on.
“Don’t you have to be up early tomorrow?” You asked gently, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve.
From behind you, Blaise gave a low whistle.
“Ooooh, listen to that,” Mattheo drawled with a teasing grin, “Wifey’s making sure the hubby gets to bed on time.”
Theo rolled his eyes, already used to these jokes and glanced down at you, a quiet smile pulling at his lips, “It’s just one drink.”
You sighed, half amused, half resigned, “Okay. Just… don’t come home completely smashed.”
“No promises.” He said with a wink, and the door shut behind them seconds later.
***
The bar buzzed with the low hum of chatter, clinking glasses, and a jazz cover of a Weird Sisters song playing over the speakers. The group had claimed a corner booth, drinks in hand, laughter spilling over every few minutes.
Theo nursed a firewhisky, sitting back with his usual composed expression which caught the attention of Mattheo, “Oh, don’t drink that too fast, Teddy boy. You don’t want to go back absolutely hammered to the missus.”
“You lot are ridiculous,” Theo muttered, though a hint of fondness softened his tone.
“Oh, come off it,” Blaise grinned, swirling his drink, “You like it. You’re practically glowing these days. It’s very unnerving.”
“Very domestic of you, Theo,” Enzo added, smirking, “Sharing a flat, cooking her breakfast, letting her steal your clothes—”
“She doesn’t steal my clothes.”
Mattheo grinned, “Mate, I saw her wearing your Chudley Cannons jumper yesterday.”
Theo looked away, clearly caught.
Pansy took a slow sip of her cocktail, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Honestly, I’m shocked you let her stay with you. You’re usually so…” She waved a perfectly manicured hand, “emotionally unavailable. Allergic to company, really.”
Blaise leaned in, eyes gleaming, “I mean hardly a surprise considering how badly gone he was for her back in school.”
Pansy froze mid-sip.
“Wait—what? Who was gone for who?!” she gasped, nearly slamming her glass on the table, voice sharp with disbelief.
The boys blinked in surprise.
“You didn’t know?” Draco asked, brows raised.
“You’re kidding,” Blaise said, laughing, “You always shoved them into group projects and made them sit together during dinners — we thought you were matchmaking!”
“I was!” Pansy snapped, whipping around to glare at Draco, “Because I wanted to go with you, and the other cows in our dorm had already called dibs on Enzo, Mattheo, and Blaise. Theo was just—left!”
She turned back to the table, eyes wide with the horror of missed opportunity, “Don’t you think if I’d known he fancied her, I would’ve shoved them into a broom cupboard and locked the door?”
Mattheo cackled, “That’s so on-brand for you.”
Pansy groaned, dramatically dropping her head onto Draco’s shoulder, “You absolute wankers. If one of you had opened your mouth years ago, that wedding she had a month ago? Could’ve been yours, Theo.”
Theo sipped his firewhisky quietly, hidden behind the rim of his glass. Flashes of you in a wedding dress and veil flickered behind his eyes, a soft blush spreading across his neck. None of them missed it.
Blaise nudged Mattheo, “He’s thinking about it now.”
“Oh, he’s been thinking about it.”
Theo threw his head back, downing the rest of his firewhiskey in one go, “I need another drink.”
***
The door flew open with a crash, nearly coming off its hinges.
“We have arrived!” Lorenzo declared, clearly drunk, arms wide, as if expecting applause.
Theo stumbled in between Blaise and Mattheo, arms slung over their shoulders like a war hero being carried off the battlefield. His shirt was half-untucked, hair a mess, and his eyes—when he managed to open them—were glassy and unfocused.
You poked your head out from the kitchen, arms crossed, “What happened to ‘just one drink’?”
“He drank.” Blaise said simply.
“Like a fish.” Mattheo added.
“Like a moron.” Draco corrected as he strolled in behind them, tossing Theo’s coat over a chair, “He’s your problem now.”
Theo blinked at the sound of your voice and perked up immediately. “Tesoro!” He slurred, trying to walk toward you but very nearly face-planting into the floor. You caught him under the arm just in time.
“Hi, Theo,” You said softly, “Oh gosh you smell like bad decisions.”
“You need to eat,” You added, “Something starchy. Or you’re going to feel like roadkill tomorrow.”
“He never eats when he’s like this,” Blaise said from where he was sprawled over a kitchen chair, “We’ve tried. It’s hopeless.”
“Chi mangia bene, vive bene, remember?” You said softly, probably butchering his mother's saying as you guided Theo toward the table.
That stopped him. His gaze sharpened just enough to find your eyes.
He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours with a quiet breath, “E chi ha te… ha tutto.”
Your heart skipped even though you hadn't a clue what he just said.
Mattheo made an exaggerated gagging noise, “Okay, Casanova, wrap it up.”
Draco, grinning, gave you a mock bow, “He’s all yours. Good luck with drunk Shakespeare.”
As the door shut behind them, Theo was still leaning on you, breathing you in like he needed your scent to stay upright.
“You smell like a distillery.” You said, amused.
“You smell like home.” He mumbled.
Your cheeks warmed, and you pushed the plate gently into his lap, “Eat your toast, Romeo.”
***
The bar was warm and golden, tucked away on a cobbled side street with velvet booths and enchanted candles flickering lazily overhead. You and Pansy had claimed a prime table by the window, cocktails already half-finished and a bowl of enchanted peanuts floating between you, occasionally popping like popcorn.
“I swear,” Pansy said, leaning in conspiratorially, “if Draco mentions his new wand polish one more time, I will hex him bald.”
You snorted into your drink, eyes gleaming, “You wouldn’t. You like running your hands through his hair too much.”
She grinned, “Touché. But I’d still threaten it. Keeps him humble.”
It was the first proper girls’ night out you’d had in what felt like forever, and Pansy — ever the scene-stealing, chaos-bringing goddess she was — made it feel like the war, the heartbreak, and everything in between had never happened.
“So,” She drawled, resting her chin on her palm with a wicked glint in her eye, “Tell me everything. Are you dating? Shagging? Secretly married? Come on, give me the details.”
You laughed, swirling the pink liquid in your glass — some fruity, glittering cocktail you hadn’t tasted since your Hogwarts days. It cooled your fingers while your cheeks burned hotter by the second.
You rolled your eyes, trying to bite back your smile, “It’s not like that, Pans. We’re just good friends. Honestly, I don’t think I’d have made it this far without him.”
“Oh darling,” She said with mock pity, “it’s always ‘not like that’ until you’re wearing his jumpers and catching feelings.”
You opened your mouth to object—but the words caught in your throat. You had worn his jumper. You were catching feelings.
Pansy’s eyes widened. She gasped, clutching her chest with dramatic flair, “No. No way. You like him.”
“I didn’t say that." You muttered.
“You didn’t have to!” She squealed, grabbing your hands across the table, “Oh, you poor lovesick thing. I knew it. I knew it!”
You groaned, burying your face in your hands, “You are insufferable.”
“I’m right, though,” She sang smugly, taking another sip of her drink, “And I actually happen to know that our dear Teddy has been—”
“(Y/N).”
The voice cut through the air like a curse.
You froze.
Pansy’s glass paused halfway to her lips. Her smile vanished.
Your blood ran cold. You didn’t have to look to know who it was — that voice had once lived in your dreams. Now it only haunted your nightmares.
Slowly, you turned in your seat.
And saw your ex-fiancé standing at the edge of your table.
You stared up at him, heart thudding so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs. He looked mostly the same — slicked-back hair that tried too hard to look effortless, a coat more expensive than it was tasteful, and that same smirk he always wore like armor. His jaw was tighter now, clenched like he hadn’t unclenched it in months. His eyes were cold, sunken a little, and mean in a way they didn’t even bother to hide.
“I didn’t expect to find you here.” He said, voice low, razor-edged.
Pansy was on her feet before you could speak, stepping in front of you like a drawn wand. “And yet here you are,” She said, all sugar and venom, “Funny how you manage to show up where no one wants you.”
He didn’t even glance at her. His eyes stayed locked on you, “We need to talk.”
“No, we really don’t,” Pansy snapped, “Back off before I hex your bits so far inward you’ll need a St. Mungo’s specialist to find them.”
“Pansy,” you murmured, brushing your fingers against her sleeve. Your hand was shaking.
He took a step closer, “Just five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
You rose slowly, pushing your chair back, jaw tight, “Fine. Five minutes. Nothing more.”
“Absolutely not—” Pansy began, but you shook your head.
“I’m okay.”
You weren’t. Not even remotely. But you needed this to end. To really end.
The night air was sharp against your skin, the hum of the city muffled as you stepped into the alley behind the bar. You folded your arms, more out of defense than cold.
“So this is what it takes to find you now?” He said, voice curling with disdain, “Are you selling yourself like a whore on street corners now?”
You exhaled slowly, trying to keep your voice steady, “What do you want?”
He took a step forward, “I heard the rumors. People talk, you know. Especially when a bride vanishes in silk and ends up playing house with that filthy blood traitor Theodore Nott.”
Your lips parted in disbelief.
“I should’ve known,” he sneered, “You always acted so self-righteous. But look at you now — just another slag hopping into the next man’s bed. Must be nice not needing vows to spread your legs, yeah?”
The words hit like a slap, your stomach twisting with fury and disbelief.
“I’m done listening to this.”
You turned—and before you could even brace yourself, he yanked you sharply by the collar and slammed you hard against the brick wall. The air whooshed out of your lungs as your back hit the cold surface, the impact jarring your entire body.
His hands tightened suddenly around your throat, fingers digging into your skin in a cruel grip. You gasped for air, panic surging as darkness edged your vision.
“Don’t you dare think you can just walk away from me.” He hissed through clenched teeth, eyes wild and merciless.
You clawed at his hands, desperate to break free, but his strength was overwhelming, pressing down harder, choking the breath from you.
"Reducto!"
The spell hit him square in the chest, blasting him off you with bone-jarring force. He flew backward, crashing into the far wall of the alley with a sickening thud before collapsing in a heap, gasping and stunned.
Pansy didn’t hesitate.
She stormed toward him like a vengeful shadow, wand leveled between his eyes as he groaned and tried to sit up. Her voice was shaking—but only with rage.
“You filthy little coward,” she spat, every word laced with venom, “Touch her again, and I’ll break every bone in your body.”
He growled, trying to rise—Pansy kicked him flat in the chest, knocking him back to the ground with her heel, “Stay. Down.”
Your knees buckled, the sudden rush of oxygen burning your throat as you slid down the wall, coughing and trembling.
“Whoa—hey.” Pansy caught you, strong and certain, one arm steadying you as the other clutched her wand, “I’ve got you, love. You’re okay. We’re going home.”
And this time, you let her carry the weight.
***
The world spun sharply as Pansy apparated, the crack of displaced air still echoing in your ears. The warmth of her body vanished the moment your feet hit solid ground—wood floors, familiar scents. You were in Theo’s flat.
Laughter and chatter from the living room fell to a jarring halt.
Five pairs of eyes turned in unison: Theo, Draco, Blaise, Mattheo, and Enzo—all frozen mid-conversation, drinks in hand. The moment they saw you, everything dropped.
“(Y/N)?”
Your name left Theo like a punch to the gut.
You were trembling, arms wrapped tight around your middle as if they could hold your ribs together. Pansy still held onto you, as if she wasn’t entirely sure you wouldn’t collapse, and even she looked rattled under the scrutiny of the room.
“That fucker,” She said through gritted teeth, “Grabbed her outside the bar. Slammed her into a wall. Tried to—” her voice faltered, thick with fury, “She couldn’t breathe.”
Theo moved.
Fast.
He crossed the room in three strides, gently brushing Pansy aside like she was made of smoke. Then he was in front of you, hands hovering for a split second before he cupped your face, cradling you like you were something fragile and sacred.
His eyes roamed over your features—your split lip, your glassy eyes, the bruising fingerprints beginning to bloom like violets around your throat—and something in him shattered.
His jaw clenched, fury crashing through him like a tidal wave. He looked like he could tear the world apart.
“I’m fine.” You rasped, voice barely more than a whisper.
You tried to smile—a brittle, curling thing, “I know that probably doesn’t help my case, but… trust me, I’m fine.”
“Don’t do that,” Theo said softly, thumb brushing over your cheekbone, his voice hoarse and tight, “Don’t lie to me right now.”
Your breath hitched.
Draco hovered beside Pansy now, brushing her hair behind her ear as he muttered something only she could hear. She nodded once, giving her boyfriend a soft smile before turning her gaze back to you, eyes gleaming with steel.
Theo gently tugged you forward into his chest.
You didn’t resist.
You couldn’t.
Your limbs had surrendered somewhere between the alley and the flat, and he was warm, steady—home. Before you could stop it, a sob cracked loose from your chest, raw and shaking. Your hands fisted into his shirt like it was the only thing tethering you to earth.
He held you tighter.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice trembling beneath the quiet, “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
The flat was eerily quiet now. One by one, the boys filtered out, their faces grim with the weight of what had just happened.
Mattheo lingered just long enough to press a firm, reassuring hand to your shoulder. His voice was low, steady, almost a promise, “You’re safe now. We’ll take care of everything from here.”
Blaise didn’t say a word. Instead, he gave a slow, deliberate nod to Theo, then to you, his expression taut with barely restrained anger and resolve.
Enzo’s jaw clenched as he glanced at you one last time. “He’s a dead man,” he muttered under his breath before turning away and joining the others.
You barely noticed them leaving. Your world had shrunk to the steady rhythm of Theo’s heartbeat humming against your ear, the comforting warmth of his hand pressing into your back, and the ache lodged deep in your chest — a raw, stubborn pain that refused to fade.
“I want him arrested. Tonight.” Pansy’s voice cut through the silence like ice, cold and deadly calm but laced with a fury that made the room vibrate, “Draco, I’m serious. He attacked her in public. Slammed her against a wall. Choked her until she could barely breathe.”
Draco’s tone was clipped, measured, but the sharp edge of anger was unmistakable, “You have a name?”
“Graham Bulstrode.” Pansy replied without hesitation, her voice razor-sharp and unyielding.
Draco’s jaw tightened, “Consider it done, my love.”
Every word settled into your foggy mind — distant but painfully clear. The tremble in your hands hadn’t stopped, but Theo’s arms wrapped around you only tightened, as if willing to keep the danger at bay. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of your head, a quiet vow whispered without words.
When the door finally clicked shut behind the last of the others, the tension finally broke. The tears you had been holding back surged forward, hot and fierce, tumbling freely down your cheeks. You clung to him, the safety of his presence grounding you as the storm inside began to settle.
You buried your face in Theo’s chest, shoulders trembling as the sobs broke free, wracking your entire body with every breath. He held you through it, solid and steady, one hand gently combing through your hair like he could smooth away the terror still clinging to your skin.
“I’m so stupid,” You gasped, the words catching in your throat, “I’ve—I’ve thought about that moment for the past month. What I’d say. How I’d stand up for myself. I imagined throwing that stupid ring back in his smug face, saying something cutting, something final—but when it actually happened…”
Your voice cracked, guilt burning behind your ribs.
“I couldn’t even speak. I just froze. I have a wand but I couldn't cast a single spell. I let him say all that shit about me—about you—and I... I didn’t even defend you, Theo. I’m so sorry. I'm so useless.”
He didn’t answer right away.
He just held you tighter, like your apology hurt more than anything else that had happened. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet—gentle, but resolute.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
His words rumbled in his chest, warm against your cheek.
“I don’t give a damn about what you said or didn’t say to him. You don’t owe me a defense—not ever.”
You looked up at him, blinking through the tears. His eyes found yours, fierce and heartbreakingly soft, like you were something sacred—something he’d never let break.
“And you’re not stupid, (Y/N), or useless,” He said, voice thick with emotion, “You’re incredible. Brave. Stronger than you even realize. And I’m so fucking proud of you.”
His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead—gentle, grounding, safe.
“He’s not going to get away with this,” Theo whispered, “I promise you.”
You sighed, sinking deeper into him, like you could finally let go of everything you’d been holding in. His arms wrapped around you again, warm and sure.
“Come on,” he murmured, “Let’s treat that bruise. Get you something to eat.”
But you shook your head, face pressed tight against his chest.
“Don’t let me go.”
The silence that followed wasn’t heavy anymore—it was tender, healing. You curled into him like you could disappear there, into the rhythm of his breathing and the thrum of his heart.
“I’m never going to let you go.”
And you believed him.
His heartbeat echoed beneath your ear, strong and unwavering. With every beat, the weight in your chest began to lift—slowly, steadily.
Safe. Loved. Finally, home.
***
A couple weeks later it was raining softly outside, the kind of slow, constant drizzle that blurred the windows and made the world feel far away. You and Theo were curled up on the couch, legs tangled, a blanket lazily thrown across your laps. A half-empty mug sat abandoned on the coffee table beside a crumpled takeout bag. The telly hummed faintly in the background, long forgotten.
“So then she goes, ‘I forgot to run the control,’” You said, exasperated, “and I swear to Merlin, I have never seen Slughorn that mad in his life.”
Theo snorted, one arm draped across your shoulders, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger, “Serves her right for always nicking your freshly ground moonstone.”
“Right? And of course, the one day I’m not there to supervise her, she completely tanks it. It’s not like I was goofing off—I was at the Ministry signing off the paperwork for Bulstrode's trial.” You sighed, “Slughorn knew, so I didn’t get in trouble, but I still have to repeat all her damn trials for the next few weeks. As if I don’t already have enough on my plate.”
“What’s keeping you so busy, Bella?” Theo asked, smiling as he gently unraveled the curl and let it spring back into place, “Maybe I can help.”
“Well, I’ve been needing to check out some apartments. Can’t really leave that to you, now can I?” You yawned, “But if you want, we could go together?”
Theo stilled.
He pulled back just slightly, brows furrowed as he studied your face, “Apartment hunting?”
You blinked, “Yeah… I’ve been looking at places closer to work. Just something small. I mean, I don’t make much yet.”
There was a beat of silence, then, “Wait—(Y/N), are you planning to move out?”
You nodded slowly, suddenly self-conscious, “I mean—I’ve been here for a while now and I love it, obviously, but I didn’t want to overstay my welcome. I figured—”
“You think you’re overstaying?” His voice cut gently but sharply through your words.
You faltered, “Well, I just—”
“You’re not,” Theo said, a little breathless now, like the words had been sitting on the edge of his tongue for too long, “You’re not overstaying. I want you here.”
Your breath hitched.
“I want to come home to you. Every day. Not to an empty flat. Not to a world where you’re somewhere else.”
His hand found yours, threading your fingers together like a lifeline. His voice dropped lower, steadier.
“Stay. Please.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and sure, “I want to come home knowing the woman I love is safe. Here. With me.”
You stared at him, wide-eyed, the world narrowing to his hand in yours, the soft thunder of rain against the windows, the warmth of his words blooming in your chest like magic.
“What do you mean, the woman you love?”
Theo let out a quiet laugh, a little stunned you hadn’t realized it already. His smile turned lopsided, eyes shining.
“Are you daft, (Y/N)?” He said, voice thick, “I’m in love with you. I’ve been taken with you since we were kids, and I’m still—” He broke off for a breath, like the truth was catching up to him all at once. “Still completely gone for you.”
Your heart did something unsteady in your chest.
“Say it again.” You whispered.
He cupped your cheek with one hand, his eyes never leaving yours.
“I’m in love with you.”
Your heart stuttered. The words lingered in the air between you, delicate and heavy all at once—like the hush after a spell’s been cast.
You didn’t look away.
You couldn’t.
“I’ve loved you for a long time too, Theo,” You whispered, the confession trembling on your tongue, “I don’t even know when it started—when I began falling for you—but I did. And I fell hard. I mean, who wouldn’t?”
You smiled through the softness in your voice, “You’re the kindest, most patient man I’ve ever met… and I’m thanking my lucky stars that I met you on the day of my wedding.”
That pulled a laugh from him—warm, full, and brimming with disbelief. He tilted his head back slightly, grinning like you’d just handed him the entire sky.
You leaned in just a fraction, voice softer now, “I want to stay. Not just in the flat. In your life. With you.”
That did it.
Theo closed the distance, his hands cradling your face as his lips found yours in a kiss that felt like coming home. It was fierce and tender all at once—like a dam breaking, like every moment of yearning pouring out of him in one breathless, burning exhale.
You melted into him, arms winding around his neck, your body pressed close as the kiss deepened—hungry now, desperate. His fingers tangled in your hair, yours fisting in his shirt, both of you trying to memorize the moment, to feel every inch of it like it could make up for all the waiting.
Weeks—months—of unspoken words, of lingering touches and stolen glances, of intimate moments that always ended with breathless silences and aching restraint—crashed into a single breath.
Theo kissed you like you were his lifeline—like he’d been holding back a storm and had finally been given permission to let it break.
You gasped as his lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, your throat—reverent, hungry, like he was rediscovering you with every breath. “Tell me to stop,” He murmured, voice hoarse with restraint, “Say the word, and I will.”
But you didn’t. You couldn’t.
Instead, you tugged him closer, heart pounding under his palm as your fingers slid into his hair, voice trembling with a dangerous sort of affection, “If you stop, Theodore Nott, I’m sleeping at Pansy’s tonight.”
He let out a low, incredulous laugh—half-choked and fully wrecked—then kissed you again, deeper this time. Certain. Claiming. The rain tapped gently against the windows, forgotten behind the haze of fogged glass and the thrum of two hearts finally letting go.
And when he lifted you off the couch, carrying you down the hall with all the tenderness in the world and not an ounce of hesitation, the only thing either of you could think was:
About bloody time.
***
It was barely 9 a.m. when the front door to Theo’s flat creaked open—again, without so much as a knock.
Mattheo’s voice cut through the quiet, “I swear, if this idiot didn’t do the groceries and we hiked all the way here for his strawberries for nothing, I’m setting the place on fire.”
“I brought croissants.” Lorenzo offered brightly.
“You brought them from my kitchen,” Draco said flatly, “You literally stole them from my counter.”
Theo stumbled out of the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “Do none of you understand the concept of boundaries?”
He was mid-scowl when Blaise’s voice drifted in from the hallway, “Don't you imbeciles think it's too early to—”
And then they all fell silent.
You had just stepped out of the bedroom—the master bedroom this time, not the guest room—bleary-eyed and yawning, wearing nothing but Theo’s hoodie. Again. Hair a little messy, legs bare, looking entirely at home.
Draco blinked, “Déjà vu.”
Mattheo let out a dramatic sigh, “Alright, but like… why is it always the hoodie and no pants? Not that I’m complaining—it’s just, you know what, never mind.”
Blaise leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed, “So what’s the excuse this time? Sleepwalking? Laundry explosion? Sudden amnesia about how trousers work?”
You didn’t even flinch.
“We’re dating,” You said flatly, tugging the sleeve of Theo’s hoodie over your hand as you rubbed your eye, “And I’m not wearing pants because I had sex with your friend. Good morning.”
Silence.
Four pairs of stunned eyes stared at you.
Lorenzo made a choked noise, “I—okay.”
Mattheo sputtered, hands flailing, “You can’t just say that without warning!”
“You asked.” You replied dryly.
Draco took a long sip of coffee, muttering behind the rim of his mug, “I owe Pansy ten Galleons.”
***
Bonus:
Your heart pounded as you stared at the closed doors, the soft strains of the wedding march beginning to drift through the wood. Your palms were sweaty around the bouquet you carried, nerves and excitement swirling in your chest.
Then, the doors swung open, revealing you in a stunning white dress, your smile bright and genuine as you began your walk down the aisle. The hush of the ceremony wrapped around you like a warm embrace, the aisle stretching ahead lined with friends and family.
A memory flickered through your mind—just a couple of years ago, you had run away from a different wedding down the hall, only to find refuge in this very chapel. It was here that you met your to-be husband, the love of your life.
Your eyes locked onto the man standing across the room, looking impossibly handsome in his tailored suit. His gaze locked onto you immediately, and for a moment, all the noise and bustle melted away. It was just you and him.
Only a few feet separated you now, but something in your heart couldn’t wait. Before you realized what you were doing, you broke into a gentle run—this time towards the groom.
Theo’s face broke into a gentle smile—the kind reserved only for you—as he reached for you. Before you could even think twice, his arms closed around you, catching you effortlessly. Your feet lifted from the floor as he spun you gently, twirling you in a slow, perfect circle.
The world blurred—lights, faces, music—all faded into a whirl of warmth and happiness.
He pressed his forehead to yours, a slow smile curling on his lips as he whispered, "You just can't wait to marry me, can you?"
You laughed softly, breath warm against his skin, "I couldn’t run away—tried it before. Too much work."
His eyes sparkled with amusement and love as he pulled you closer, the world around you fading into nothing but this perfect, shared moment.
***
EXTRA BONUS BECAUSE I CAN HEHEHE:
Hogwarts, Year 6:
You glanced across the potions table, scanning the clutter of ingredients before turning slightly toward the Slytherin bench.
“Theodore?” You said cautiously, holding your crushed lacewing flies with gloved fingers, “Could I borrow the asphodel? Just for a sec.”
He looked up from his cauldron like you’d just asked for his wand. There was a pause. Not rude, not angry—just... blank. Then, wordlessly, he slid the jar toward you across the table. His fingers brushed yours for the briefest moment when you took it. Cold skin. A little spark. His hand recoiled like he’d been burned.
“Oh. Um. Thanks.” You murmured, blinking.
He just gave a short nod, already turning away, jaw tight as he went back to slicing his valerian root like it had offended him personally.
You blinked again, confused, then padded back over to your side of the room where Pansy was lounging against the workbench like it was a chaise lounge in the Slytherin common room.
She quirked an eyebrow, “What was that?”
You shrugged, a slight pout forming on your lips, “I don’t know. I guess he just really doesn’t like me.”
Pansy snorted, “Please. If Theo really didn’t like you, you’d know.”
Meanwhile, across the room, Theo was absolutely not concentrating on his potion anymore. He was staring blankly into the cauldron, stirring too fast, ears tinged pink.
Lmao imagine Thorins company finding out that reader can secretly understand, read and speak Khuzdul despite not being a dwarf
PLEASE this request is so old I am so sorry 😭 I do love this trope I dunno why my brain didn't brain on it for so long/it got crushed under a bunch of other requests 😔 hope it's ok I did female reader for this because I think it'd be funnier that way 😆
Warnings: mentions of blood, canon typical injury/violence, suggestive jokes
Thorin’s Company Finding Out You Know Khuzdul (F!Human!Reader)
Balin
Two of the elder dwarves sat side by side a ways off from the fire, two brothers deep in conversation. Balin leaned in a little closer toward Dwalin's low voice, firelight flickering off the latter's shaven skull as he uttered more Khuzdul. You shouldn't have, but a string of words you caught had you shifting closer under the guise of laying your stack of kindling. From behind their seated position, you gathered a full sentence from Balin. "I think Thorin is far too hard on the others. The wizard said there is no finer." "You just saw the lass and think there is no finer," Dwalin shot back. "Watch your tongue, you old..." Now there was a Khuzdul term your studies had not availed to you. "She may be a vision, but there's no need to speak of her so." Again, that perhaps you shouldn't rose to your mind, but you ignored the protests from the back of your brain and stood. "Worry not," you replied, habitually resorting to Khuzdul, "I find that very sweet." Bellows of laughter echoed from Dwalin, whose knuckle dusters echoed off his armored lap with a two-handed slap of amusement. "Forgive me, lass, really, I..." Balin returned to your common tongue, apologizing profusely yet stopping abruptly. "My, that's brilliant! This must be what Gandalf meant when he said you were a scholar. Any other surprises for us?" "If there were," you shot back with a teasing half-smile, "they would no longer be if I showed you, now would they?"
Dwalin
At first, Beorn had barely grudged your traveling party entry to his cottage. Now he had fetched basins and his strongest lye soap and even gave up some polish. For you, he had emphasized, but of course the moment the man turned his massive back on you you’d handed it off. Dwalin was sat at your side, removing his knuckle dusters to give them a scrub now that Grasper and Keeper were clean. It occurred to you then and only then you’d never seen his hands bare, caught sight of the ink across his knuckles, fingers, even the backs. The writing did not shock you, though: in fact, it brought you a little chuckle. “I like your battle cry,” you told him. Bewilderment crossed his surly features until you nodded down at his working hands. Dwalin’s frown at that was deep, though this time his eyes sparkled with no frustration. Recognition. “How do you know these runes, lassie? Didn’t take you for one of us.” “I would not claim to be,” you admitted, “I know your words only thanks to my grandmother. Her father was a trader in Dale.” “Ah.” A slow, gear-turning nod. “I- I am sorry.” “Apologize not. You were there,” you reminded him, laying your hand over his, “Nothing I could say makes a shred of difference. I can only hope to fight for you again and again. To the end.”
Thorin
The king’s glaring only earned him a similar look from you in response. What had you done? Nothing. Naught but walk amongst him and his kin, fight alongside them and even save them from those accused cliffs. And there Thorin was unable to see past your and Bilbo’s skin as he condescended to you both with remarks that you did not belong. The dripping rain, the weight of your journey and the faces in your mind’s eye for whom you fought, pulled you down deeper and deeper. “Come, now,” Balin attempted to reason with the petulant king and even his own brother in their native tongue, “This has been a trying evening.” “Have they not all been trying evenings?” Thorin shot back. “What would these two know of our lives, our years of struggle after everything was stolen for us? They should never have come. What reason have they to fight for us? Boredom?” Energy surged back into your sopping wet form, bounding you up onto your booted feet. “Your ignorance blinds you!” You shouted at him with just as much venom. “My mothers are dwarves! They were there, Thorin. They took me in from a village who had done the same for them after my parents were slaughtered by orcs. I was but a baby. They were little girls forced to watch their parents burn. You think I heard no tales? You think this means nothing to me but a game? I would follow anyone if it meant bringing my mothers home, you or any one of these fine dwarrow and if that means nothing to you, perhaps I should ask why you want to rule so badly. Boredom?” Thorin’s stare was icy as ever, though its poison dribbled away. He said nothing, only fixing you with piercing blue you refused to back down from. “I…my apologies,” he finally spoke, returning to the common tongue, “I never realized. Would have never guessed… That is a noble cause. I should not have doubted you.” He spoke no more, but as he strode to the other side of the cave, peeling off this thickest outer layer, he reached out a hand and clapped it to your shoulder, holding it just a moment. The weight of his touch bore a new contract, a sign of equality between you two.
Oin
Pain lanced your leg, traveling down as though it were in your very veins. Kili helped Gandalf lay you down on the bedroll Oin and Gloin unfolded, careful not to let the arrow embedded in your thigh so much as brush ground or cushion. A grunt escaped you as your back made contact and your legs were settled back down. Everyone winced. None of this was reassuring. Kili and Gandalf left you in the brothers’ care at that. “Is it bad?” You panted up to the healer, whose dark eyes widened at your words. “‘S not exactly good,” he ventured a joke, patting your shoulder gently, “But I’ve seen far worse. May I…?” His gaze and one hand hovered over your trousers. You nodded, and he worked with precision to remove them around the arrow. “We need to work fast to prevent an infection,” Oin commanded his brother, switching to Khuzdul, “Bloody thing went deep, the poor girl. Give her some clove oil and willow, she’ll need it.” “Infection?” You spluttered, coughing and wincing at the pain of your sudden motion and the dryness that struck your throat. Even wider brown eyes met you that time. “You weren’t supposed to understand that, lass! What’s the big idea?” “Tell that to my dwarf nanny if I live,” you fired back, “But now is not the time!” “Right you are, lassie,” Oin replied, nodding and accepting his brother’s offered remedies with a new respect in his eyes.
Gloin
“Come on, off with it. I promise I’ve done it a hundred times.” Gloin’s auburn brows furrowed, then his expression relaxed again. “I know you would probably rather your brother do this, but Thorin was hurt rather badly and I told him to attend to the king first.” Nodding slowly, Gloin peeled off his jacket and made to unlace his tunic. “I respect that, lassie. I’m just used to the way Oin does things. He told me you’ve a lot of new methods.” “New methods he signed off on, I will have you know! This is the best way to prevent infection,” you fired back, laying the dwarf on his chest and running a wet cloth over his bleeding wound, “Unless you’d rather keep your pride intact than your shoulder blade?” “Smart girl,” you heard Gloin mutter from his supine state. “I am,” you replied smugly, making your own linguistic switch and rubbing a healthy dose of your next solution over the wound, “aren’t I?” “Now wait just a damn minute!” Returning to your native tongue, Gloin started to flail as if to rise, but you clapped a firm hand over his back and took up your needle and thread. The wound was as numb as it would ever be. “Where in Mahal’s name did that come from?” “My lips, friend,” you teased, still smiling as you drew your thread in and out of the gash, closing the flesh, “but if you mean when did I learn Khuzdul, let me just say that your lovely brother is not the first dwarven healer I’ve worked with. Nor you my first client of the same people. How was that for a distraction, though? You’re all sewn up already.” Gloin readily took your hand when you offered it, eyes positively glittering up at you with new sight as he rose.
Bifur
“You might have some trouble with that one.” Bofur was helping you get to know everyone as you stopped for your first night of the journey, names and faces spinning in your head. You loved Gandalf dearly and his trust was a blessing, but what had he gotten you into? Naught but the opportunity of a lifetime, really, the chance to prove yourself in ways you never thought possible. At least you were fair with names. “Your cousin, no? Why? Should I be afraid?” Being a woman among men was never a light undertaking. Gandalf and Bilbo would never let harm come your way, but still. Principles went a long way, and you really were going a long way with this lot. “Not at all!” Bofure quickly assuaged your worries, waving gloved hands. “Ever since his injury, he’s just not quite right is all. Can’t remember half the words he once knew. May not be able to speak to you in this tongue.” “That is fine by me,” you replied, waving him off and turning to the cousin in question, “Tell me, how did you get such a battle scar if I may know?” Bifur’s eyes positively lit up and a smile like you’d never seen crossed his face. “Who are you that speaks like we?” “The wizard chose me for a reason,” you explained, “And I this quest. I may not look it too much, but I am half-dwarven myself. Never have I met so many of my kind as now.” Still grinning, Bifur patted the space at his side, urging you to scoot closer. “Let me tell you a story of a real warrior.” With a grin yourself at the way he preened, you urged him to share it all.
Bofur
“So he says ‘If you say that in front o’ my wife again, I’ll throw ye out!’ but what does that lummox do?” Bofur’s stories were the best: wild, hilarious, and full of songs, gestures, and voices his talents were beyond capable of bringing to life. “He keeps going! Took four men to hoist him up and toss him out the door!” Laughter exploded around the hatted dwarf, who grinned with gusto. Bofur’s energy, those twinkling hazel eyes, all of it was infectious. A great wonderful cake of joy you wanted a big slice of. Standing up at his side, you readied a story of your own. “And this was in Bree? How did I miss it? Well, though, all of that reminds me of a tavern I was at near the Blue Mountains. The man they had waiting the tables was quite the pig, and you would not believe what the dwarves along the bar were saying of him! All beneath his nose, of course.” You went on to quote a long string of various insults and accusations, doing your best through your long-unused Khuzdul to imitate the lilt of each voice. Wide eyes surrounded you, but no laughter ensued; your smile fell. “I… I’m sorry, I thought it was funny—” “Don’t worry about them, lass, they’re just too stunned to laugh!” Bofur broke the silence, slinging an arm around you to clap a hand to your opposite shoulder. “I’m laughing plenty, though! Where on earth did you get that, you wee wonder? I always knew you were one of us!”
Bombur
Mealtime had come and passed, your company’s lovely dear of a chef having retired upon cleaning duties’ delegation. His warmth had drawn you to take a seat at his side, filling out the rest of the log as he…took up a stick? Dragged it across the dirt? Ah, he was drawing. Or should you say writing to be more specific. Runes of varying familiarity to you emerged in recognition, including one…name of a flower? “Are you, writing about flowers?” “Aye,” Bombur agreed, momentarily lowering his hand to look at you, “It’s an old poem. My favorite, in fact, about the bitterroot blooms surviving through winter and rock.” “That is beautiful,” you gushed, scooting a tiny bit closer, “Will you read it to me?” Aye, of course I…” A pause as Bombur glanced down, lips slowly parting again. “Wait, how did you know all that?” “I am full of surprises,” you teased, elbowing him, “Now go on, I want to hear it!”
Dori
Silence wrapped around Dori's and your shoulders as you took in the warm flow of calming tea. The only sound to illuminate your fireside was the rustle of the night breeze between the lowest-hanging leaves at first, but a sigh broke through the veil of calm. The sound led your eyes to your neighbor, whose own lids fluttered shut with... exhaustion? "These travels, they are weighing upon you?" Nodding, Dori inhaled. "It's the young ones. Fighting over whose boots were whose, 'my feet are far bigger than yours', stealing things of each other's—animals, they are!" "And there you are taking care of them," you replied with a nod of understanding and another sip of chamomile. "Exactly," he breathed. "No one takes care of you. Well, I intend to change that. Come." Blue eyes widening at your beckon gesture, Dori froze for three heartbeats, then shuffled over until his warmth brushed your hip. "Let me sing you an old lullaby I learned." Slow, melodic Khuzdul filled your little silent night, Dori leaning back to peer at you like you'd grown dragon wings. He let you finish before asking with great shock and a widened stare where you learned such a song. "Years ago my nanny was a dwarf. She taught me much more than that. Do you have any pains that need remedy?" Dori shook his head. "I just want to stay here and listen to you."
Nori
Thorin, Bilbo, and Gandalf were bidden to join Lord Elrond in the reading of the moon runes, leaving the remainder of your company to take their leisure as seen fit. Most of the dwarves had gone off to start a fire, while you had decided to change into a bit more comfortable of a dress first. After all, you were no longer in the counsel of Elrond for the time being! Flickers and curved shadows led you back to your destination, your troupe’s remainder already well into their raucous gathering. Shouts and wild laughter echoed off fine stone walls, some drunken words of Khuzdul even spilling forth. “We’ll see which of us gets her in his bedchambers by the evening’s end.” Nori, was that? A charmer for certain, but you’d be damned before letting any man—or dwarf or hobbit or elf or anyone—treat you as so easy. “Well,” you replied to Nori in his language, “That eliminates you. Anyone else care to play a fool?” Bofur, Bifur, and even Dwalin burst out cackling. Bombur laughed so hard he almost rolled over, and Ori just swung his head between you and Nori like you’d been tossing a ball. “I take it you didn’t exactly learn Khuzdul to seduce any of us, then?” Nori replied. “Try ‘translating ancient tomes’,” you shot back with a smirk, taking a seat between Ori and Dori.
Ori
“Come on, Ori, out with it! You know you can tell me anything,” you heard Dori tutting over his youngest brother. Chuckling, you kept up mending Balin’s spare trousers where a rock had caught them, gaze returning quickly to your handiwork. “Has someone done something? Your brother again? …No? Well, come on, help me help you.” “What if she hears me?” Well now, that had to be you. No other ‘she’s around for miles, most likely. Had you done something to offend the youngest in your company? Your face fell at the thought, focus on your needle wavering. Ori was the sweetest among you; hurting him would be a wound upon your heart greater than any of the others. “Well, then, come on, like we practiced.” Dori’s voice was lower in Khuzdul— not uncommon, but a fascinating effect regardless. You’d noticed it with your own voice, too, when you spoke the language yourself. “I like her. Very much. I just…don’t know what to say.” “You don’t have to say anything you have not already,” you told him, pushing up off the rock that was your seat and revealing yourself, “I will say something, though: I count myself very lucky for hearing this. I like you just as much.” Ori dropped to the dirt in a dead faint, but at least he was smiling as he fell.
Fili
"You don't understand!" A raised voice alerted your attention, diverting you from washing. Swimming closer to shore, you paddled until landing on a rock. Ducking behind its bulk enough to remain decent, you squinted slightly to make out the speaking figures. "What will Uncle Thorin say?" "Why do you care?" "I would prefer not to be blamed for the collapse of the kingdom." Khuzdul altered a voice, but that quiet, young strength rang through, not to mention calling the king ‘uncle’— the princes were speaking. ‘Twas Fili raised his voice from what you could gather, daring to rise only slightly from your place grasping the rock. "And I thought I was the dramatic one. Did Mother not have a choice? Did they not always tell us unities strengthen kingdoms? Maybe they'll think it's symbolic of Dale or something." You had to suppress a chuckle at Kili's Khuzdul even through his serious words, the more casual phrasing and stilted pronunciation well indicative of hasty lessons, not royal teaching. "You think I should tell her then?" There was no suppressing the gasp that tumbled from your lips at Kili's response: your own name. At that, the elder prince nodded. "Should I tell her I love her?" "Not if I tell you first!" You shouted from the rock in ecstasy, keeping yourself barely decent as you waved one arm. Kili burst out in loud, joyous laughter and Fili just beamed at you with a light in his eyes you had never before seen. "And there is why," he switched tongues, "intelligent and, I love and fear, always something new to learn about you."
Kili
Gandalf had offered his services in your defense, taking up a place against a trunk to have a pipe while you took solace in the stream. You had a rotation of aid: he, Ori, Balin, Gloin, Oin, Bombur, or Bilbo always did this for you as the ones you trusted not to venture a peek. Upon redressing and crossing the bank and little gap of meadow before camp, though, you lightly prodded Gandalf. Turning, he saw you gesture for him to stop with a halting wave of your hand and complied, hesitating as voices rose over your not-so-distant horizon. “You think the wizard would actually do some magic to stop me walking over there right now?” Nori remarked in harsh yet clearly amused Khuzdul. “Cut that out already!” Another voice, Dori’s, followed suit and was just as quickly trailed by a bonk that sounded suspiciously like Bombur’s wooden spoon upon the head. “He’s got a point,” another more hesitant voice sounded, words faltering in classic learner’s fashion. You hadn’t fully shaken it off, either. “If I was allowed past the defenses I’ve a few arrows I’d like to shoot her way.” The fortunes of the hunt were upon you that day— you’d left your own quiver near your wizard friend while you bathed, only to take it up when you were dry. Smirking and thanking Oromë, you drew. “Not if I shoot you first,” you replied, focusing all your will into your pronunciation despite the arrow nocked and pointed squarely at the younger dwarf prince. A great circle of laughter bellowed around Kili and your imposing figure, even Bilbo smiling at what he’d gathered and Gandalf chuckling to himself as he passed and calmly took a seat again, puffing on his pipe. “There goes your shot with her, laddie!” Gloin cackled. “But not hers at you, it seems,” Bofur added.
Bilbo
“Will this ever cease?” Hearing his huff, you turned to face the hobbit, who sat with crossed arms and furrowed brows. There was no need to ask him why, not when three dwarves currently passed around his pipeweed pouch, tossing it above their heads and stopping to open the snap and give it the occasional sniff. “Oh, Bilbo,” you cooed, resting a hand on his shoulder, “You are simply too sweet for them. Watch this.” He looked up at you with skepticism-furrowed brows, watching the way you cupped your hands around your mouth and frowning even further at your guttural, foreign shout. “ALL OF YOU!” You bellowed in Khuzdul. “STOP THAT THIS INSTANT! Return that pouch or face my mace!” Goggling, Nori immediately lowered his hands, Bilbo’s leather pouch almost dropping to the pine needle-littered forest floor. Before he could say anything, you walked between the gaping forms of the princes, who had joined in on the mocking game, and snatched your prize from Nori’s filthy little hand. Presenting it to Bilbo, you smiled sweetly at him. “Call me again if they try to get your goat.” Flushing, Bilbo grasped your offering, his eyes fixed firmly upon you with all their awe.
moodboard by @chennqingg divider by @fictive-sl0th
Biker!Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader | No Outbreak AU
Warnings for this Chapter: MDNI! 18+! (suggestive smut/smut - mot entirely graphic but you know exactly what's going on, lovemaking/slow sex, spooning position? aftercare?) possible inaccuracies regarding bike trips? fluff & romance, brief mention of the period and its aftermath, mentions of their past, lots of lovey dovey stuff
Word Count: 4,1k
a/n: This is the start of three smut chapters in a row. I'm so sorry. These two just can't keep their hands off each other... 🫣
《 M a s t e r l i s t 》
《Chapter Twenty-Six》
《Chapter Twenty-Eight》
Chapter Twenty-Seven...
...in which you and Daryl make love and memories, before you head to the biggest city in Nevada. Viva Las Vegas!
BIKE-TRIP DAY 17:
"Ugh, I need a shower now," you stated as you shrugged off your biker gear. It had been quite pleasantly warm today. A beautiful day with lots of sunshine and a blue sky. Daryl's chuckle urged to your ears from beside you, as he was shedding his own gear. "Yeah, me too." He looked over; meeting your eyes with a smile. "Mind if I join ya, darlin'?" You reciprocated his smile, "Not at all." and pulled your t-shirt over your head, before sprinting direction bathroom. "Last one's in the shower has to do the laundry next!" "Wha- Hey!" You heard Daryl literally exclaim from behind you, alongside the clinking of a belt. You giggled and took a sharp left turn to vanish in the bathroom, where you hastily worked on shedding the rest of your clothes. Daryl, though, was hot on your heels - you knew it. Nevertheless, you couldn't stop yourself from teasing and challenging him. "C'mon, old man! Where are you at, huh?" Your playful words echoed through the motel room. No second later, you heard him scoff. "Pf! Old man my ass! 'M gonna getcha, dun worry!"
Five days and two cities later, you and Daryl were cruising down the old route 66 to get to Flagstaff - a smaller city in Arizona. Flagstaff was the last stop before you'd reach two metropolises which were an absolute highlight on this trip and simultaneously the last two stops on this bike trip and the route 66. Only Daryl knew that, though. Everything was still a surprise for you.
The city was a stopover. You'd hit the road tomorrow morning again. So, Daryl gassed up and took you out for dinner, before you checked into the motel for the night.
Giggling in amusement and victory, you stripped off the last article on your body - namely your socks and took a quick look around the bathroom. Daryl was nowhere to be seen. Triumphantly, you stepped over to the shower and set the first foot inside - almost. Two arms suddenly wrapped around your middle out of nowhere, easily lifted you up in the air and away from the shower cabin. You couldn't do anything than squeak up in surprise; eyes widening. Before you could even react, had your partner put you down behind him again and entered the shower; switching on the water. "Told ya, I'd getcha." The biker smirked mischievously and crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Have fun with the laundry, darlin'."
Showering together was something you both enjoyed. It was another level of intimacy and proximity. Feeling the other close, helping each other getting clean was... nice.
Now you were the one who scoffed. Crossing your arms over your chest as well, you pouted. "That's not fair, Dar." He chuckled. "Yeah, it is. I won. Fair 'n square. Yer jus' a sore loser." You pouted even more, but knowing he was actually right. Daryl chuckled once again and opened his arms. "Stop yer adorable poutin' 'n get yer cute ass in here. Dun wantcha to catch a cold or sum'thin'. 'S warmer in here."
You couldn't help but smile and join him in the shower; laundry forgotten. Your partner immediately embraced you and pressed your naked body against his already soaked, warm one. You smiled up at him and lifted your hands to smooth a few wet strands of hair out of his face, before resting them on his shoulders. "There ya go," Daryl smiled as well and gently dragged you with him underneath the jet of water. "'S better, ain't it?" You nodded and stood on your tiptoes to reach his lips. Your partner gladly accommodated and dipped his head to meet you halfway.
You knew what he meant. Your brain connected the dots within seconds.
Daryl watched you get dressed as he slipped into a fresh pair of underwear as well. "Yer period finally released ya from its claws?" Your partner asked softly; caring. You nodded with a smile. "Uh.Huh. Two days ago, actually. Why?" You looked over to him - just in time to see him looking away. "Jus' askin', y'know," he simply said with a shrug of his shoulders. "I jus' care about ya."
You instantly noticed that he was something not telling you. And the way he averted your gaze made this scenario even more suspicious... "I know there's more, handsome. You gonna tell me?" The biker instantly blushed and started to fumble with his fingers nervously. "W-Well, uh..." He huffed; trying to find the right words. "I jus'... miss ya, 's all."
A shaky breath left his lips. Your touch and your words sent a shiver down his spine.
Your expression softened, "Oh, babe..." and you stepped closer to him. Your hands found his blindly. "Why didn't you tell me right away?" The redness on his cheeks deepened; reaching his ears now. "'Cause I didn't wanna make ya feel pressured or somethin'..." You gave him a soft smile. "I get that, but... Communication is key, remember? I don't want you to suffer." He reciprocated your smile and tugged at your intertwined hands to reel you in and hug your body close against his. A big, deep sigh escaped your partner's lips as he felt your barely clothed skin against his.
"I can control myself, ya know tha'. I ain't a horny teenager. For me, 's all 'bout you bein' comfortable, sunshine." You giggled. "I am aware of that, Mister Dixon, and that's truly sweet of you. I appreciate that very much and you know it, but..." You let your lips trail over his chest; skimming the skin before pressing a delicate kiss on his left pectoral. "I feel very comfortable right now - or well... again."
"Ya really sure 'a that, darlin'?" Once more, you nodded. "Positive." Daryl smiled - unbeknownst to you. Hearing your loud and clear declaration of consent, his hands wandered from around your waist to your hips. The biker lowered and angled his head to indulge you into a sweet, lingering kiss, while his thumbs hooked underneath your panties to slide them past your bottom and thighs; letting them carelessly fall to the ground. Then he wrapped both his strong arms back around you and slightly bend his knees to lift you off the bathroom floor. It forced you two to break the kiss - which wasn't the end of the world, 'cause more kisses were going to follow.
You blushed. Hard. And were very glad that he wasn't able to see it in that moment. You truly would've forgotten to use protection. Big oops.
A small giggle escaped your lips as you felt your feet suddenly dangling in the air. "C'mon, sweet girl," your partner uttered in that deep, husky voice you loved so much. Out of instinct, you wrapped your legs around his middle and let him carry you wherever he wanted. Most likely the bed.
Your assumption was correct. He did make a short stop at the small table in the corner, though, on which his open bag was. Still holding you up with one arm, he rummaged through his bag with the other. "What are you doing, babe?" You asked with a small giggle; hands caressing his broad shoulders. He huffed. "Need a rubber, darlin'. Or do ya wanna do it without one?" Some mischief was swinging in his voice.
"O-Oh, uh, gods... No, I, um," you stammered. "Just forgot about it for a hot minute." A chuckle rumbled through your boyfriend's chest. "Lucky thing ya got me then, huh?" Daryl stated and walked you over to the bed after he had found what he was looking for. He sat down on the edge of the surprisingly soft mattress with you sitting on his lap. Tapping your thighs, he signalled you to get on your knees so you were kneeling over him. "Mhm," you answered in return; already very distracted by watching the man beneath you shedding his underwear.
A hot tingle rippled through your core and spread out throughout your whole body. You bit your lip.
Daryl ripped the condom open with his teeth and quickly applied the safety measures, before entirely redirecting his attention on your stunningly beautiful body right in front of him.
And how hard he paid attention, oh boy...
A shiver ran down your spine; spreading throughout your whole body as Daryl's work-worn, yet gentle and loving hands settled on your hips, before they travelled up your sides. His fingertips grazing the supple skin; mapping out your beautiful curves. His hooded, wide-blown orbs constantly flickered between your eyes and his hands. "Daryl..." You whispered his name as your own palms glided over his bare chest - feeling the ridges and bumps of his scars, up his shoulders before they settled in the nape of his neck, where your fingers started to play with his chestnut brown curls.
Your partner locked his eyes with yours once more. Then he slowly dipped his head to trail a path of kisses from your belly up to your sternum. Your eyelids fluttered shut; enjoying the sensation of his touch - of the love he was showing you. His greying goatee tickled and slightly scratched the sensitive skin which managed to pull a delicate gasp from you. Daryl shortly nipped at the underside of your breast only to soothe the little pain with his tongue a mere moment later. Your grasp in his hair tightened, and you found yourself whispering his name once again. It seemed to do the trick. He finally connected your mouth to his then; pulling you down to meet his lips. It was a loving yet passionate kiss.
"I am, Dar... I am right here - and I swear I'm not going anywhere. Never," you stated in a soft voice as your palms went to cup his cheeks now. Daryl gave you that stunningly handsome half smile you loved so much before he slowly lowered himself back against the cosy bedsheets. His hands slid downwards as well. "C'mon," he whispered and tapped the back of your thighs. "Wanna make love to ya." You smiled and shifted; following your partner's lead. He moved to slip underneath the covers; laying on his side. "C'mere, sunshine."
Once you had to part during lack of oxygen in your lungs, you rested your forehead against his; eyes still closed. For a moment you feared that your legs would give in - unable to keep you up on your knees anymore. Well, collapsing onto Daryl's lap wouldn't be such a bad thing - given the circumstances...
The biker's hands twitched on your sides; thumbs caressing the curves of your breasts. "So beautiful," he murmured, was totally in awe. "Still can't believe yer mine sometimes..." His words put a smile on your face. It may have not seem to be like that at the beginning but this man was all you ever wished for and dreamed about to have someday.
You didn't let yourself tell that twice, of course.
You joined him and cuddled closer. He made sure the blanket was snugly wrapped around the both of you before he positioned to spoon you - chest pressed against your back. His head immediately dropped to the crook of your neck, where he left dozens of tiny kisses while the arm which wasn't acting as the pillow for your head dipped lower. The biker caressed the supple skin of your thigh, then angled it up gently to grand him better access. You caught his drift, of course, and helped him; bending your knee. His touch on your thigh vanished - leaving you instantly aching for more. Your longing was soon to be tended to, though, since the absence of his hand was for the greater good... To help him connect your bodies in the most intimate way possible.
When his hips met yours slipped a moan past your lips; hands fisting the blanket. "Ya okay, darlin'?" Daryl's sweet voice urged to your ears. His lips on your shoulder followed; leaving a lingering kiss there. You nodded. "Yeah, yeah, 'm okay. It's just... you know..." You reassured him instantly. Your partner hummed against your skin. He knew. Of course, he did. It wasn't the first time you still felt the... aftermath of your period. "'S okay when I move?" Once again you nodded. "Please... Just... Can we take it slow?" "'Course, sunshine. Anythin' ya wish. Jus' wanna feel ya."
Your smile even brightened. You couldn't help but turn your head to look over your shoulder and kiss him. It was a bit of an awkward angle for you, but you couldn't care less. Daryl eagerly reciprocated the kiss - and started to roll his hips against yours in gentle waves. You gasped into his mouth. "Tha' okay? Tell me if I need ta go slower." "No, baby, it's perfect. You are perfect." The biker just smiled and kept kissing you leisurely. His free hand resting comfortably on your hip. You had one hand still gripping the sheets while the other reached behind you to tangle itself into Daryl's tousled curls.
Due to the slow pace you both lasted longer than usually, but in the end jumped off the cliff together nonetheless. It was inevitable - luckily.
"Mhhh," you hummed and closed your eyes again. "This is wonderful." "Mhm," Daryl agreed with you wholeheartedly. "If that's what paradise looks like, I never want to leave." A small chuckle slipped over the biker's lips. "Yeah, same. 'S perfect." You turned in your boyfriend's embrace to face him and fully hug him; drowning in his warmth, love and scent.
With a low grunt and a short twitch of his muscles stilled Daryl behind you. Both of your breaths were laboured. Once again he lowered his head to rest in the crook of your neck; hand pulling you even closer. Together, you bathed in the afterglow for a few long moments. 'I love you's' were mumbled and exchanged, just like little pecks and affectionate caresses.
Finally, though, your partner moved; the used barrier of protection around him getting uncomfortable. He quickly took care of the 'issue' and returned to snuggle up against you in no time. This time he wrapped both his arms firmly around your waist and bend his knees to fit perfectly against you - like two pieces of a puzzle.
BIKE-TRIP DAY 18:
Daryl was the first to wake up the next morning. The pleasantly warm spring sun was shining through the flimsy motel room curtains; casting a soft orange-yellow-ish glow. Unlike the biker, you were still fast asleep. Laying on your side and facing him; snuggled up in your blanket. Daryl couldn't help but smile. His blue eyes never left your sleeping features as he was silently admiring you. But as he reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair which had fallen into your face back behind your ear, you stirred. A soft frown was etched into your forehead as your eyes slowly fluttered open.
"Daryl?" You mumbled; rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. The biker sighed. "Sorry, sunshine. Didn't mean to wake ya." You merely shook your head, "It's okay." and gave him a sleepy smile. "Were you watching me?"
A soft blush crept on his cheeks.
"Yeah... Jus' couldn't help myself... Yer so beautiful," Daryl stated in a quiet voice, then shook his head. "I still can't believe sometimes how goddamn lucky I am... Ya could've chosen any man 'n yet ya chose me. Even after everythin' I did..." You rubbed the remaining sleep out of your eyes and smiled at him again. Properly. "Daryl..." You spoke with a soft voice and inched closer to the man laying beside you. "You know I'm here to stay. I told you yesterday, so you better believe it," a small giggle escaped your lips as you cupped his cheek. "Besides am I the lucky one, you know..." He merely shook his head. "Nah. 'M 'n assho-" "Stop it, babe," you firmly interrupted him right away, before he was able to speak such ill words about himself. "Don't look back in the past. Direct your eyes to the future." You gently lifted his head for him to look straight into your eyes. "It's forgiven, my love."
"We should get up..." The man beneath you mumbled; lips hovering over the sensitive skin of your neck. Dozens of exchanged kisses, caresses and cuddles later, Daryl was slowly getting a grip on reality again. You huffed in protest and snuggled even closer - if that was physically possible; slotting your legs perfectly against his. A low chuckle rumbled through the biker's chest. "I know, darlin', I know, but we got a long day ahead of us. Gonna be a long time on the road." You huffed again, but ultimately gave in, "Okay, okay," then moved to get off him and out of the bed. "I surrender." He chuckled again, and followed you.
The biker couldn't do anything but smile softly; too overwhelmed by your words. He turned his head to pepper your palm with tiny kisses, whispering 'I love you' in between them. "I love you, too," you stated; thumb caressing the stubbly skin. You leaned over slowly. With closed eyes, your lips met your partner's in a sweet, slow kiss. Parting again with a gentle pop, the both of you smiled at each other; eyes speaking a language of pure, honest love.
A heartbeat passed, before Daryl indulged you in yet another kiss. His hands settled on your hips to pull your body on top of his; the feeling to have you close overwhelming. You didn't even think about protesting.
About two hours later, you reached definitely another highlight of this bike trip... The Grand Canyon. Daryl drove the two of you up to one of the viewpoints. Well, to the parking lot of the viewpoint. You had to walk the rest of the way through the absolute beauty nature had created.
"Daryl, come look! This is just stunning," you called out for your boyfriend over your shoulder, past several people - most likely tourists, who had gathered up here as well. You've been walking ahead out of sheer excitement. "'M on my way, geez woman," he stated with a small smile and shook his head, before he adjusted the baseball cap on his head and the sunglasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He paved his way past the people to get to you. "'Kay, yeah, that's fucking beautiful," the biker agreed as he came to stand beside you; overlooking this part of the Grand Canyon. "Can't believe you didn't stop last time you were here." "Well, we wanted to stop 'ere, but the weather was like super shitty. Rain, an upcoming thunderstorm... Our only focus was gettin' our asses somewhere dry." You giggled at his words; looking to your left to face him. "Fair enough." He gave you a smile in return. "Care to take a little hiking trip? What do you say? Do we have time for that, Mr. Tour guide?" "Sure, sunshine. Hiking's great. Think we can spare some time for tha'." Your smile widened, "But first..." and you reached for your phone inside the pocket of your pants. "We gotta take some pictures." "Tha' truly necessary? Didn't we take 'nough already?" Your partner grumbled. "Nope," you giggled again and turned your head to kiss his cheek - while taking a picture, of course.
Several pictures later - of the breathtaking view and you as a couple, you slipped your hand into Daryl's. "Shall we?" He nodded and gently pulled you along.
The hiking was just as great as the view, and with Daryl you had a literal nature expert with you; knowing that he used to hunt with his brother and father back when he was a teenager. He showed you several plants and flowers and taught you how to read tracks of different animals.
"Wha's that?" Daryl asked you; pointing at some tracks beside the path. "What ya thinkin'?" "Uhhh," you thought; giving the tracks a closer look. "It's an animal that got paws and no hooves, so... And those are claws?" The man squatted beside you nodded. "Yeah, 's right. Keep goin'." "Is it a fox?" Daryl smiled but shook his head. "Almost. 'S a skunk. Ya can see it at the shape of the paws, 'n the differences of the front 'n hind paws." "Babe, that's awesome, what the hell." You smiled. "Why'd you never told me earlier about this secret talent of yours." He huffed out a laugh and straightened up. "Ya didn't tell me tha' you could play the piano either." "Touchè," you giggled.
Around midday, you and Daryl grabbed a small snack and got back onto the road. Like the biker already mentioned this morning, you had a long drive ahead.
"So, where are we going?" You asked through the communication system Daryl had built into your helmet (and his, of course), so that you could talk while driving. "Can I take a guess?" "Go ahead, darlin'," he said; the smile audible in his voice. "Las Vegas." "You googled that, didn't ya?" "No," you instantly retarded, only to sigh a few moments later. "Okay, yeah, I did." Daryl's laughter urged to your ears. "Got enough of my surprises, huh?" "No, babe, I was just too curious for my own good." "Yeah, I know. Hold on, darlin'. We're leavin' Tusayan. Dun wantcha fallin' off," he reminded you, and you instantly tightened your grip around his middle. Usually, you were doing this automatically and Daryl felt you doing so, but when you were in a conversation, he had to remind you now and then. "Tha's better," your partner added and sped up.
It took you about four and a half hours to get to Las Vegas. It had been definitely one of the longer rides - and it showed. Your legs hurt quite a bit - despite the few breaks you made, and you were tired. Daryl as well. You could tell. So, it was very relieving when you drove past the famous 'Las Vegas' sign and headed for your stay for the next two nights.
"Ya know..." The biker started as he drove you through the city in the already sinking sun. "You were right with Las Vegas, but I bet 'm able to surprise ya nevertheless." "Yeah? Well, then bring it on, Dixon."
And he did. He definitely managed to surprise you. For the first time during this trip, you were going to stay at a hotel. Not motel. Hotel - and a really nice one at that. Located in the heart of Las Vegas and very close to the Las Vegas Strip.
"Are you serious?" You asked your partner as he unstrapped the side pockets from his bike on the fancy parking lot of the hotel. Daryl looked up at you with a smile; the sinking sun reflecting in his sunglasses. "Dead serious, sunshine." You shook your head; looking from the biker to the hotel and back. "You're insane, babe. How fucking much did that cost you?" He shrugged his shoulders. "Quite a bit, but it was already worth it. When in Vegas, ya gotta do it right." Your smile widened. "Does that mean we're also gonna go in casinos, take a dozen of pictures with every Elvis we come across and enjoy the hell out of the nightlife here?" He nodded with his signature smirk. "Fuck yeah. All 'a that." You literally beamed with joy, but then grimaced into a yawn. "But not tonight. I'm so freaking tired." "Nah, not tonight. 'M tired, too. I say we check in, find a nice restaurant to eat dinner, 'n then curl up in bed. What do ya say?" You nodded in agreement. "Sounds perfect, Dar. Let's go."
Together, you checked into the hotel, put your stuff into the room, refreshed a bit and then went out to grab dinner.
It was almost nine o'clock when you returned. There wasn't much done besides unpacking the really necessary things, getting ready for bed and then finally cuddling up underneath the sheets. Your bed was way bigger than the usual motel bed - and more comfortable. The room itself was bigger as well and slightly more luxurious. Like Daryl said: When in Vegas...
"Thank you for taking me here," you whispered against the skin of Daryl's neck as you cuddled closer against his body; draping your leg over his and hugging his midsection. "No need to thank me, darlin'. I love doin' this for 'n especially with ya," he answered and pressed a lingering kiss against your temple.
A moment of silence passed before you spoke up again. "Las Vegas, baby," you giggled. Daryl smiled. "Yeah, freakin' Las Vegas."
