#(:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅) saved.

[celestemona]

⋆˙⟡ — TANGLED FATES

pairing: kinich, kaedehara kazuha, wanderer x reader

cw: soulmates! au. characters may look ooc. approximately 3k words. no pronouns mentioned though "my lady" is said in kazuha's part. fluffy, angsty, lovely. not beta-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

Kinich

Kinich had always felt a subtle pull toward something—or someone—just beyond his reach.

From the moment he was born, the thread that connected him to his soulmate had been a delicate shade of translucent red, often fading to the point of nearly vanishing. It was a constant reminder of the distance between them, a tangible sign that his soulmate was far away, perhaps even in another nation.

The people of Natlan revered the concept of soulmates, believing that every thread was woven by the hands of fate itself. Kinich, however, was not the type to wander beyond his homeland in search of this elusive connection. The rugged beauty of his tribe, the thrill of hunting, and the camaraderie of his people grounded him. He found comfort in the familiar rhythms of his life, though sometimes, during quiet moments beneath the canopy of the trees or while gazing at the stars, the thought of his soulmate would flutter in his mind like a restless bird.

Yet today was different.

As Kinich navigated the vibrant festival of the Scions of the Canopy, filled with laughter and the smell of roasted meats mingling with the sweetness of ripe fruit, he couldn’t shake a strange sensation. He glanced down at the red string on his finger, and to his surprise, it was brighter than he had ever seen—deep crimson, like the fiery sunsets that painted the sky at twilight. The sudden vibrancy sent a jolt of energy through him, and his heart raced with possibilities. For the very first time, it felt that his soulmate was closer than he had ever imagined.

The thought barely settled in his mind when a commotion broke out nearby. Kinich turned to see a crowd gathered around the bungee jumping platform, a popular attraction that had people leaping into the air with exhilarating abandon. The sight of the participants soaring through the sky brought a fainted smile to his face—until he noticed one figure preparing for a jump.

His heart seemed to stop as he caught sight of you, your hair whipping in the wind, laughter mingling with the cheers of the crowd. You appeared fearless, but as the countdown began, Kinich noticed something off: the rope seemed frayed, a dangerous instability in an otherwise thrilling endeavor. Panic surged through him as the countdown reached zero.

Before his mind could catch up to his body, he reacted. The faintest snapping sound echoed in his ears as the bungee cord gave way—a horrified gasp echoed from the crowd, but Kinich was already in motion. With a practiced flick of his grappling hook, he shot toward you, the hook catching a solid anchor just as you fell.

In the heartbeat between falling and impact, you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist, jerking you from the void. Time seemed to slow as the world spun and your eyes locked onto his—the man who had saved your life.

Kinich landed gracefully with you in his arms, his grip steady and reassuring as if it were second nature. As the adrenaline pulsed through you, your heart raced not just from the near-death experience, but from the realization that your strings—both of yours—were now glowing vividly, a striking red.

The connection between you was undeniable, even if the situation was surreal.

“That was... close,” you murmured, still catching your breath, your voice trembling with disbelief.

Kinich’s usual nonchalance wavered momentarily as his eyes lingered on yours. He gently set you down, his hand brushing against yours as the string on his pinky tightened, pulling you two together subtly but magnificently. “You’re either very brave or very reckless,” he said, his voice low but calm, the faintest trace of amusement playing on his lips.

You couldn’t help but smile, even through the lingering adrenaline. “Maybe a little of both.”

He let out a quiet hum, stepping back slightly but not breaking eye contact. “Seems I’ll have to keep an eye on you, then.”

Before you could respond, a pitched voice cut through the air. “No! I though you’d finally gonna get yourself killed, Kinich. Shit! It seems I was wrong again.”

Kinich’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he muttered under his breath, “You wish.”

You blinked, wondering where the voice came from and noticing the sudden change in his demeanor, but before you could ask, Kinich’s focus returned to you. His intense gaze softened as he extended a hand, offering it to you with an unexpected formality. “It seems fate has brought us together in the most dramatic of ways.”

You laughed softly, the tension easing. “Seems that way. And here I thought I’d get a thrill from jumping, not falling.”

“There are safer thrills,” he answered, his hand still holding yours dearly. “One that doesn’t involve falling from cliffs.”

You bit your bottom lip in a failed attempt to hide a smirk, the soft flirtation in his voice making your heartbeats go faster. “Oh? Like what?”

He let his gaze linger on yours, his thumb gently tracing the back of your hand. “Perhaps we’ll find out together.”

The red string between you entwined, as if urging the two of you closer. For the first time in a long while, Kinich felt more than just duty or the thrill of a adventuring—he felt the warmth of something that had been distant for too long.

And for you, the world around you seemed to quiet as the only thing that mattered now was the connection between you and the man fate had quite literally sent to catch you.

Kaedehara Kazuha

From the moment of birth, the faintest whispers of your soulmate begin to form in your mind, weaving through your thoughts, and growing clearer with time. The voices aren’t constant, but they drift in and out, as if carried on a breeze, reminding you of the presence of someone far away yet intimately close. Sometimes, it's a word spoken aloud, a laugh shared with a friend. Other times, it’s a fleeting thought, as private as a breath. And from childhood, this voice becomes an indelible part of your life, a companion whose face you have never seen but whose soul you know deeply.

Kazuha was still a boy when he first heard the voice. He was playing alone in the gardens of his family’s estate, surrounded by the quiet rustle of leaves and the gentle murmur of the wind. And then, as soft as a whisper, he heard it—a voice that wasn’t his own.

It was delicate, like the sound of water trickling over smooth stones. A voice so pure it carried the sweetness of a lullaby. At first, he thought it was part of the wind, some trick of the breeze, but as the days went on, the voice returned. Sometimes it sang, sometimes it hummed a tune that was unfamiliar yet soothing. And when it spoke, Kazuha listened, enchanted by the rhythm of the words, even if they weren’t meant for him.

Years passed, and the voice became a familiar presence in his life. He learned to recognize its tones—the way it brightened when it was happy, or softened when the person behind it was lost in thought. Even when he left the security of his childhood home, embarking on his wandering journey, the voice followed him. It was a constant companion, a tether that connected him to something beyond the world he knew.

The voice belonged to an opera singer from Fontaine, though Kazuha would only come to know this much later. As children, you’d hear each other speak, often unaware of the impact your words were having on the other side of the world. You’ve been singing since you were small, your voice a bright light in the waterside streets of Fontaine, and Kazuha had come to love the sound of it—first as a soothing melody in the background of his thoughts, and later as a force that brought him comfort during his travels. He could sense your emotions through your voice—the joy you found in your craft, the occasional frustration in your rehearsals, and the quiet moments when you’d murmur your thoughts to yourself.

You, too, had been listening to him. From the first haikus he had whispered into the wind as a child, to the quiet contemplations of a young man growing into his own. Though Kazuha was never one to speak much, the moments when he’d recite poetry or talk to the wind were enough to fill your heart with a sense of companionship. His voice, calm and steady, was a comfort to you as you navigated your own world of art and performance.

Neither of you knew exactly who the other was, but your voices had become a part of each other. Even without a meeting, you had grown up together—two souls connected by the invisible threads of fate.

As Kazuha grew older, his understanding of the voice deepened. He’d often find himself drifting off to sleep, only to wake with the faint echoes of your songs still lingering in his ears. He marveled at how perfectly your voice blended with the world around him—the wind, the sea, and the rustling of leaves in the forests he wandered. Your voice had become a song in the symphony of his life, and he cherished it.

For you, his words were like the poetry he often whispered to himself—a gentle, constant reminder that somewhere out there was someone who understood the world the way you did. You often wondered what he looked like, what kind of person could speak so softly yet carry so much meaning in his words.

Years passed, and though your connection remained strong, you never rushed to meet. There was no urgency, no desperation. Just the quiet understanding that one day, you’d find each other.

It wasn’t until Kazuha’s travels led him to Fontaine that your worlds finally began to merge. The hydro nation was a place where the beauty of the arts and the depths of the sea intertwined. Kazuha had no intention of seeking you out immediately. He had learned patience long ago and trusted that the wind would guide him when the time was right.

But as he wandered the streets of Fontaine, drinking in the sights and sounds of the city, he heard your voice again—clearer than it had ever been. This time, it was no distant whisper but a melody that floated on the air, rich and vibrant. You were rehearsing for an upcoming performance, your voice filling the opera house with the same beauty that had once echoed in his dreams.

He stood at a distance, watching you from the shadows. You were every bit as graceful as your voice, your movements fluid and elegant. Your presence commanded the space around you, yet there was a softness to you that drew him in. You were speaking with one of the directors with enthusiasm as you discussed the details of the upcoming opera. And though you didn’t know it, the man you had shared your thoughts with for so many years was standing just a few feet away, watching with quiet reverence.

Kazuha’s heart swelled as he took a deep breath, allowing the wind to guide him forward. It was time.

With the same grace that had carried him through countless battles and journeys, he approached you, his steps light and unhurried. When you turned, eyes meeting, the recognition was instant. The voice that had been a constant presence in your lives was now matched with a face.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. It was as though the world had stopped, leaving only the two of you standing in the fading light of the afternoon. And then, with a soft smile, Kazuha spoke.

“My lady,” he said, his voice as gentle as the breeze that stirred the air around both of you. He took your hand in his own, bowing slightly as he lifted it to his lips. The soft kiss he placed on the back of your hand was filled with all the quiet emotion he had carried with him for so many years. “It is an honor to finally meet you.”

Your smile widened, warmth rosing on your cheeks. “The honor is mine. I’ve heard your voice for so long… I almost thought I was dreaming when I heard you recite your poems for the first time.”

“As did I,” Kazuha replied, his crimson eyes soft as he gazed at you. “Your voice has been with me for as long as I can remember. Hearing you sing now… it feels as though I've been waiting for this moment my entire life.”

You laughed softly, the sound as musical as the voice he had come to love. “And I’ve been waiting for you. I always wondered when our paths would cross.”

“They were bound to,” Kazuha said, his tone warm. “The wind always carries us to where we are meant to be.”

With his and your hands still gently intertwined, you stood in the heart of Fontaine, the city alive with the murmur of art and life around them. But for the two of you, the rest of the world had faded, leaving only the echo of the voices that had connected you for so long.

In that moment, you knew that your journey—though long and winding—had led you both exactly where you were meant to be. Together.

Wanderer

In Teyvat, the concept of soulmates wasn’t something everyone discussed openly, but it was an unspoken truth understood by all. It was a tragic but beautiful reality for those people: no one ever dreamed—at least, not until they met their soulmate. The first and only dream a person would ever experience was a shared one, an intimate meeting with their destined one. This dream wasn’t bound by time or place, often filled with subtle moments, quiet connections, and profound understanding. But the dream itself didn’t mean immediate union. Many spent years after their dream searching, wondering when—or if—they’d ever cross paths with their other half in the waking world.

And not all believed they deserved a soulmate.

Wanderer had learned of the legend when he was still known as Kunikuzushi, back in the early days when he was newly formed and still discovering what it meant to exist. He hadn’t thought it applied to him, a puppet—a hollow being without a true heart, someone who was neither human nor divine. But one night, long ago, when he was still innocent and full of hope, he had a dream.

In that dream, he met you.

It wasn’t a vivid or wild vision. It was quiet, serene. You walked in a vast wheat field, your steps so rhythmic as if you were dancing between invisible trails that only you knew where it’d take you. Your back was turned to him but the sound of your laughter was a song that played like a lullaby in his head. When you looked up, your eyes meeting, something inside him stirred—a sense of calm, of being understood without words.

There were no grand gestures, no spoken promises. Just a glance, a soft smile, and a feeling that warmed him from the inside out. You were real, and for the first time in his short existence, he felt connected to something outside of himself. 

When he woke, the memory of that dream stayed with him, lodged deep in his mind like a forgotten melody. He tried to dismiss it, thinking it was some strange byproduct of his flawed creation. How could he have a soulmate when he wasn’t truly human?

Years, centuries passed, and Kunikuzushi became Scaramouche, and Scaramouche became Wanderer. He fell deeper into darkness, fueled by bitterness and anger. Yet, despite the walls he built around himself, the memory of the dream never fully faded. It lingered in the back of his mind, sometimes emerging in his quietest moments, like a long-lost hope he didn’t want to admit to. He believed that dream was lost to time, and that he had been undeserving of it. He had resigned himself to solitude, pushing away any notion that he might still have a connection to someone out there.

But everything changed the night he wandered the streets of Sumeru.

The night was calm, and the air was thick with the fragrant scent of flowers. It was one of those evenings where the city was still alive, bustling with life even under the veil of darkness. The marketplace glowed softly in the distance, filled with the sounds of chatter and laughter. Wanderer had no purpose being there, only walking aimlessly, his mind drifting between thoughts.

Yet, for reasons he couldn’t explain, the memory of that dream began to surface. The image of you, twirling in a field, returned with startling clarity. He could almost see the light in your eyes, feel the quiet comfort of that moment. His steps slowed as a strange, almost magnetic pull tugged at his chest, drawing his attention toward the marketplace.

And then he saw you.

You stood at a vendor’s stall, your profile illuminated by the soft lantern light. His breath hitched. It was as if time stopped. You looked exactly as you had in the dream—your presence both familiar and startling. He blinked, convinced his mind was playing tricks on him. After all this time, how could you be here?

You turned slightly, inspecting some trinket on display, completely unaware of him. The world around him blurred, all the noise fading into a distant hum as his focus remained solely on you. He felt his heart—did he even have one?—thunder in his chest.

A storm of emotions raged inside him. He hadn’t prepared for this. Could this truly be real? After all he had done—his mistakes, his hatred, his isolation—was it possible that fate hadn’t given up on him? Was he still deserving of a soulmate?

He found himself rooted to the spot, too stunned to move. He couldn’t approach you, not yet. How could he, knowing what he had become? A part of him was relieved, though—relieved that you existed, that the dream hadn’t been a cruel joke. But the hesitation that lingered was undeniable. What if you saw him for who he truly was and walked away? What if, after all these years, he was no longer the person you had dreamed of?

You moved away from the stall, and at that moment, your eyes swept over the crowd, casually scanning the area—until they locked onto his.

The recognition was instant, like a spark between two halves of a long-separated whole. You blinked, clearly processing what you were feeling as if the dream had come flooding back to you all at once. The same quiet understanding he had felt in the dream now passed between you in reality. Your expression softened, and though you seemed uncertain, you didn’t look away.

You took a tentative step toward him, your curiosity was evident. His heart raced again, the walls he had built around himself suddenly feeling fragile as if a single word from you could shatter them entirely.

And then you spoke.

“I saw you once upon a dream,” you said, your voice gentle, filled with the same warmth and wonder from the dream. There was no accusation in your tone, no judgment—just simple truth.

He swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, yet none of them made sense. All he could manage was, “Did you?”

You nodded, your gaze unwavering. “I thought it was just a trick of my mind, but… seeing you now, I know it was real.”

He stood frozen, a mix of doubts, disbelief, and relief swirling inside him. The person he had dreamed of, who he thought was forever out of reach, was standing in front of him. And you remembered him.

His voice was quieter than he intended when he finally spoke again. “I never thought I’d find you.”

You stepped closer, a soft smile forming on your lips. “Neither did I. But… here we are.”

The warmth in your eyes was something he hadn’t felt in so long. It made the walls around his heart tremble, threatening to crumble. He wanted to say so much, to explain the years that had passed, to tell you how unworthy he felt—but none of it mattered in that moment. You were here, and you had dreamed of him, too.

Perhaps, despite everything, he still had a chance at something real. Something good. And for the first time in his long, fragmented existence, Kunikuzushi felt a flicker of hope.

[chleem]

Flashing lights prologue

Series; actor Drew x actress reader

Summary: Drew gets involved in the worst scandal of his career. One way to solve it? Proving to the whole world that he’s the sweetest lover to exist. Who better to help than the one person he can’t stand? You, an A class actress with an alcohol addiction. So, will Drew clear up his reputation, or leave with a bigger mess to clean up?

Genre: fake dating, enemies to lovers(?, slow burn, angst, smut,

Warning: mentions of alcohol, swearing, mentions of k!lling oneself, mentions of rape & sa, mentions of drug usage, smoking & vaping,

⋆.˚ please dont copy my work, if inspired please tag me

⋆.˚ this is entirely fictional, if uncomfortable then don't read

♡⸝⸝ ps: chapter one out! index

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Talk about a scandal. 

‘Drew Starkey, rising star from OBX, impregnates girl and refuses to take responsibility.’ ‘Drew Starkey impregnates girl and forces her for an abortion.’ ‘All to know about OBX star that SA a girl.’

Even an interview starring a random girl that claims to be pregnant with Drew’s child. 

If Drew knew going to the club a week ago would cause such big damage to his career, he would have never stop foot in there. But being stubborn and a sucker for fun, he just needed the relaxation that clubbing would offer. 

His PR manager Henry, who Drew’s only sees once a year, is surprisingly quiet. He sits across Drew, staring at his laptop. His typing makes up for the quiet and tense (at least for Drew) atmosphere in his manager’s office. 

“I’m sorry,” Drew starts, genuinely, his eyes shifting between his manager Jeff and Henry. “Look, I don’t know who that woman is. She’s lying, alright? I didn’t even talk to any strangers last night. Just my friends. And I was careful with how much I drank-”

“Calm down, we didn’t accuse you of it,” Jeff chuckles, also surprisingly calm and not scolding Drew. Normally, Jeff would scold Drew so hard that it took Drew back to the days of being coached by his dad. “I’ve worked with you for almost ten years, I know you wouldn’t do that.”

Hold up. Was this a dream? He fucked up real bad, why were his managers so forgiving? So… calm? This felt way too strange. They should be furious right now, thinking of a solution and threatening to kill Drew. So why were they so gentle with this situation?

Drew adjusts his hat, pocking his tongue against his cheek. Without thinking, he simply says, “What?”

Jeff glances at Henry, who nods, looking up from his laptop. Drew furrows his eyebrows at Jeff, who simply looks away as Henry starts. “Fine, Drew. We’re all fucking pissed at your mistake. Do you know how many sponsors have asked to break up your contract? Even after we’ve came up with a clean statement? For fuck’s sake, Drew. You’re fucking thirty now, and you still act like a fucking child!”

Drew licks his lips looking away. Okay, this was the Henry he saw yelling at other artists, and what he expected when he walked into the office this morning. But now that he was yelling at him, it felt horrible still. After all, who likes to be yelled at? 

“I’ve had to pull multiple strings to help you, to clear your name up. So you better hope this is your last mistake,” Henry continues. 

Drew couldn’t help but ask, “what did you do?”

“We’ve come up with a plan,” Henry says, walking over to the printer. He grabs the paper, taking a quick look before placing it on the table in front of Drew.

Drew’s eyebrows furrow, sensing something really strange. 

And he was right. On the top of the paper, it read, “Fake dating Proposal.”

What the fuck. He reads through the first sentence in his head, with widen eyes, “In order to save Drew Starkey’s career, he must conduct a year-long fake relationship with Y/n Y/l/n.”

He falls back in his seat. “You’re not fucking serious. This is the strings you had to pull? This is fucking ridiculous! How is this-“

“Drew!” Jeff yells, making him shut up. His face was slightly red, sweat dripping down his forehead. “Drew, trust us. We wouldn’t cause more harm. This, this will save your career, save you.”

“but out of anyone-“ Drew adjusts his hat once again. “Out of anyone, and you chose her?”

“She’s the best choice of right now, and the only one who even agreed. Drew. You’re not in the place of choosing. You sign, and you accept it. Or it’s the end.”

He couldn’t believe himself right now. Literally. Out of every solution, every person, it had to be you. You, the one person he can’t stand. You, the one person that gets him worked up and annoyed. It was like the end of the world for him. 

Worse, his manager seems to agree with this solution. As if he doesn’t know how much Drew despises you. Jeff places the pen next to Drew. “I hate to say this, but Drew, you’re screwed unless you do this. We see the vision, and in a few years, you’ll see it too. Just, just treat this as another acting class, okay?”

Do I have a choice anyways, he thinks. Drew rubs his face in annoyance. Fuck. Damn you and damn himself. Getting into this stupid situation in the first place. 

He looks at the contract again. Sees your name again. And his head hurts a thousand times worse than a hangover. 

He reads through the contract terms, cringing at it. 

‘Must show up at five or more public evens together.’

‘Must show PDA at public events, such as touching, holding hands, kissing etc.’

‘Y/n Y/l/n must talk sweetly about Drew Starkey, and steer away any negative comments.’

‘During the course of this fake-relationship, being seen with any other costar of the opposite sex is forbidden.’

Much more was listed, at least twenty terms were on this contract alone. So this is the real thing. 

And at the bottom, Drew sees what was offered. Wow. You get offered millions of dollars, while all Drew receives is a clear to his scandal. 

He should at least get half the amount you’re earning, considering that he has to put up with you. “How can she get so much cash?” Drew asks, curiosity killing him. 

“Because she’s got nothing to gain from being with you,” Jeff states matter-of-factly, that hurt Drew’s ego more than it should have. He also noticed how much money this was, almost all the money he earned from acting in OBX. Wow. So not only were you a moody bitch, but a greedy one as well. 

Drew rubs his eyes aggressively, a frustrated yawn coming out. He so is going to regret this. The worst decision he ever has to make. 

You better be the savior to his career, or he was going to kill himself. 

Drew signs, pushing the paper away as if it had some kind of disease. 

Henry forces a smile, grabbing the paper. Drew gets ready to leave, but Henry stops him. “Where are you going?”

“Home. I- that was enough for me.”

“No, no. You’re going to Y/n’s filming set.”

“What?”

“Yes, you heard me. Her manager gave the green light, so you’re going.”

“Fuck, it’s only like, a minute since I signed.”

“Hey, I’m saving you right now,” Henry says. “Now, you want your sponsors back or not?”

Drew curses under his breath, never wanting to punch a wall as much as right now. “Fine. I'll go. But I can’t promise that I’m hugging or touching her or anything. She’s a complete stranger to me.”

“We just need a couple of photos to leak out,” Jeff says, grabbing his jacket. “I’ll drive you there.”

“Fucking hate you Jeff,” Drew says, walking out the office. “Henry you asshole.”

Either his managers heard and said whatever, or they didn’t care. But cursing at people who's helping him ‘save’ his career was the least of his worries. His head is just consumed with meeting you again, the brattiest bitch he's ever known.

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

word count: 1.2k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: i'm sooo happy for the support and how much people liked the teaser! i was giggling seeing the reblogs and likes.

anyways, thought i should release a prologue first, to give drew's pov of this situation. apologies in advance for y/n's character and anyone who can't handle her! but i'm so excited for you guys to read ch1, which will be released later this week! like or comment to show support, really appreciate it <3

[wholoveseggs]

Hey girl, I love you and your stories <3

Can I maybe request an enemies to lovers with a female reader and Elijah, which leads to a threesome between her Elijah and Klaus. Maybe with a little punishment and very kinky maybe with a little light bondage and just light beds in general, I'll leave the details up to you

thank you already <333

Captive

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x Klaus Mikaelson x Vampire!Reader} You are being held captive by a group of nasty witches, bring tortured, starved of blood and interrogated night and day... You've lost all hope, until two old enemies show up to save you, and you spend the evening reminiscing and making up for lost time.

♡♡ Thank you lovely anon! Its been so long since I did a ménage à trois with the boys & it's always so much fun to write! ♡♡

7.1k words {hehe} - Warnings: smut, lots of drinking, Klaus being a little shit, oral sex {m! and f! receiving}, a little bondage, praise kink, a little punishment, slight dom!Elijah and Klaus, blood sharing, rough sex, double penetration, overstimulation && aftercare ...

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05

In the dark, dingy cell; there was no way to tell the passage of time. Not that you were in any condition to care about that.

It had been so long, you had forgotten the feeling of sunlight kissing you skin, the smell of flowers in the wind, the sound of birds chirping in the morning, the taste of rich red wine, the laughter of friends. The last few days- weeks? months?- were spent in a haze. Time had become a distant concept.

All you knew now was cold, stale, dirty water, and the constant pain of hunger, and the agony of torture.

At first you blamed your captors, with their unrelenting desire to grab at power. Then you blamed your stupidity, your lack of caution. But most of all you blamed the Mikaelsons, for they were who the witches had targeted. They were the ones you were being tortured for.

If only you had not made such enemies, if only you hadn't gotten involved, you could have lived your immortal life without consequence, without guilt. You would have avoided all the pain, all the torture. Indulging in men of that caliber always came with a price, you just didn't expect it to happen to you.

In a way, it was a mercy that your body had long since given out. That you had become too weak, too hungry, to do much more than lay against the dirty floor, staring blankly ahead. Soon your limbs would stop working, only dust left in your veins. You would desiccate and die a slow, painful death, the only relief would be your own insanity.

It was there, in that dark place, where you accepted your fate. The witch's spells kept you trapped, you were too weak to even crawl out the door, and there was no one who knew where you were, no one who would come for you.

That is, until you felt the cold chill of the witch's magic suddenly disappear, like a weight lifted from your shoulders. Then the sound of fighting outside, the screams of the witches and their death rattles, and the door creaking open. And a cold laugh you never thought you would hear again.

"Isn't this a sight?" Klaus said, crouching down outside of the cell, leaning close to the ground to meet your eyes, "I never thought I'd see you in such a state, little fox."

His tone was light, almost mocking, and his grin was as cold as ever. You blinked a few times, hoping you were imagining things, that the delirium had finally set in. You had experienced plenty of hallucinations since the witch's had captured you.

But he didn't disappear. He stayed, watching you, like a snake waiting to strike.

"She looks awful," He mused, looking you over.

"And she smell even worse," another voice chimed in, his soft lilting accent completely unfamiliar, and yet somehow familiar at the same time.

"You've let yourself go, sweetheart," Klaus teased.

"Are you going to sit and gawk, or are you going to rescue the poor girl," The second man said, his voice growing closer as he joined Klaus.

It was Elijah, his way with words unmistakable, even in the attempt at an American accent he spoke with now.

"I was actually thinking about killing her, would it be easier?" Klaus replied, his grin widening, "What do you think brother, is she a lost cause?"

Elijah peered through the bars, his dark eyes taking you in. You wanted to hide, or scream, or cry. His face bringing back a thousand buried memories, all the reasons why you had tried so hard to forget him.

"I'd say she's quite beyond salvation," he said, "but you know I could never resist a damsel in distress, even one as ugly as this."

That hurt, even though you certainly deserved it. Many great fables are written about the tragic love affairs of humans, but nothing compared to the heartbreaks between vampires.

Klaus laughed at the pain in your eyes, the way they watered ever so slightly, despite how weak and dehydrated you were. But he reached out and grabbed the iron gate, tearing it off the hinges with a grunt.

"I think we're past pleasantries, don't you agree, love?" He asked, striding into the cell and lifting you up.

The moment his hands touched your skin, you knew it was real. That by some divine miracle you were rescued and it was by the worst possible people.

"You should really take a bath, it's unbecoming for a lady to smell like a sewer." Elijah commented, watching the way you were limp in Klaus' arms.

You choked out a half laugh, half sob, every small movement felt like sandpaper rubbing against your skin. You swallowed hard and it felt like a knife had been forced down your throat.

"Fuck you," you wheezed.

"There she is!" Klaus said, holding you bridal style, "We were wondering if you had actually died."

Elijah reached out and placed a hand on your head, smoothing out your hair and giving you a gentle smile. You leaned into the touch, the first kindness you had felt in so long.

Klaus carried you out of the cell, and into the room above. He sat down in an old wooden chair, the same one you had been tortured in countless times. Your breathing hitched and you tried to struggle, but he held you tight, pressing his face into your neck.

"Relax," he said, "I'm not going to kill you … yet."

The threat hung in the air, and Elijah rolled his eyes at his brothers' dramatics. You felt the tip of his tongue lick up your neck, and his fangs graze your skin, before pulling away.

"Any of them still kickin'?" He asked Elijah, who was peering around the room.

"One, she's alive. Barely," he replied, his gaze falling on a witch laying face down on the floor, her neck was at a weird angle, no doubt snapped by Elijah.

He dragged her to the middle of the room, her body limp, but you could hear the faint beating of her heart, her blood still pumping. She was still clinging to the last threads of existence. Her blood smelled divine, the sound of her heartbeat was music to your ears.

"Here's a deal," Klaus said, pulling your attention back to him, "I give you her blood, and you answer our questions. Sound fair?"

Your lips were chapped and your throat was dry, but you forced out an answer, "Yes, please."

You hadn't begged for anything the entire time the witches had imprisoned you. Not for freedom, not for mercy, not for blood, not even for your own life. But in that moment, all of your pride had been stripped away, and there was nothing left but desperation.

Elijah lifted the witch up, biting down on her wrist and offering it to you. The taste of fresh blood filled your mouth, and you moaned, gulping down as much as you could. But the relief didn't last long, as he pulled away.

"Enough," he said, his grip tight, "can't have you drinking too much."

You felt life returning to your limbs, your bones tingling as you were able to wiggle them, your skin turning from a gray pallor to its usual color. It wasn't much, but it was more than enough to take the edge off.

"Now, let's start with the obvious," Elijah said, "Why are you here?"

"On vacation," you replied sarcastically, your voice hoarse, but not as quiet as before.

Elijah didn't say anything, instead he gave you a cold stare, daring you to make another joke. You shrunk away, but not much. It had been so long since you had been with them, but the way they made you feel, was ingrained into your bones.

"The witches, what do they want from you? I will not ask you again," He asked, the anger behind his words making you nervous.

"They wanted you two," you said, "they knew we had...history."

"History?" Klaus said, chuckling, "that's a very bland word for what we had."

You bit your tongue. He wasn't wrong, but you weren't willing to admit that to them.

"They thought I could get to you, so they tortured me," you explained.

"And could you? Get to us?" Elijah asked, his eyes narrowed.

You didn't respond, instead you looked down. The truth was, you had been avoiding them for centuries and to do that, you always kept tabs on them. So yes, if you wanted to, you could have gotten to them, but that would have meant reopening old wounds, and the last thing you wanted was to feel that pain all over again.

"We could always compel the answer out of you," Elijah mused.

You shook your head. It wasn't that they couldn't, but that they didn't need to. You were already at their mercy, and had no desire to fight them.

"I... I kept your secrets, no matter how much they tortured me," You said, "I never told them anything."

"How noble," Klaus replied, rolling his eyes, "your loyalty is truly inspiring, sweetheart."

His grip tightened on your body, his fingers digging into your skin. It was starting to make you angry. Yes, they had saved you, but the way they spoke to you, the way they were acting, it was too much.

"Fuck off," you snapped, "I could have given them anything, and yet, here I am, starving and tortured. So maybe a little respect would be nice, you prick."

Elijah let out a short, sharp laugh, while Klaus glared at you. But after a moment he grinned and chuckled, the sound sending a shiver up your spine.

"You were always so bold," Klaus said, "you never were afraid of me."

"She's a fool then," Elijah replied.

"Well, what is life without a few fools, brother?" Klaus asked.

"Boring," you replied, earning a smirk from both of them.

Elijah leaned down, grabbing the witch by the hair and placing her head on your lap. She was so close to dying, you could hear her heartbeat getting weaker and weaker. You looked down at her, the smell of her blood filling the air, and licked your lips.

"Drink up now, you've earned it," he said, stroking the back of her head.

You sank your teeth into her neck, the taste of her blood filling your mouth, as you greedily sucked up as much as you could. Nothing tasted better than draining the life out of a witch.

When you finished, you tossed the body aside, licking your lips and wiping your mouth. You were finally able to relax, your stomach full, your skin returning to a healthy color. You stood up, steady and sure on your feet for the first time in months.

"Where do you think you're going?" Klaus asked, reaching out and grabbing your wrist.

"A hotel, I'm thinking luxury suite, room service, a month long spa treatment, the works," you replied, "thanks for the save, I'm off."

You tried to pull your arm away, but his grip tightened, yanking you towards him.

"Such hubris, little fox," he said, his voice cold and menacing, "you don't really think we're going to just let you go, do you?"

You struggled in his grasp, but it was no use. He was too strong, and you were still too weak. You looked to Elijah, a silent plea, but he just shrugged, an amused smile on his lips.

"What the hell do you mean?" You asked.

"Well, there is the fact that you owe us a favor, but also," he said, leaning forward, his mouth brushing your ear, "I still think your lying,"

And with that, he reached for your neck and with one swift move he snapped it. You didn't even have a chance to react, and as you fell to the ground, the world fading away.

When you woke up, you were somewhere else, on a large, incredibly comfortable sofa, the smell of leather and wood in the air. The light was dim, and it took you a moment to get your bearings. You heard a crackling fire, the sounds of music playing from somewhere, and the voices of the Mikaelson's arguing.

"I don't believe she was lying," Elijah said.

"Really, I'm surprised at you brother," Klaus replied, "considering how she ended things with you,"

Elijah sighed and didn't respond. You couldn't see him, but you imagined him adjusting his suit, and the way his jaw twitched when he was annoyed.

"I'm not inclined to trust her either," Elijah said, "But I think holding her captive is pointless,"

"She's a risk," Klaus argued, "and she's not leaving till I'm sure she's not lying."

You sat up and glanced around, trying to see where they were. It was a large living room, the furniture was ornate and expensive, with antique looking paintings on the wall, and bookshelves lining every surface. There was a coffee table next to the sofa you were on, and your eyes landed on a fresh horror that was laying there.

You let out a blood curdling scream, one that echoed in the space and made Klaus and Elijah appear almost instantly. You were still staring, frozen in place, unable to look away.

A human head was sitting on the table, his skin pale and his eyes wide and lifeless. It was one of the witches that had tortured you, and it was sitting there, staring at you.

"Jesus Christ, is that necessary?" You snapped, pointing at the head.

Klaus grinned, looking down at the head, and shrugging, "I thought you would appreciate the gesture,"

"I don't!" You exclaimed.

"Perhaps you could have done something a little less barbaric," Elijah suggested.

"Oh come now brother, where's the fun in that," Klaus replied, and Elijah rolled his eyes.

"It's a peace offering," Klaus replied, walking over and lifting the head up, tossing it from one hand to the other, "do you like it?"

"No!" You yelled, covering your eyes and trying not to gag, "I want it gone, get rid of it,"

"Oh, come on little fox, don't be so uptight," He replied, his voice low and dangerous, "I remember when you used to enjoy this sort of thing,"

An awkward tension filled the room. Elijah cleared his throat and Klaus laughed.

"Too far?" He asked.

"Just a bit," Elijah replied.

"Sorry, my bad," he said, turning his attention back to you, "now, let's discuss how you're going to repay us."

"What, not even a hello, or how are you?" You asked, standing up.

Elijah gently pushed you back down onto the sofa. He sat down next to you, giving you a small smile, and placing a hand on your knee. You felt your heart skip a beat, and you cursed yourself for the reaction. You had been the one to ruin things with him, and yet, being near him again, it made you wish you hadn't.

"This happy reunion calls for wine!" Klaus called, he chucked the head somewhere out of sight and strided over to a mini bar, pulling out a bottle and glasses, "unfortunately I don't have anything fancy at this particular bar, but this is a decent 1990s vintage, which I think is passable,"

"I don't drink anything after the 1900s," Elijah replied, leaning back against the sofa.

Klaus scoffed, but didn't reply, instead he poured himself a glass and downed it in one gulp.

"Fine," he grumbled, "make me go to the cellar, like some sort of servant,"

"If the shoe fits," Elijah quipped.

You watched the exchange, trying to process everything that had happened. They were different now, their accents and mannerisms, not to mention their appearances. But the easy banter between them, and the way they were able to get under each other's skin, that hadn't changed one bit.

"Are you two ever not at each other's throats?" You asked, leaning back, "seriously, you are worse than an old married couple."

"Far worse," Klaus yelled, before disappearing down a hallway, off to retrieve the good wine.

"Don't mind him," Elijah said, turning to you, "he's never been very appreciative of fine cuisine."

"I know. He's a heathen," you replied, smiling.

Elijah didn't return the smile, his gaze fixed on you, a strange expression on his face. His eyes were dark and intense, and the longer he looked, the more uncomfortable you felt.

"You've changed," he said.

"So have you," you replied, "it's been centuries and I wasn't exactly eager to run into either of you again."

He didn't respond. The silence hung in the air, neither of you wanting to talk about the elephant in the room. What had happened, was painful, and neither of you had really moved on.

"Why did you do it?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You bit your lip. A million lies flashed through your mind. The truth was cruel, and you didn't want to admit it, but it was the only option.

"Because I was bored," you admitted, "and I didn't know any other way to handle it, so I turned it all off,"

"And found a far more vigorous lover in the process," Klaus said, suddenly appearing with an older bottle of wine.

He handed it to Elijah, who looked over the label and nodded. Klaus gave you a wink and sat down on the chair across from the two of you.

Elijah didn't speak, and you couldn't read his expression. He looked hurt, and his gaze turned away from you. Guilt was a feeling you spent a lot a time accepting back into your life, but to witness the consequences, that was far worse.

"Whoops, still a sore subject I see," Klaus teased.

"Niklaus, shut up," Elijah snapped.

Klaus threw his hands up in mock surrender, and didn't say anything, a satisfied smile on his face. He was just as much to blame as you, but clearly he had no remorse and was loving the awkwardness of the moment.

Elijah uncorked the wine and poured a glass for all three of you. The tension in the room was still palpable, and as much as you wanted to apologize, you knew that nothing would fix what you had done.

"To reunions, and bloody witches," Klaus said, raising his glass, "to past lovers and new enemies, to the future, whatever that may bring,"

He chuckled and took a long drink. You and Elijah didn't move, still looking away from each other.

"Oh, come on, I'm not doing this whole thing alone," Klaus said, glaring at the two of you, "let's play a game,"

"You know, I'm not really in the mood for a game," you said, crossing your arms.

"Well, lucky for you, I'm not asking," Klaus replied, his voice dripping with false kindness, "now, the rules are simple, tell the truth or take a drink,"

"We are not children," Elijah protested, "we don't need games to imbibe,"

"Oh, I beg to differ," Klaus said, "so, what shall we ask first? Hmmm... oh, how about, why were you in New Orleans?"

You stared at him, unsure if you should just answer, or try to get out of the game. He was looking at you, his eyes narrowed and his jaw set. You could feel his anger, and the last thing you wanted was to piss him off.

"I needed an answer to a question," you replied, "it's… important to me,"

Klaus and Elijah exchanged a glance, both of them curious about what you meant.

"How intriguing," Klaus said, leaning back, "and what was this question?"

"Doesn't work that way," you replied, a smile creeping onto your face, "it's your turn,"

"Clever girl," Klaus replied, grinning.

"My turn," Elijah said, turning to Klaus, "where did you find this bottle,"

"Why does that matter?" Klaus replied, annoyed.

"I don't remember seeing that year in the cellar," Elijah replied, taking a sip.

"Perhaps it was from your secret stash…" Klaus asked, smirking, "the one I'm not supposed to know about?"

Elijah glared at him, and you stifled a laugh. Their arguments were always funny, and this was no exception.

"Well, I was feeling sentimental, so I grabbed one of the better years," Klaus explained, "what's the harm in a little nostalgia,"

Elijah didn't say anything, his gaze turning back to the glass, swirling the wine around.

"My turn," you said, "how did you find me?"

"Simple," Klaus said, "we have spies everywhere, and witches are the most gossiping creatures on the planet. When I heard they were torturing a lovely little vampire that matched your description, well… we just had to see for ourselves,"

You were shocked, that they had gone out of their way to find you. You hadn't expected them to care, or even remember you, and to know they had saved you just because they could, it was a strange feeling.

"But, why bother saving me?" You asked, genuinely curious, "you don't owe me anything, not after how I left things,”

They both fell silent, exchanging a glance that seemed to have an entire conversation within it. After a moment, Elijah spoke.

"It's always better to know where our enemies stand," he said, "you are a useful asset, and a potential enemy,"

"And," Klaus added, "we love killing witches who get too big for their boots,"

Elijah glared at him and then sighed, "That too,"

You didn't say anything, their reasoning making perfect sense. You had a history with the two of them, but that didn't mean you were friends.

Elijah's arm stretched behind you, casually resting on the back of the couch. His fingers brushed your shoulder and you felt your breath catch. His hand was warm and you could feel his thumb stroke your shoulder.

"What did the witches ask you?" he said, his voice soft and low. “Tell us the whole truth,”

His hand moved subtly to the back of your neck, a quiet threat, one that didn't require words. You understood the unspoken message and knew that if you didn't give him an answer he was happy with, then you would end up the same way as the head that was somewhere in the house.

"They asked about your weaknesses, how to kill you," you admitted, "I told them to go fuck themselves and in return they upped to torture severely,”

Klaus snorted, clearly impressed. He poured himself another glass, while Elijah gave you a satisfied nod.

"Why the loyalty? We haven't spoken in centuries," Elijah asked, his fingers tracing the curve of your neck, "I seem to remember you hating us both,"

You picked up your glass and took a long drink, not saying anything.

"Not a fan of the question?" He asked.

"It's not loyalty, but self preservation," you said, shrugging, "the wrath of witches is one thing, but you two? That's a death wish,"

Klaus laughed and held up his glass, "well played, sweetheart,"

Elijah didn't remove his hand, his fingers lightly caressing the nape of your neck, his gaze never wavering from yours.

"My turn," you said, trying not to squirm under his touch, "why not kill me? You are clearly afraid I hold secrets you rather I didn't,"

"Call it … Nostalgia," Klaus said, a wicked grin on his face, "I do so love to reminisce, and if I am being honest, you are one of the more fun memories,"

"Ah yes, your one weakness, sentimental attachment to those you've slept with," you quipped, taking another drink, the alcohol warming your throat.

"I guess it's the one thread of our humanity we've never been able to shake," Klaus admitted.

You raised your glass and downed the rest of it, setting the glass down with a small clink. Elijah refilled it, his hand now resting on your lower back. You tried to ignore it, but every touch made you more aware of him, and less able to concentrate.

"Let's make a deal," Klaus said, his expression serious, "we will let you go, if you answer why you are in New Orleans,"

You bit your lip, wondering if they would even believe you.

"I'm here because..." you paused, looking down at the ground, "I heard a witch here can help with... Fertility,"

They both froze, a stunned look on their faces.

"A baby?" Elijah asked, his eyes wide.

"Is that what you've been chasing all these centuries?" Klaus asked, clearly surprised.

You looked up at both of them, two of the oldest beings to walk this earth. Them, of all people, you hoped would understand your reasons.

"I've experienced everything I've ever wanted too in my long life," you began, your hands twisting in your lap, "climbed the tallest mountains, swam in the deepest oceans, drank with Kings of long forgotten empires, fucked and fed from the greatest artists, poets, warriors and philosophers the world has ever known... but now I wish for only one thing,"

You stopped, swallowing a lump in your throat, blinking back the tears that were threatening to fall.

"To be a mother," you whispered, "to impart my wisdom on someone, and love them more than anything. To show them the beauty of the world and watch them grow up, have children of their own, and carry on a legacy. It's the one thing I haven't done, and the one thing I want most in the world,"

You thought that Klaus would laugh, perhaps even mock you, but he didn't, instead his expression was sympathetic, and Elijah's was one of understanding.

"You are not the wild, reckless creature that we used to know," Klaus said, "you have changed,"

"And so have you," you replied.

The three of you sat in silence for a few minutes, letting the weight of the conversation settle.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Elijah asked, his arm now firmly around your waist.

"All I found was a chains and a cell," you replied, "I was a fool, blinded by hope. All that awaited me was pain,"

Klaus poured you another drink, they couldn't help you, but at least they could offer you a distraction.

The night quickly dissolved into a drunken revelry. The three of you laughing and drinking, the old days a source of amusement. Your belly was full of blood and wine, and the tension between the three of you had dissipated.

"Now that I have determined you aren't a threat, it's time to get down to the real questions," Klaus said, "who is the better lover? Me or my dear brother,"

"Seriously?" You exclaimed, rolling your eyes.

"What?" He replied, "I'm just curious, I promise I won't get jealous,"

"I'm not answering that," you said.

"Yes, well, I would rather not hear the answer," Elijah interjected.

"You are no fun," Klaus replied, and then leaned forward, his gaze intense, "I'm going to assume it's me,"

"Interesting assumption," you said, raising an eyebrow, "but if we're talking about skills, there is a clear winner,"

Elijah grinned, and Klaus shot you an offended look. You laughed and finished the rest of the wine, setting the glass on the table.

"And I've always preferred passion over... Enthusiasm," you said, a hint of teasing in your voice.

Elijah didn't look up from his drink, his face neutral, but you could tell he was smiling. Klaus huffed, and crossed his arms.

"I would be delighted to remind you," Klaus said, leaning forward and placing a hand on your thigh, "just say the word, and we can retire to a more comfortable location."

You grabbed his wrist and twisted, until you felt his bones shatter. He cried out in pain, then quickly recovered, the bones snapping back into place.

"That's not how this works," you replied, smiling sweetly.

He stared at you, his expression changing from shock to a pleased smile.

"Still the same fire, I see," he replied, "a good reminder of the past,"

"If I were to sleep with either of you again, it would be on my terms, certainly not when I'm held captive," you snapped.

"Who said anything about holding you captive," Klaus replied, "if we were, you would still be shackled to the wall,"

"Some might enjoy that sort of thing," Elijah remarked, his cheeks were a bit rosy from drink and you enjoyed how it made him seem less cold.

"Have you done that sort of thing Elijah?" You teased, "I never would have taken you for a deviant,"

He shrugged, a sly smile on his face, "I don't divulge such things,"

"Oh, please, you can tell us," Klaus said, "unless you haven't, and are simply trying to pretend like you have,"

"Or perhaps he has and is ashamed of the things he's done," you added, laughing.

Elijah glared at the two of you, the playful glint in his eyes giving him away. He simply stood up and held out his hand to you, the confidence in his stance and the way he looked at you sent a jolt of heat through your body.

"The only way to know for sure, is to experience it for yourself," he said, his tone seductive, "I'll leave the choice up to you,"

You stared at him, a sudden desire coursing through your veins. This was a terrible idea, but at the same time, a chance to have a night of freedom and pleasure after months of torture was an offer you couldn't resist.

"If I say no, am I free to go?" You challenged, meeting his gaze.

"You were never a prisoner," he replied, "the only person keeping you here is yourself,"

He was right. They hadn't chained you, or compelled you, and now that the threat of danger was gone, there was nothing stopping you from walking out the door. But that was not what you wanted, and the look in his eyes was too enticing.

"Alright, but I need a shower first, I still smell of dungeon and witch piss," you said, standing up and taking his hand, "and you better not disappoint,"

He smiled, his eyes dark with desire, and pulled you into his arms, his lips crashing into yours. The kiss was intense, and you clung to his shoulders, melting into his embrace.

Klaus scoffed, he loathed being left out.

"Really?" he grumbled, pouring himself another glass. "Can you keep the noise to a minimum, I would prefer to have a little sleep tonight,"

You let out a soft giggle, "oh, don't pout, you can come too,"

Klaus raised an eyebrow, looking to his brother for an answer. Elijah nodded, a smirk on his face.

"If she insists," Elijah said, his voice smooth, "you know I've never been good at denying her,"

Klaus immediately got to his feet, throwing his glass of wine into the fireplace. The flames leapt up, the red embers glowing, illuminating the room in a fiery light. He walked over and wrapped an arm around your waist, his lips brushing your ear, his hand cupping your ass.

"Do you have any idea how many times I've fantasized about having you in bed again?" He whispered, his breath hot against your neck.

You smiled and pushed him away, enjoying his expression of surprise.

"Well, then, why are we still standing here," you said, sauntering out of the room, "the night won't last forever,"

Elijah caught up with you in the hallway, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing you up against the wall. He kissed you, his hands sliding down to your thighs and lifting you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist and ran your fingers through his hair, deepening the kiss.

He carried you all the way to his bedroom, never once breaking the kiss. The room was dark, and the bed was large and covered in dark silk sheets. He pointed to his bathroom, and you pulled your tattered clothes off, leaving them on the floor.

You went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, waiting for the water to get warm. You felt his arms wrap around you and turned around, letting him press you up against the tile. He kissed you again, his tongue slipping into your mouth. His hands roamed your body, exploring every inch of bare skin, his touch igniting a fire within you.

Klaus quickly joined you, he had undressed in the other room, and stood naked in the doorway. You smiled at him, enjoying the way his muscles flexed as he moved.

Elijah pulled away from you to undress and you watched as his shirt was unbuttoned and fell to the ground. His pants followed, and your eyes roamed his body, admiring his muscular frame. The two of them were opposites in many ways, but they both had a beauty to them, and right now you could hardly choose which one you wanted more.

You took both their hands and pulled them under the steamy water, running your hands across their skin. Their bodies were warm and firm, their skin soft under your fingertips. You kissed Elijah, while Klaus kissed and licked your breasts, his hands wandering between your legs.

You could feel his fingers brush against your wet core, his thumb pressing against your clit. He slowly circled the sensitive nub, sending a wave of pleasure through your body. Your hands wandered down to Elijah's cock, gently stroking the hard length.

Elijah kissed you, his lips trailing down your neck, his hand gently caressing your breasts. You moaned, enjoying the feeling of their hands on your body.

Their touch was overwhelming, hands and mouths everywhere, and it was only when the water started to turn cold that you all stepped out, laughing and breathless.

Elijah pulled you on to his bed, and you fell on to his chest. His lips found yours and you lost yourself in his kiss. You felt the bed dip and Klaus pressed his lips against your shoulder, his hands running along your thighs. He kissed his way down your spine, his hands pushing your ass up in the air.

His lips trailed along the curve of your lower back, his fingers tracing the line of your hip. He placed a soft kiss on your inner thigh and you moaned, anticipation coiling in your stomach.

You felt his tongue flick across your pussy and you gasped, arching your back. He chuckled and began licking and sucking, his tongue expertly teasing your clit.

Elijah's hands cupped your face and you turned your attention back to him. His eyes were blown wide with lust, his gaze fixed on yours. You kissed him, the taste of the wine still lingering on his lips. His cock was hard against your stomach and you could feel his desire pulsing through his veins.

Your hand trailed down his chest, and you wrapped your fingers around his cock, slowly stroking the thick shaft. His eyebrows arched in pleasure, and you could feel his muscles tighten.

You kissed your way down his chest until you were level with his cock. You ran your tongue along the underside of his shaft, enjoying the sound of his low moans. A gentle hum left your throat and you felt him shudder.

You took him in your mouth, gently sucking and swirling your tongue. He groaned, his hands tangling in your hair. His grip tightened and you increased your pace, taking his length deeper.

Klaus moved away for a moment, and you could see Elijah observing whatever he was doing, a dark smile spreading across his face. You felt the bed dip as Klaus returned, and he grabbed your wrists, pinning them behind your back.

A moment later, the soft leather of a belt wrapped around them, and he secured the belt, tight enough that you couldn't move, but not too tight that it hurt.

Elijah's eyes met yours, and a wicked smile played across his lips. "Do you enjoy being tied up? Being helpless and at our mercy?" He asked, his voice a deep growl.

You nodded eagerly, taking him further into your mouth. His eyes darkened, and he grabbed a fistful of your hair, his hips thrusting forward. You could feel him hit the back of your throat and gagged, your eyes watering.

Klaus kissed your lower back, then positioned himself at your entrance. You gasped as he slowly slid inside, the stretch sending waves of pleasure through your body. He held still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, then slowly began to move.

You moaned, the sensation of being filled by both of them overwhelming. They began to move in a steady rhythm, Klaus thrusting into you while Elijah fucked your mouth. You were helpless, pinned between them, unable to do anything but submit.

The sound of their pleasure sent a shiver of delight through you, and you felt yourself getting closer and closer to release. Elijah's breathing became ragged, and his grip on your hair tightened. You knew he was close, so you focused on pleasuring him, moving all the way down and swallowing.

He let out a low groan and came, his hot release spilling into your mouth. You swallowed every drop, then pulled away, gasping for air. You smiled up at him, his expression one of bliss.

Klaus continued to thrust into you, his pace increasing. He leaned forward and bit into your shoulder, his fangs sinking deep. You cried out in pain and pleasure, your body shuddering. His bloodlust combined with his own pleasure, the feeling overwhelming, but just as you were about to cum, he stopped.

You let out a whine, and he chuckled, his hands squeezing your ass.

"I don't think I'm quite ready for this to end," he murmured, pulling out.

Elijah's hands moved down to your arms, pulling you forward and guiding you onto his lap. You straddled him, your hands still bound behind your back, and his cock brushed against your wet core.

"Do you remember how you used to love riding me?" He whispered, his lips brushing against yours.

You nodded, eager for him to fill you. He grinned and lifted your hips, slowly lowering you onto his cock. He gripped your hips and began to move you up and down. You moaned, resting your head on his shoulder and grinding your hips.

Klaus positioned himself behind you, and you felt his hand trail down your back. His fingers traced the line of your ass, and then he spread your cheeks, exposing your other hole.

"You are such a pretty little thing," he murmured, pressing a finger against your ass, "all tied up and at our mercy,"

He slid a finger inside, the tight ring of muscle giving way. You moaned, the feeling of being filled by both of them overwhelming.

Klaus coated his cock with a lubricant and pressed it against your ass. Elijah held you still, his lips claiming yours in a heated kiss. You could feel the tip of Klaus' cock pushing into your ass and whimpered, the stretch bordering on painful.

Klaus slowly sank into you, letting out a low groan. He began to thrust, his movements slow and deep. The feeling of both of them inside you was almost too much, and you moaned, your body trembling.

"Are you enjoying this, love?" Klaus asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"Yes," you whimpered, unable to form a coherent sentence.

Elijah kissed along your jaw, his fingers digging into your hips, guiding your movements, rocking you back and forth on their cocks.

You felt the heat of their bodies pressed against yours, and their hands were everywhere, stroking, caressing, and teasing. The smell of their sweat and desire was intoxicating, and you were lost in the pleasure, your mind spinning.

Klaus pulled on your wrists, his mouth colliding with the side of your neck. You cried out as he bit into you, his fangs piercing your skin. Elijah kissed the other side, mirroring his brother's bite.

The combination of the pleasure and pain was too much, and you came, your orgasm crashing through your body. You writhed in their arms, your body trembling, waves of ecstasy washing over you.

They kept you pinned between them, bouncing you up and down, their movements rough and animalistic. The belt came loose, and your hands came free.

You wrapped your arms around Elijah's neck as another orgasm hit, this one even more intense than the last. He smiled at the look of pure bliss on your face and kissed you, his hands tangled in your hair.

Klaus groaned, pressing himself deep as he came, then he slowly pulled out, kissing the nape of your neck.

Elijah soon followed, his eyes meeting yours as he shuddered, spilling into you. You collapsed against him, exhausted and sated. He gently stroked your hair, his gaze soft and loving.

"I forgot how good you are at that," you mumbled, your eyes drifting closed.

He chuckled, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your skin. You snuggled against his chest, enjoying the warmth of his embrace.

Klaus laid down next to the two of you, his eyes bright, and a smile on his face. "What about me? Any thoughts?" He asked, and you giggled, the alcohol still coursing through your system.

"You were pretty good, too," you replied, reaching out and patting his arm.

He grinned, his hand coming to rest on the top of your thigh. "I don't know why we didn't do this earlier, it would have saved us all a lot of trouble," he said.

Elijah nodded, a small smirk on his lips, "you may be right,"

"I'm sorry for leaving you the way I did," you said softly, running your hands through Elijah's hair, "and thank you for coming to save me,"

He nodded, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead, then helped you off his lap, and onto the bed, covering the three of you with a silk sheet.

"Do you mind if I stay here a while? It's been so long since I've had a good night's sleep," you mumbled, your fingers curling into Elijah's chest, holding him tight.

He didn't reply, just pulled you closer, his hand stroking your back, lulling you to sleep.

"We've got all the time in the world, love," Klaus said softly, his voice barely a whisper, "we'll make sure no more nasty witches get their hands on you,"

It had been so long since you had felt so content, you could feel the warmth of their skin, smell their cologne, hear the beat of their hearts. You could taste the blood and whiskey in the air, and it felt right, like you had come home.

[some-insomniac-writes]

♡ Puppy-lovin' ♡

A/N: Oh my goodness this took me FAR TOO LONG!!!! Commission of headcanons for my lovely sunshine anon, THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE MY DARLING!!!

Even more headcanons of puppy hybrid and Leon shenanigans!!!

Warnings/content: 2nd person (you/yours), fem pup hybrid reader, grumpy ol' man Vendetta Leon, Leon is referred to as daddy! lots and lots and LOTS of fluff!!! Headcanons!!!

Word count: 3,250 approx.

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What is his biggest pet peeve that she does? (Ik he's obsessed with her HAHA but he  i s  still a grump at times, after all)

TEETHING. That sweet fluffy baby chews on ANYTHING she can get her little canines on. Food and water bowls, toys, chair legs, trashcans, clothes, towels, shoes. Leon has to sit you down and explain that yes you do have very pretty chompers and yes the hybrid vet said they were very healthy and you were a good girl for brushing them on your own but that doesn’t mean you have to PROVE A POINT WITH SAID TEETH!!!! SAVE IT FOR THE SQUEAKY TOYS!!!!! HIS COMBAT BOOTS DID NOT DESERVE THAT GNAWING!!!!!!

I also feel like her whimpering might sometimes get to him?? Depending on his mood. Like making dinner? Whimper. He’s in the bathroom? Whimper. Reading files? Whimper. Tv without her? Whimper. Broken record. His puppy just wants to be around him any time she can because that’s her daddy obviously, and he loves her to bits, but sometimes the man just wants to take a piss alone! We’re talking he gets a few fingers gently bapping at the gap between the floor and the door out of curiosity with mixed whines, or sometimes he has to keep it open a crack so you can hold his hand as he goes. You’re so damn lucky he loves you and that thumping tail of yours.

“Listen, listen, a man has the right to pee in peace. My puppy says otherwise, okay?” -Likely said by Leon as he’s laughing to one of his coworkers about your behaviour. 

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

What's something that'll make him go "Who did this, hm?" And she's like- anxiously wags,,,, like when dogs know they're guilty n stuff 😭

ONCE MORE THE CHEWING!!!! I also feel like she can’t be trusted with porcelain or glass for obvious reasons (cough cough Picture Perfect fic cough) so if he does let her eat with him at a table or anything it’s gotta be plastic. One time she’s wanting to be helpful and get him a glass of water as they’re winding down for the night, he came home from a long tedious day of work, and on her way to the faucet she’s still so excited about him being back that she completely forgets she is in fact holding a glass. When it hits the floorboards it’s instant chaos, babygirl’s sitting there staring at the shards like ‘uh oh uh oh uhohuhoh-’ and not knowing what else to do she puts a pillow over it. Because yeah honey, he’s totally gonna think that's perfectly normal.

So obviously when Leon finds it, seeing the pieces collected in a neat little pile under a cushion, he’s giving a call. 

“Sunshine. C’mere a second, baby.”

And you toddle your way in with that tail slightly tucked, not making eye contact. Oh he already knows what’s going on, you’ve never been very good at lying.

“Y’know, it’s funny sweetheart. I come home from a long day of work, have an amazing dinner with my favourite girl in the world, take a nice hot shower and start getting ready for bed. But right as I’m turning the lights off, I find this.” He gestures rather pointedly to the cushion atop the glass shards. 

“And I’m thinkin’, hm, that’s odd. So I pick it up, and look at what’s hiding under it.” Picking it up by a corner of the casing, he makes sure to add an over dramatic gasp. “Broken glass! Isn’t that the strangest thing, puppy? I mean, what are the odds?” His broad shoulders shrug as if he himself can’t believe this ‘totally random’ sequence of events leading to a pile of glass ‘randomly’ appearing under a pillow. “You wouldn’t happen to know who did this, now would you honey?”

You’ve got your cute butt planted on the floor by now, looking up at him rather pitifully. Staring from beneath your lashes, tail slowly wagging back and forth across the hardwood, ears pressed back. 

When you do finally speak, it’s a mumble of “I was getting you water n’ I forgot…”

He cocks an eyebrow at you. “You.. forgot? You forgot what, sweetpea?”

“...Forgot I was holding the glass..”

Oh his heart just melts. You’re an angel, a bit of a dummy at times, but such an angel. Leon can only shake his head with a chuckle, placing a kiss to the crown of your head. “My sweet, silly girl. Let’s get this cleaned up then, alright?”

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

Do you think Leon will have his days where he needs space from her from a difficult mission/assignment?

It’s a 50/50 depending on how hard the mission was. If we’re talking like freshly Vendetta Leon then definitely. He’s just so mentally drained, sometimes he just needs to have a minute to fall face first into bed, lay there for a couple of hours. He’ll leave to go to the bathroom and hear your paws padding after him but he just doesn’t have the energy to do anything more then pet you as he goes to grab another drink from the fridge. Sometimes alcohol, sometimes soda. It depends on how shitty he’s feeling, how much he wants to torture himself.

Sometimes you sit at the door with a meek whimper and swishing tail, at first confused as to why he’s so down. Pawing at the wood grain like the poor dumb girl you are, missing your favourite person and just wanting to be there with him. From time to time you crawl up into bed next to him, slipping under his arm to lay your face in the crook of his bicep, often to receive a gentle pet. “I just need a second, puppy. You’re my good girl, though.”

A few times you’ve asked him why he gets like that, why he seems to sink back into himself, and he just sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Y’know how you get upset after the vet, cause they prod at your teeth with the nasty tasting gloves and you have to get your shots?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well sometimes Daddy gets like that after a really really hard day at work.”

“..If I put a Hello Kitty bandaid on it and..” You scrunch your little nose in thought, “..buy you a stuffie for being brave will you feel better?”

And he just chuckles fondly, giving your hair a gentle ruffle. God, you’re too sweet. “Maybe baby, maybe.”

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

Do you think he'll get better with the drinking with her around, or do you think he still drinks? I imagine that she's not a fan, if he still does!

He definitely tries his best to at least cut down on the drinking, but I doubt he’s entirely sober since - well, it’s Leon - but he really doesn’t feel the need to sometimes. Usually when something shitty goes down he instantly goes for the bottle, but now? Now it takes a lot more to drive him into that spiral. 

Most of the time when his depression hits it’s like you sense it, call it that puppy instinct, and you’re toddling your way over to lay your head on his knee and whimper. He tries not to get too drunk, he knows you hate it. How he sways and scruffs at your hair sometimes a little too hard. But he’s trying. Tries to substitute the shitty burning taste of whiskey with spicy foods as an alternative, or punish himself through tonic water only to look like an angry cat once the glass is finished. Anything other than alcohol if he can stomach it.

Because he doesn’t want you to remember him as someone who drank all the time, he wants you to remember how on the bad days he opened his arms to you and let you lay atop his chest as his own personal weighted blanket. How despite how he used to snap and draw away from everyone, how he’d shoot whiskey like it was water, you coming into his life made it all feel so much easier.

He wants you to remember that you made it easier. You made it better.

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When she gets in trouble, what is it for? And is there any form of "punishment" or "grounding"? 

Timeout is HUGE, I don’t think he’d have the heart to actually ground her. One bat of those big babydoll eyes and he has to remind himself NOT to cave. The only thing he can’t do is take her toys away, that would eat the big guy up inside AND out, he knows how much you adore your stuffies and squeakies. 

Usually it’s just lockup time in her pen to sit and think about what she did, doing his best to ignore the pitiful sound of your whines of guilt. He knows you hate timeout, but he doesn’t really know how else to punish you! That or taking away your weekly movie night until you behave, which means no 2 or so hours of uninterrupted cuddle time on daddy’s lap, which is worse than a jail sentence in your opinion. 

The cone of shame has yet to be used, same for muzzles. You’ve cut it pretty close a few times with any of the ladies who stick around and talk to him too long though! He had no clue his sweet sunshine baby had a knack for nipping at ankles.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

Does she beg for food, and if so, how does Leon go about dealing with it?

BIG puppy dog eyes at the table, sitting at his feet. Sometimes he caves, because duh, you’re his baby. But Chris keeps saying he needs to be more stern so he tries and tries and TRIES. But you have those HUGE glossy blinkers on blinky mode up at him, and your tail is swish swish swishing happily against the wooden grain and you just look so ready to get a little bite of whatever he’s got and who is he to deny you? You who wakes him up with kisses and cuddles, who trots along behind him everywhere he goes. You sit at the window and wait for him to get home from work for god’s sake, surely a little piece of food is nothing, right?

He’ll do it cause he loves you, other times cause he wants to see how you’ll react. One time you gave him the puppy stare for a lick of the hot sauce he got to go with his wings, which was a moment of instant regret on your end. Leon had to bite back the biggest smile with an “Is it good, baby?” Watching you smack your lips and tongue with a scrunched up face and furrowed eyebrows. Shaking your head around and yapping as if the taste was a personal attack on you.

Sometimes you even get fancy with it, padding from leg to leg at his feet, doing little spins out of excitement for whatever tasty morsel he’s about to drop into your mouth. I mean c’mon, how is he supposed to resist it?

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

How does he interact with her in his depressive states, and how does she comfort him?

You 100% believe he needs a stuffie. So you’re dropping your toys in his lap with big wet eyes and a slow swaying tail. It has to make him feel better, right?

Leon has two main moods when he’s in his depressions. ‘I’ve ruined everything, no one come near me.’ And ‘I’ve ruined everything, please don’t leave me alone.’ Swinging between these moods like an unstable seesaw, but he just can’t bring himself to pull you down with it. Who is he to look you in the eye and tell you to go away, when all you want to do is help? You’re not a bad girl, not a bad dog, so why should he lecture you on behaviour that comes as natural to you as breathing? Your kindness and need to ensure he’s as happy as you are, it’s practically built into your little puppy brain. Because he’s your daddy, and you love him. 

So he tries his hardest. He lays on the couch for his usual hour of slumping but keeps an eye out for a swishing tail, an ear out for any little whimpers. You’re climbing into his lap, crawling all over him to put your weight on him, cuddling up like a plush toy. 

And he wraps his arms around you silently, letting you be his anchor.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

When she asks to come with him to work, how does he respond? (Bc obvi she can't come fight bioweapons with him,,)

Sometimes he’ll take her when he has desk duty and Hunnigan just MELTS she LOVES your sweet little tailed self. But other times either he has to call Becca and Claire over to babysit you, cause there’s no way that he can leave his poor sweet girl at home alone! And you whimper and whine the whole time but it’s either that or coax you to go to the DSO before Claire comes to pick you up after the work day is finished.

Like how is he supposed to look at you and go ‘no baby you can’t go with daddy to work because daddy shoots bugs and-’ 

BUGS? YOU LOVE BUGS!!!! BUGS DESPISE YOU SO YOU’LL BE SO GOOD ON BUG DUTY!!!!

“I know puppy, I know. But daddy’s going in a biiiiiiig metal bird, and I know you love to chase birds so I can’t take you with me. Cause what if you bite the bird too hard, huh? Then daddy can’t buy you new toys! Can’t have that happening, sunshine. So, how about this. You can sit at daddy’s desk next to miss Hunnigan and when I talk to her over the little ear phone she can pass it over to you and you can have a chat with me. Is that okay? Yeah?”

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

How does he react when she catches things for him, like bugs or something? (he def didn't ask her to LOL) I feel like she'd be eyeing a moth or something and be like omg a present for daddy :33 (she has good intentions fs)

That man honestly gets a leaf bug or moth at his feet once a month. A little half chewed, he saw you spitting out tufts of wing a few minutes ago so he can guess that’s why. You’ve always been a jumper, pouncing and bouncing around the yard or when he takes you for walks. So it’s no wonder you started up this habit.

“Yes- yes baby, I know you got it just for me and- mhm. Mhm I do love it honey but I just think- And I’m so proud of you for hunting it all on your own but sweetpea how about instead you bring me.. I don’t know, fuck- wait don’t say that word. Hm. I don’t know leaves you find interesting.”

Stupid man. Dumb dumb idiot man. Next thing he knows there’s a small collection of leaves lined up at the back door. He’s gotta figure out an alternative and fast, boy. 

Has he ever had to bandage her up bc she did something dumb that he warned her not to do? 😭

That girl’s mortal enemy is anything that like, rears up at her. Praying Manti, spiders, grasshoppers, wasps and bees. If it moves, and it moves in a way that she perceives as a threat, it will be bapped with her hand.

“Hey- hey woah woah woah woah woah- easy there, tiger.” He’s scooping you up off the grass as you’re growling and yapping at whatever insect has made the mistake of buzzing too close to his sweet girl. “That’s a praying mantis, baby. If one of those big claws gets you, it’s gonna scare the sh- ahem, it’s probably gonna spook you.”

Five minutes later when he sets you back down he hears a startled yelp followed by you scampering around the backyard waving your face back and forth. Yeah he should’ve expected that. Watching as you finally flick the bug away with a huff of disapproval, which is followed by a very overdramatic whimper in Leon’s direction. Obviously need of love and affection after such a traumatic experience. Nothing a bit of antiseptic and plenty of well placed kisses won’t fix.

SO many scrapes. Bee stings, ant bites, mosquito bites, scratches and bruises from bouncing around the yard and house. He had to buy the Sanrio bandaids to patch you up or you refused to sit still. Thankfully your new favourite thing is barking at the other hybrids on the tv, an activity that WON’T result in several bruises. Maybe an earache or two, perhaps a sore throat, but hey, that’s better than box up on box of bandaids. 

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

When he wants her inside, and she does that one excited play pose (you know the one HAHA), does he entertain it, or does he know better to just go inside because she'll follow? LMAO

You’re padding your way around through the grass of the backyard, tail high and wagging proudly. You’d been very successful in your burying of a bone, planting your own little territory outside the house, and because of that success a buzz ran through your body. Being the jitterbug you were with a case of the zoomies coming on, you gave your ears a shake out when Leon’s whistle was heard.

“Puppy? C’mon, babygirl. It’s getting dark.”

But you were just getting started! Maybe you could convince him, after all if puppies had to listen to their daddies, surely daddies had to listen to their puppies right? That’s, like, the law. And you still have so much energy!

So, ever the bouncy pup you are, you crouch down into ‘the pose’. Everyone knows which one. The one you pull when you’re telling another hybrid you wanna play, the half bow with you eyes locked on him and a fast wagging tail.

“Baby- no. Oh, don’t give me that face..” Leon runs a hand over his face with a long sigh, biting back a smile with all the teeth he can manage.  

But you’re giggling with that big grin on your face, hands braced like paws against the grass and ears perked up expectantly.

“Honey..no. Now-

As soon as he takes a step towards you, no matter how small it is, you’re jumping in a little circle with happy yaps. Next thing he knows you’ve got the zoomies, and you’re bounding your way through the freshly-clipped lawn. All he can really do is lean against the outside wall and wait for you to run out of energy, arms crossed with a grin on his face. IIt doesn’t last too long thankfully, a few bounces, a couple of spins and you’re trotting over to him panting. He watched the whole thing, your tail wagging a gazillion miles an hour each time you hopped, skipped, and jumped. You always found endless ways to entertain yourself outside, Leon really didn’t know how you did it. 

 And yeah, it was getting dark out, but it was only a few minutes more of watching his sweet girl bound around happily, he’d only really try to rouse on you if it was for your safety. But right now? As your big eyes watch fireflies fill the backyard’s air, pawing weakly up at them between giggles, he knows it’s worth it. 

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

Like my work? Consider buying me boba!

[g1rld1ary]

hope your requests r open! lockwood x reader where lockwood think reader likes george (but she doesnt) and reader thinks lockwood likes lucy (he doesnt). basically just a whole bunch of misunderstandings with angst and a happy ending please <3

miscommunications - anthony lockwood x fem!reader

wc: 6316

cw: swearing, angstish, series typical injuries

i am SO sorry this took so long lovie i had the biggest writers block but i loved loved loved this request so thank u for sending it in i hope i did it justice!!!! love u xoxo

Lockwood and Co was absolutely the weirdest psychical detective agency you’d ever been a part of. Not only were the actual case methods… unusual, but you were a bunch of kids. You didn’t know anything about running a company; the logistics of managing four teenagers and trying to be responsible whilst also experiencing hormones and teen dramas, all while living in the same house with no adult supervision. But it was great, most of the time at least.

However, even teen psychical detectives weren’t immune to the trap of cliques and you often ended up spending much more time with some members than others. For example, it often ended up being Lockwood and Lucy, and you and George.

It wasn’t necessarily a conscious decision or something that happened because you didn’t like the other two members of the agency, it just tended to be the easiest decision. Lockwood and Lucy were undeniably in perfect sync on the field, and you and George worked better in the research department, so it only made sense that those pairs spent more time together.

The only problem? You were totally in love with Lockwood. And you were pretty sure he was basically fucking married to Lucy Carlyle. They were the dream team on and off the field, you were half convinced they could actually read each other's minds. Plus, they were both genuinely amazing people. Lucy was your best friend and roommate at Portland Row, and you loved her with all your heart. And Lockwood? Well, there were a million and one good things to say about Anthony Lockwood. So who could blame you if you spent more time with George? It hurt less than watching the love story unfolding in front of you, and George was good company anyhow.

You couldn’t avoid them though, nor did you really want to, so life was testing your limits as to how much Locklyle you could handle at once.

You and George had been cooped up in the library most of the day looking through archives and research for the agency’s next case, so you’d been glad to get home and have a long warm shower in the evening. Lockwood and Lucy were off on a smaller case together so you’d had the bathroom all to yourself while George was cooking; a small luxury when living with three other teenagers.

Your hair was still wet as you sat down at the dining table in the kitchen, droplets sinking into the paper of the thinking cloth. It was a lovely dinner with George, he’d made your favourite meal upon request, the most glorious dish of butter chicken you thought might’ve ever been made. Everything should have been perfect, except that it was just the two of you. Again. It seemed like you never had family dinners as a four anymore, you and George stuck eating across from each other amongst empty chairs and untouched plates.

“So, anything new?” You made conversation in decent humour, picking at the chicken you weren’t quite as pleased to be eating anymore.

“Anything new in the twenty minutes we’ve been apart all day?” George replied in his characteristic dry tone. You rolled your eyes, trying to stay playful.

“Just checking.”

You took the cleanup after George did all the cooking, switching on the radio as you stood in front of the sink and washing the dishes in peaceful quiet. It was past midnight when the door jingled and creaked open and you could hear Lockwood and Lucy’s tired chatter floating through the old house. Even their damn voices belonged together, making the perfect cadence. You calculated whether you could get away with running up the stairs and pretending to be asleep before they really made it inside, however, agents are known for their speed, and you could hear boots hitting the floor before you could move.

“You’re still up?” Lucy asked as a greeting, stretching out her arms with a sigh. You smiled, shrugging as you began pouring hot water into the mugs you’d prepared earlier, making you all tea how you liked it. Lucy took hers gratefully, adding in the sugar as she pleased, but you were still yet to see Lockwood, taking the initiative to prepare it for him.

He came in a few minutes later, smiling softly as he looked at you.

“You’re a godsend.” He took the mug gratefully, visibly relaxing as the heat penetrated his body. You just smiled, turning back to the dishes.

“Thanks for the tea, I’ll head up to the shower,” Lucy said, patting you gratefully on the arm as she passed. That left you and Lockwood in the kitchen in careful silence.

You talked about nothing for a while, Lockwood filling you in on the tabloids he’d read the night before, and you told him all about the music and news you’d been listening to on the radio.

“How was the research, how’s George?” Lockwood was beside you now, taking a few of the plates you’d finished drying. His tone sounded almost bitter, but you figured it was his exhaustion taking hold.

“It was fine, I think we’re pretty much good to go for this weekend. Oh, you should have seen it! George absolutely stacked it on the steps of the library earlier. He’s fine, of course, but I nearly pissed my pants laughing, it was so funny.” Lockwood managed an unenthused chuckle, turning away to put the cutlery away in the drawer. “How was the case?” Lockwood made a noise of affirmation, coming back next to you, your shoulders brushing lightly.

“As well as cases can go,” He said, smile back on his face. You listened to him tell the bloody details of the case, illustrating his own heroic moves with a full production of actions and impressions, drawing giggles from you as he fought around the room. “And of course, Luce was brilliant as always, saved my arse for the millionth time.”

Fuck. Of course Lockwood was singing Lucy’s praises again, right in front of you! You couldn’t catch a break. You finally got a moment alone with the boy you had a massive embarrassing crush on and he was talking about your best friend! You could feel your smile fading fast, jealousy bubbling in your chest as you imagined them out on a case together, all quick banter and soft touches while you were at home. With George.

You tried to stay obliging, giving him a small smile and finishing up the drying quickly.

“Well, I should be off to bed. Goodnight, Lockwood.”

“You’re not gonna read with me?” You could have sworn that Lockwood had disappeared and been replaced with a kicked puppy the way his eyes were making your insides twist with guilt. You often sat up in the library with Lockwood; he could never sleep and you often made up for the late nights in the mornings, starting your days hours after everyone else. You held eye contact for a moment, willing yourself to be strong.

It didn’t work, and you found yourself back in your familiar spot in front of the fire, digging into your novel as he flipped through a magazine. When your eyes began to strain in the low lamplight you closed it softly, chancing a glance over at Lockwood. He looked almost perfect in the moment, yellow light illuminating the highlights in his face, his eyes glinting as he found humour in the dramatised tabloids.

He looked up suddenly, his senses evidently alerting him to your staring. His head tilted almost imperceptibly, curiosity seeping from his features. You smiled softly, unable to give him any explanation, so you were glad when he returned it in a way that made his whole face light up. You looked away first, studying your hands intently as you heard Lockwood breathe a subtle laugh.

Another case later, you were going crazy. You’d hit an obstacle (of course) and the case had started going awry. A few relicmen interfering with the site threw you all off your game, the original case put aside in favour of your lives. You and Lucy had been together when the ambush happened, both fighting as a team to protect yourselves. Admittedly you weren’t as fluid as her and Lockwood, but you blamed that on the lack of opportunity. You were doing pretty well for yourselves, all things considered. Still, you were grateful for the two boys to come bursting in like heroes, rapiers at the ready. What you didn’t appreciate was the way Lockwood immediately leapt to Lucy’s side, falling into their familiar rhythm. That left George to help you, the both of you sharing the quickest of looks, your eye roll lost to the fight.

You’d all made it out alive but were severely battered and disheartened. You’d all sustained a few cuts and bruises, you knew you were bleeding from somewhere in your midsection, but the adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet so you pushed through.

You also weren’t particularly glad to see Lockwood looking at Lucy like she’d hung all the stars in the sky in the cab on the way back. He hadn’t spared you a glance.

“I know this wasn’t exactly what we planned,” He said, still not making eye contact with you, “But we’re all okay so I think that’s a win. Luce, good job on the defence and keeping the relicmen at bay. George, brilliant catch with the source, mate, you saved us all. And, uh, good work.” He looked over briefly, but you thought he was looking slightly above you still. He didn’t even care enough to look at you on the case! It was absolutely maddening.

Sometimes, like now, you wondered why you even liked him. He was obsessed with another girl, barely paid you attention and had you begging for crumbs of affection. And yet, sometimes you were sure he liked you back. The soft smiles, the time together in the dead of night, the moments he showed you such gentle care. Lockwood was a puzzle you just couldn’t solve, but you were really, really trying.

You weren’t in the best mood when you all arrived home. Your case had been compromised, you were injured, and Lockwood was basically ignoring you. The night was not looking good. And, on top of all that, George called the first shower so it was unlikely there’d be any hot water left by the time you got in. Silently, you peeled off your overcoat, hanging it on your designated hook before discarding your rapier in the umbrella bin. The cut on your side was beginning to sting, the adrenaline having worn off in the cab, but you powered through, figuring you’d take care of it when you had privacy in the bathroom. Instead, you followed Lucy into the kitchen, chatting away as she made some toast.

She’d already left when you got up from the dining table, motivating yourself to make some tea and something to eat. Your body was starting to ache though, and you really didn’t want to be moving much longer. It was all mostly fine, though uncomfortable, until you were reaching up for the sugar for the tea. It was a little out of your reach up on one of the higher cupboards which usually wasn’t so much of an issue — you were a high jumper — but raising your arm above your head was making it feel like your cut was splitting open, pulling a strangled hiss from you.

“What is that?” Lockwood’s voice made you jump, the harshness unfamiliar. You turned slowly, folding your arms across your stomach in vain.

“It’s nothing, I was gonna look after it in a bit.” It was the first time you’d made proper eye contact with Lockwood all night, and he looked pissed.

“Bullshit,” He argued, gaining proximity, “Sit down.” You weren’t typically in the habit of being bossed around by a man, but you could tell Lockwood was serious so took a seat. He stomped around the kitchen rather dramatically, tossing you an ice pack from the freezer. You placed it tentatively over the cut, groaning and throwing your head back when it stung. Your breathing was shallow, erratic as you waited for the icepack to do its job and start numbing the pain.

When you unscrewed your eyes Lockwood was standing at the kitchen bench, aggressively buttering your toast. You watched him put together the meal you’d started, all with deep furrowed eyebrows, ending with him placing it in front of you, looking at you expectantly. You smiled at him despite the pain in your side, pulling the mug of tea closer. He’d made it just as you liked it, too much sugar and a bit of honey. You sipped it pathetically, tension bubbling between you and the boy in front of you.

“What’s new?” You asked in what you hoped was a lighthearted tone. Lockwood wasn’t impressed.

“Eat,” He urged, “You’ll already be weak from blood loss, don’t let yourself get dizzy from hunger too.” You took an exaggerated bite of the toast to appease him, melting into a moan when the food hit your mouth. Somehow, it tasted better than all the millions of times you’d made your own. Lockwood had found the perfect balance of butter and bread, soft in the middle but the crusts were still crunchy and satisfying. The corner of his mouth flicked into the smallest smile seeing you enjoy the food he’d made you, but it was clear he still wasn’t happy with you.

You continued to eat as he got up from his seat, disappearing out into the hallway for a moment. He returned with the first aid kit and you groaned. This was going to suck. Lockwood, ever the gentleman, asked for your permission to start helping you, lifting your already cherry red case shirt up to tuck under your bra, out of his way as he examined the cut. It wasn’t too deep, you didn’t think you’d need stitches or anything, but it was long, wrapping halfway across your stomach.

“This is going to hurt,” He said simply, but you could have sworn there was some gentleness there. Lightly, Lockwood began to clean your wound. Initially, it wasn’t so bad as he cleaned what had already spread and dried away from the cut which lulled you into a false sense of security. You cried out as he touched the wound itself for the first time, grabbing onto Lockwood’s shoulder for stability, though you were already seated.

“It’s okay, I’ll be quick. Promise,” He hushed you, offering his hand for you to grab instead. You clutched onto it for dear life, squeezing until both your fingers were turning white. Lockwood never uttered a complaint, working away at cleaning and treating the wound one-handed until it was done, stopping every so often for breaks when he thought you needed them.

When he was done he looked up at you from his position on his knees and it suddenly felt like the world around you was quiet. Lockwood’s eyes were so pretty. You’d always thought so, but it was particularly relevant when he was only inches away from you, sparkling in the amber light of the kitchen. Neither of you spoke, staring into each other’s eyes. You weren’t sure what to do, you didn’t want to end this moment between you but you didn’t know how to make it last. Well, you did, but that was highly inappropriate given Lockwood was in love with another girl.

“Thanks,” You settled on awkwardly, cringing as Lockwood seemed to realise where he was and what was happening.

“Any time,” He jumped up, backing up towards the sink and busying himself with pouring his own cup of tea.

You left the kitchen shortly after, unwilling to sit in the awkwardness any longer. The first step was to get out of the soiled clothes and clean yourself up a bit, the second was to flop back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling of the attic.

“I’m going to die alone,” You said to the roof, catching the attention of your roommate.

“Don’t be stupid,” Lucy said simply, “You’re hot, anyone would be lucky to have you.” That pulled a smile from you, tilting your head back to look over at Lucy on her bed.

“Thanks, Luce. You know what I mean though.” Lucy rolled her eyes with a soft smile.

“If Lockwood can’t see all your brilliant, attractive qualities then he’s a prat.”

“I’m sure he sees many of my great qualities — he hired me. The issue is that he’s blinded by your brilliance.” It was a conversation you’d had countless times before; you decreeing Lockwood’s love for Lucy and Lucy being disgusted by it.

“You know that I have zero interest in Lockwood. Like, zero. Honestly, I’d sooner get with you than him.”

“Alright, alright, I get it. I have terrible taste in men,” You laughed, mostly cheered up.

Lucy flicked off the lamp, putting you to sleep with a story from before you’d joined the agency.

Lockwood had a similar conversation with George a few weeks later. It was after another case, all had gone well and the four of you were strewn about the house, tending to various chores that needed to get done. Lucy was mopping the floors, you were organising and putting away the mountain of books that had been used over the case, and Lockwood and George were both in the basement, tidying the store room and going over paperwork.

Lockwood looked at George, hunched over the form he was filling in, and wondered how to broach the subject. He thought you might’ve been avoiding him lately, which wasn’t exactly wrong, and thought it might be because you were trying to make your feelings for George known. In fact, it had nothing to do with George and everything to do with Lockwood. You figured if Lockwood hadn’t noticed by now that you liked him he never would, so you’d started the mountainous task of getting over him. It was unsurprisingly extremely difficult, given you lived and worked with the man. Still, you were doing the best you could.

“So, gone on any, uh, dates recently?” The sentence was awkward and Lockwood cringed. It was so unlike him and George to talk about anything emotional, especially romance.

“What are you on about?” George didn’t even bother looking up, figuring it was just one of Lockwood’s moments that he’d move on from soon enough.

“It’s just, you’ve never really dated anyone, at least while living here, so I was just asking. Um, maybe there’s someone in the house you’d like to take out?” George looked up, turning his wheelie chair to face Lockwood, resigning himself to the conversation he knew would follow.

“Yes, Lockwood. Can’t you hear Lucy and I having loud, passionate sex every night?” Both boys rolled their eyes.

“That’s not what I meant,” Lockwood grumbled.

“Then say what you mean. You’re trying to figure out if I like her because you do and you’re too scared to say anything about it.” Lockwood was silenced, caught out with his true intentions. “Let’s face it, you’re about as subtle as a car horn; you moon over her. She’s the only one who hasn’t noticed.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Lockwood mumbled, “She likes you.” George burst out into uncharacteristic laughter, wheezing and gripping his stomach.

“God, you’re daft!” He laughed, “The two of you are perfect for each other, you’re hopeless.”

Lockwood made an excuse to leave, something about folding his laundry. George watched him go, rolling his eyes before turning back to his paperwork. If the two of you weren’t going to get his exceedingly obvious hints, you were going to have to work it out between yourselves.

Your angst was bleeding into the company. You were trying (and failing) to get over Lockwood which was not only making you generally miserable, but it was impeding your ability to be a good agent.

You were on a relatively easy case, and for some reason you’d been paired with Lockwood, a rarity. Lucy and George were on the second floor of the house scoping out where the source may be whilst you and Lockwood were on the ground floor, preparing your defences and putting on the tea kettle. It was extremely awkward. Lockwood was trying to make conversation and you were trying to keep it as short as possible. If you fell into conversation you’d be reminded of Lockwood’s many wonderful qualities, and it would just get harder to get over him.

“Did you end up finishing that book?” He asked as you pulled the chains out of their duffel bags. You perked up for a moment before forcing yourself to relax. You had finished the novel and absolutely loved it, you wanted nothing more than to talk about it. Still, you controlled yourself, shrugging off the question with a “Yeah, it was pretty good.” Lockwood hesitated, caught off guard by your answer. Usually you were keen to discuss what you’d been reading, especially if you liked it.

“Are you alright?” He asked, softness in his voice and eyes. Your heart clenched for a moment, you didn’t want to worry him.

“I’m fine, Lockwood, promise.” You busied yourself with arranging the salt bombs but you could still feel his eyes on you.

The case progressed, all four of you ending up on the second level of the house to confront the visitor, each splitting up to cover the different rooms. You were in the master bedroom when the en suite bathroom caught your eye. You could have sworn you saw movement near the shower and crept towards it, trying to stay focused and address the urgency on hand.

You were immediately distracted by the similarities between the en suite and the bathroom in Portland Row. Set out almost identically, it was almost scary how similar they were; George’s soap (fancy and way more expensive than the one the rest of you bought) was on the ledge of the shower, and Lucy’s blue hairbrush sat by the basin.

It wasn’t necessarily surprising that either of those items were there, they were both bought for cheap at a grocery store so ought to have been common, but it surprised you nonetheless. You’d been so distracted by the weird similarities that you didn’t notice the figure floating through the shower curtain until its translucent hand was beside your face. You panicked, the only thing you shouldn’t have been doing, and flailed about in the tiny room, rapier knocking bottles off shelves and creating a general racket that was not pleasing the ghost.

You stumbled on the tiles trying to get your footing and get the fuck out but slid on a slippery substance — probably conditioner from the bottle you’d sent flying to the ground. It was a comedy of errors you would have quoted as impossible in an old slapstick comedy, but there you were, and the consequences were infinitely more dire than those faced by Charlie Chaplin.

The proceeding moments vanished from your memory; a violent fall, a sickening crack and an overwhelming darkness. Three more moments of light where you caught visions of the ghost, Lockwood, and aggressive flashing lights.

You woke up in hospital. You wished it was the hazy, unsure innocence that you saw in movies, but the incessant beeping and sanitised smell had you groaning as you gained consciousness. Lockwood was slumped over in the chair next to your bed, breathing uncharacteristically calm as he slept.

You watched him sleep in the least creepy way you could manage, admiring his features when they weren’t scrunched up in worry or stress. He must’ve felt you watching him as his eyes fluttered open, doe eyes overflowing with relief as he saw you awake.

“You’re up, thank god,” He said, pulling his chair up even closer to you.

“Why am I here?” You asked, examining the various wires and machines you were plugged into.

“What aren’t you here for?” Lockwood joked and you tried for a smile. He straightened himself out and continued, “Linear skull fracture, concussion, scary-looking cut on your forehead. We think you slipped and bashed your head on the countertop.” You grimaced, the pain of the fall manifesting in your head.

“That would be right,” You agreed sheepishly, shifting uncomfortably in your hospital gown, “And the hand?” Your left hand was bandaged up so thick it looked more like an oven mitt than a hand.

“Ghost touch.” Lockwood didn’t sound so happy and casual now.

“Oh.”

“What happened? It’s not like you to put yourself in danger like that; it was stupid and reckless.” You didn’t understand why Lockwood was getting so angry. Clearly, you didn’t intend to get injured, it was an unfortunate accident that you would have avoided if you could.

“As opposed to you, who never gets injured and always sticks to the plan?” You couldn’t help the venom seeping into your voice but you detested being criticised by Lockwood when he was just as bad, usually worse.

“This isn’t about me,” He said through gritted teeth, clearly trying to keep his cool while you were vulnerable. You were angry though and didn’t want to back down.

“Of course this is about you, Lockwood! You wouldn’t blink an eye if it was you who’d ended up here, or George or Lucy. It was an honest mistake, why are you being such a dick about it?” You were raising your voice but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, the tension that had been bubbling for weeks coming to the surface.

“Because you could have died —”

“So could any of us, that’s the job! I still see you jumping head-first into danger.”

Lockwood groaned your name, hands in his hair and pulling in frustration. “You’re misunderstanding me, I just don’t want to watch you get hurt—”

“Then close your fucking eyes, Lockwood. I fell and I got injured. It happens and I resent having you treat me differently than the others. Fuck this, I want Lucy here instead, or George.”

“Of course you want George here, why wouldn’t you?”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” If you could stand you would be shoving past him and out the door, but you were at a significant disadvantage being hooked up to so many machines, stuck in your place.

“You know what I mean, you and George are such a close pair, aren’t you? Always working together and laughing about your own inside jokes,” He spat and the burning anger only got hotter.

“Are you fucking crazy right now? Or are you forgetting that you’re the head of this company and therefore you’re the one pairing us together in every case? Or are you so fucking busy making heart eyes at Lucy that you don’t even notice that we’re actually getting work done? Forgive us for trying to make ten hours of research bearable!”

“Heart eyes at Luce? You’re the crazy one, she and I are just friends, I swear. But you and George will make a great couple, I’m sure.”

“George and I couldn’t be less interested in each other! And if you could see past your own nose for once maybe you’d see why!” You all but yelled, surely alerting the whole floor of your argument, “Leave me alone, Lockwood, I don’t want you here anymore.”

Lockwood looked as if he was going to dispute that statement as well but a nurse came to your rescue, clearly hearing the disagreement from outside. She ushered him out, claiming it wasn’t good for your vitals to be getting angry and that you could continue the fight when you were discharged in a few day's time.

Alone in the sterile hospital room, you felt yourself beginning to cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks and landing on your embarrassing patterned hospital gown. In a perfect world, that conversation would have gone completely differently. In a perfect world, Lockwood’s eyes would have softened when he saw you were awake. He would have confessed how worried he was about you and how much he truly cared for you. He would have brushed his lips across your hand that he was holding, then pressed them again against your own as he admitted how he’d always been in love with you. You didn’t know that it was your own defensive nature that had stopped that from happening.

But it wasn’t a perfect world and you were alone, overwhelmed by the various noises and movements going on around you. You did eventually fall back asleep, a fitful, unsatisfying nap that had you groaning and exhausted when you woke up. You weren’t alone though, which did make you feel better. George and Lucy were sitting next to your bed, deep in a whispered conversation.

“Hey,” You said, shimmying up to a sitting position. They both stopped talking immediately, turning to face you with small smiles on both their faces.

“How are you feeling?” Lucy asked, pulling her chair up to be right next to your bed.

“I’m alright now, just tired and worn down.”

“You scared us,” George added, characteristically stiff but clearly trying to be sensitive.

“I’m sorry,” You admitted, “I really didn’t mean to. And believe me, Lockwood’s already yelled at me enough for it, please just forgive me.” They looked at each other, communicating non-verbally.

“We heard,” George said, “He basically punched a hole in the wall trying to recount it.” He let out a clipped laugh before Lucy shoved him, signature glare working its magic.

“You should really apologise, he’s cut up about it.” Your mouth dropped open as you stared at Lucy. How was this your fault?

“I’m not apologising, he was the one who got angry. Right, George?” You pleaded with him, praying he wouldn’t let you down now.

“I… I don’t think it has to be right now, but you two should get over it after you’ve cooled down a bit.” Ok, it wasn’t exactly what you’d hoped he’d say, but it was better than nothing. And better than the moral lesson you knew Lucy would try and impose — what a hypocrite.

“But he was so mean!” You whined, “I seriously just had an unfortunate fall, I didn’t die.”

“But you could have,” George quipped and you rolled your eyes.

“You know it’s because he really cares about you, right? He’d never forgive himself if something happened to you and he couldn’t save you.” You couldn’t tell if Lucy’s statement was making you feel better or worse.

“Yeah, really felt like it when he was yelling at me,” You grumbled, fidgeting with the hem of the scratchy blanket.

“Well, you know Lockwood is emotionally constipated,” George added and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter — what a statement to come from George.

“OK,” You agreed finally, “I’ll apologise when we get home. As long as he stops being a massive prick.”

You were discharged a few days later, healing nicely. It would have been sooner, but the head injury worried your nurses and kept you there, not trusting you would stay on bed rest. Lucy came to your rescue, posing as a very concerned caretaker who would ensure your safety.

In fact, it wasn’t Lucy who was enforcing your bedrest. It was George who was cooking every meal and Lockwood doing all the other motherly fussing. You hadn’t discussed your fight yet, both too exhausted and too awkward to broach the subject. You hoped your six-to-eight-week recovery time wouldn’t consist of the same heavy tiredness, but you figured it would improve once the concussion had faded.

The rest of the company had started doing two-man cases so that someone was always home to supervise you. It was a little stifling but you appreciated the effort. It also shook up the status quo of the company, Lockwood and Lucy’s perfect partnership being disrupted by no one wanting to be left at home each time, which was both a blessing and a curse.

In your first few days of being back home at Portland Row, Lockwood was home with you, helping wash your hair. You’d whined so much about how gross it felt, still blood-stained where you cracked your skull open that Lockwood gave up and told you he’d wash it for you. Of course, you’d protested, saying it went way beyond what you could expect of a friend or coworker, but Lockwood would not take no for an answer, justifying that it would be more dangerous to let you do it yourself since you could mess with the stitches since you couldn’t see the back of your own head.

You sat awkwardly in the bath, dressed in an old t-shirt and bikini bottoms to preserve what dignity you could. Lockwood stood outside the bath behind you, preparing the bottles of shampoo and conditioner to his side. The anticipation was destroying you, becoming fidgety and uncomfortable even in the perfectly warm water. The second Lockwood’s slender fingers threaded through your greasy hair you felt your body soften, relaxing into the feeling with no opposition. The feeling was heavenly, the careful but thorough massaging of your scalp could have sent you to sleep in three seconds if you weren’t simultaneously on edge at the proximity.

You sat in peaceful silence for a few minutes, your head lolling back subconsciously against Lockwood’s forearms, drawing a small chuckle from him.

“I’m sorry for arguing with you the other day,” You said out of the blue, your voice cutting through the radio that was sitting next to the basin.

“It’s no worries, just forget about it,” Lockwood replied instantly, continuing his labours.

“No, I want to take this seriously. I said some terrible things I didn’t mean and I want you to know that I’m sorry for it. And, as I understand it you think I have some big crush on George which I would just like to disprove. I don’t. Like him like that, I mean.” Lockwood paused for a moment, hands going still in your hair.

“Oh,” He said after some time, “Well thank you for the apology but it is completely unnecessary. I started the argument and I was way out of line, I didn’t mean a word of it. What I meant to convey was that I was worried about you getting hurt because I… care about you. A lot.” You knew that was hard for Lockwood to say, vulnerability never coming easy to him. You turned to face him in the tub, knees pulled up to your chest as your just-rinsed hair dripped down onto your t-shirt.

“I care about you a lot too, Lockwood,” You smiled sweetly, glad you were finally getting over the weird tension that had been between you. Lockwood didn’t look as satisfied.

“No, it’s, fuck. I care about you in a different way than the others. I really like you, like, romantically.”

“Shut up,” You said quickly, not wanting to wake up from a sick dream. There was no way that Anthony Lockwood, after all these years, was telling you that he liked you. Lockwood looked lost for words. Obviously it wasn’t the impassioned reciprocation he hoped for, but it also wasn’t exactly a rejection. What was he supposed to do?

“I, uh, understand if you don’t—”

“Shut up,” You affirmed again. “I have been madly, foolishly in love with you since I started here, and you’re telling me this now? After we’ve screamed at each other and been moping around?” After a moment of him processing your statement, he began to laugh, mouth breaking into one of his light-up-the-room smiles.

“I guess so.” You joined in his laughter, admiring the way his eyes crinkled and his nose scrunched as he did it.

“So what now?” You asked once your giggles had died down, leaving you two looking at each other across the edge of the bath.

“Well,” Lockwood inched closer, “We could try this?” He leant in for a soft kiss, pressing his mouth against yours lightly. You subconsciously followed his mouth as he pulled away, unwilling to open your eyes just yet.

“Mmh, maybe we could try that one again?” Lockwood laughed at your daze and happily obliged, swooping back in for a longer, deeper kiss that set your nerves on fire.

And if Lucy and George returned from their case to find the two of you still in the bath fully clothed, that was none of your business — and neither was the ten pounds that George reluctantly handed Lucy.

[br0kenangel]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐃♡𝐠𝐬 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Plagued Aegon x Plagued Reader

Summary: you were no longer a human. You were a rat. Something for them to experiment on for their own sick pleasure. You hate everything. God why it's always happening to you? What did you do to deserve this? But just beside you is a man. A man who don't even know his name and yet he's so hopeful. As if he believes you gonna be save...

Warning: torture, unknown virus, abuse, amnesia.

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. And yes I'm inspired by The Plague Dogs. Original gif by @kieraknightley. Hope you enjoy!

The door to her cell clanged open, and she was yanked from the remnants of sleep. Her eyes shot open, the same as every other day, staring at the blank, cold walls around her, the air thick with the smell of rot. The guards entered with heavy, careless footsteps, their faces hidden beneath gas masks, those black eyes like hollow pits staring back. Always covered, always distant.

She hated them. Every last one of them.

The guard threw a metal tray onto the ground by the door, the slop on it sloshing onto the filthy floor. He didn’t even bother looking at her. None of them did. She glared up at him, her hands clenched into fists by her side. It took everything in her not to spit on the tray, not to lash out. The heavy door of Egg’s cell creaked next to hers, and she could hear him scrambling up, his voice weak, hopeful.

“Thank you!” Egg’s voice was filled with too much sincerity for this hellhole. She could hear him thanking them every day, like a child grateful for scraps.

The guards only laughed. One of them stepped forward and kicked Egg’s tray, sending it flying into the dirt and filth. She heard Egg's soft gasp, the shuffle as he hurried to clean up the food. "Pathetic," one of the guards spat, his voice muffled by the mask. "Still pretending to be grateful. Like we give a shit."

She glared at them, her heart pounding in her chest. Bastards. All of them. Their mocking words, the way they looked down at her and Egg like they weren’t even human anymore, burned inside her. She pulled her knees to her chest, locking her jaw, refusing to touch the slop they'd left her. The smell alone made her stomach churn.

“You should be grateful,” another guard sneered, crouching just far enough from her reach, “for the food, for us keeping you alive. Without us, you'd be rotting by now.” His gaze flickered to Egg’s cell. “Or worse, like that freak over there.”

He stepped closer to the bars, his breath coming in harsh, shallow bursts behind the mask. She could feel his gaze on her, even if she couldn’t see his eyes. “What’s wrong? You don’t want it? Worthless slut.” His voice was thick with contempt, the words dripping with that familiar venom.

Her jaw tightened. She could feel her pulse pounding in her head, the fury rising up through her like a storm. She wanted to lunge at him, rip the mask from his face, spit every hateful thing she’d ever thought right into his eyes. She wanted him to feel the same helpless rage she felt every single day.

But then, from the corner of her eye, she saw Egg.

He was watching her, his food forgotten for a moment, his wide, innocent eyes filled with worry. He shook his head, just the slightest movement, like a silent plea for her to stay calm. To let it go.

Her breath hitched. The anger in her chest twisted, turned into something else. Something that left her feeling hollow.

She bit her tongue hard, tasted the iron of her own blood, and looked away.

The guard laughed, his voice harsh and brittle. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said, and then he was gone, his boots pounding away down the corridor.

They left eventually, their laughter echoing down the hallway. The door slammed shut behind them with a final, metallic thud. Her gaze lingered on the untouched tray in front of her. For a moment, she didn’t move. Just sat there, legs pulled tight against her chest, staring at the cold stone floor. Her heart was still beating too fast, the remnants of that anger still coursing through her veins like a poison.

Egg’s voice broke the silence. “It’s good today. Really good.” He was already eating again, his fingers picking at the slop, oblivious to the fact that it was barely fit for a stray dog. She could see him through the bars, see the way his face lit up at the smallest bite, the way he savored it like it was something real, something substantial.

Slowly, she dragged her own tray closer, wrinkling her nose at the smell. She poked at it with one finger, barely able to stomach the thought of even tasting it. The mush was cold, congealed. Bits of unidentifiable meat and vegetables floating in a grayish slop. It looked rancid. The smell alone was enough to make her sick. “You like this?” she muttered, glancing over at Egg, who paused with a piece of it halfway to his mouth.

He nodded eagerly, his pale eyes wide with that same, childlike innocence she never understood. “Yes,” he said, his voice soft, “it’s not so bad. Better than nothing.”

She stared at him, at the way he seemed almost happy, even with the bruises on his arms, even with his bald head and the rot creeping up his foot. He was breaking down, piece by piece, and still, he was grateful.

She sighed, pushing the tray toward the bars between them. “You want mine?”

His head snapped up, surprise lighting his face. “Really?” he asked, his voice full of that strange, childlike gratitude. “You’re sure?”

She pushed the tray toward him, not bothering to answer. What was the point? He’d take it anyway, with or without her permission. He always did. And part of her—despite herself—was glad for it. Glad that at least one of them could still find joy in something, no matter how small or disgusting.

She watching as he pulled it into his cell with a quiet, “Thank you.” He dug in, as if it were a feast, as if it were something worth eating.

She pulled her knees back to her chest, glaring at the wall across from her, feeling nothing but anger clawing at her insides.

She leaned her head back against the cold, rough wall of her cell, eyes half-lidded as she watched Egg devour the food like it was a feast. His thin fingers scraped at the last bits, collecting every crumb from the tray. She wondered, not for the first time, how he could still find joy in this place. This pit of cruelty, where people were thrown away like garbage, left to rot from the inside out. The scientists didn’t care. The guards didn’t care. No one cared. Yet here he was, thanking them for scraps like it meant something.

It didn’t make sense to her, but then again, nothing about him made sense.

She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in. The air in the cell was thick and sour with the scent of decay—her own body betraying her, just like his. Every day, the virus crept a little further into her, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she would end up like the others. Bald. Rotted. Forgotten.

“Sir, I’ve been hearing things,” she had said, standing stiffly in front of her commanding officer’s desk, the cold metal of her dog tags brushing against her chest as she shifted her weight. Her voice had been careful, measured, though she could feel the unease creeping under her skin.

“Things?” he’d drawled, not even looking up from the reports in front of him. He was a big man, intimidating, with cold, flat eyes that never softened for anyone. The room had smelled of cigar smoke and sweat, suffocating in its familiarity.

“About the virus. The researchers—they’re talking about using humans now. They said they needed criminals for the tests. But these people—” she hesitated, trying to find the words, “they aren’t volunteers. They’re just taking them.”

He hadn’t flinched. Not even a flicker of emotion crossed his face. Instead, his mouth twisted into a cruel smirk as he finally looked up at her. “And? They’re criminals. Who gives a damn what happens to them?”

She had stared at him, a knot of anger forming in her chest. “They’re still people, sir. They deserve—”

“They deserve nothing.” He had cut her off sharply, his eyes narrowing, his voice growing harder, more dangerous. “They’re trash. Nothing more. And if they die, then they die.” He laughed then, a hollow, humorless sound that made her stomach turn. “Good riddance.”

Her hands had curled into fists at her sides. “We should tell people, warn them. They could protect themselves, take precautions. It’s not right to keep this from them.” The words had left her mouth before she could stop them.

He had stood up so quickly the chair behind him scraped against the floor, his towering presence looming over her. The air had shifted, heavy with tension, with that familiar threat. And then—before she had even registered what was happening—his hand cracked across her face, the sting of it snapping her head to the side. Her skin burned where he hit her, but it was the coldness in his eyes that hurt more.

“You’re getting too comfortable, soldier,” he growled, stepping closer, so close she could smell the whiskey on his breath, feel the heat of his body pressing into hers. She had swallowed hard, trying to push down the panic rising in her throat. “You speak when spoken to. Nothing more. Do you understand?”

Her jaw clenched, but she had nodded, the sting of his slap pulsing on her cheek. He gripped her chin then, forcing her to meet his gaze, his thumb brushing the reddened skin he’d just struck. She had wanted to jerk away, to spit in his face, but she knew better. She’d learned better.

“There’s a good girl,” he cooed, his tone sickeningly soft as his hand moved down to caress her cheek, his thumb pressing too hard against her skin. Her stomach turned in disgust, but she stood rigid, swallowing the bile that threatened to rise. His face had been so close to hers, the distance between them shrinking until she could feel his breath on her lips. “You should know your place by now. I don’t need you thinking for yourself.”

Her skin had crawled at his touch, her heart hammering in her chest as she forced herself to stay still, to not flinch. His fingers were rough, calloused, every brush against her face a reminder of how powerless she was in that moment.

She had hated him. Hated every second of it, hated the way he looked at her, like she was nothing but a tool to be used, a piece of meat. And she had hated herself more for not pulling away, for not fighting harder.

God, I should have killed him there.

A scrape of metal on concrete pulled her back. Egg had pushed the empty trays toward the bars, wiping his hands on his tattered pants. He sat back against the wall of his cell, his legs folded beneath him, a small smile tugging at his lips. His feet, one of them wrapped in old bandages, were still raw and rotting, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Thank you for the food,” he said again softly, more to himself than to her. His voice always held that strange, gentle tone. It was like he lived in a different world from her—a world where hope still existed.

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. The bile rose in her throat just thinking about it. There was no hope here. Only survival. And even that was slipping away.

The silence hung between them, broken only by the faint dripping of water somewhere deep within the prison. She could feel Egg’s eyes on her, could sense his need to say something, but she wasn’t in the mood to hear it. Not today.

She opened her eyes again, staring through the bars at Egg. His pale face was turned toward her, his wide eyes still full of that same, infuriating innocence.

“Do you think…” he began, his voice soft and hesitant, “do you think today could be the day?”

She narrowed her eyes. “What day?”

“The day they let us out,” he said, almost hopefully. “Maybe… maybe they’ll find my family. Maybe they’ll come for me.”

She stared at him, her lips pressed into a hard line. He’d said it before—many times. It was always the same fantasy. That somehow, someone would find him. That his wife and children would come through those doors and save him from this nightmare. It made her sick to hear it.

“They’re not coming,” she said flatly, her voice sharp enough to cut through his delusion.

Egg blinked, his smile faltering for a moment, but only for a moment. He recovered quickly, nodding as if he hadn’t heard her. “I know,” he whispered, but there was a distant look in his eyes, like he didn’t believe it. “But maybe���”

Maybe.

She hated that word.

It was late, well past midnight, the lights in the barracks casting long shadows over the cold concrete floors. She had stayed back to finish some paperwork, her shoulders stiff from hours of tension, her eyes burning from the fluorescent lights overhead. The others had left hours ago, their laughter and chatter fading as the door clicked shut behind them. She had been alone for what felt like hours.

Then came the sound of footsteps behind her, slow and deliberate. She knew those footsteps—sharp, heavy boots that echoed down the hall.

Her fingers froze on the papers as she stiffened, already dreading the encounter. She didn't have to turn around to know who it was. His presence was always a weight, always something that pressed down on her.

“You’re still here?” His voice slithered out, the tone too casual, too familiar.

She forced herself to keep writing, focusing on the feel of the pen in her hand. “Finishing the report, sir.”

He moved closer, and she could feel his eyes on her back, like a predator watching its prey. “You work too hard,” he said, a mock concern dripping from his words.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled, but she didn’t turn. “Just doing my job.”

“You’re a good soldier, Y/N.” His voice was closer now, just behind her, and then she felt it—his hand on her shoulder, squeezing. “But you should know when to relax.”

She went stiff, her breath catching in her throat as his fingers dug into her skin, the pressure uncomfortably tight. She wanted to shrug him off, to pull away, but she stayed still, forcing herself to breathe evenly.

“Sir, I’d appreciate it if you—”

The slap came without warning, sharp and brutal, the sting of it blooming across her cheek as her head snapped to the side. The chair wobbled beneath her, and she barely caught herself before falling.

“Shut the fuck up, Y/N,” he snarled, the warmth draining from his voice in an instant, replaced with cold anger.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her pulse loud in her ears as she brought a hand to her face, feeling the heat of the slap still radiating from her cheek. She tried to push away from the desk, but he was on her in seconds, his fingers gripping her jaw with bruising force.

“Look at me,” he hissed, pulling her face up so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. The cruelty there made her stomach turn. “You think you’re special? You think you’re above this?”

“Sir, don’t—”

His grip tightened, and her words died in her throat as he leaned in closer, so close she could smell the whiskey on his breath, feel the heat of it against her skin. “You’re just a tool, Lieutenant. Just another fucking soldier. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Her stomach twisted as he dragged his fingers down from her face, trailing them along her neck, his breath hot and sour as he pressed closer. She pushed at him, but his body was a wall, unyielding.

“No one’s going to save you,” he whispered, his voice sickeningly soft. “Not out here.”

His hand moved lower, fingers slipping beneath the edge of her uniform, and panic surged through her chest. She shoved harder, desperate, but his hand wrapped around her wrist, pinning it to the desk with a force that made her cry out.

“You’re my bitch,” he whispered.

The pressure, the smell, the hands that wouldn’t stop moving—it was suffocating. Her world shrunk to the feel of him against her, the cruel grip on her wrist, and the terror that choked her.

And then—

She woke up with a sharp intake of breath, her body drenched in sweat, heart pounding like she’d just run miles. Her chest heaved as she blinked rapidly, trying to push the nightmare away, but the phantom touch of his hands lingered, the sound of his voice still echoing in her ears.

For a moment, she just lay there, staring at the filthy ceiling of her cell, trying to pull herself back to reality. It was just a dream. Just a dream. But it had never felt like a dream—it was a memory, twisted, haunting her over and over again.

She turned her head, and through the dim light, she saw Egg sitting up, his legs crossed as he watched her with that same innocent concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, his wide eyes blinking at her in the dark.

She clenched her jaw, pushing herself up to sit, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Her fingers still trembled as she raked them through her hair, her breath shaky.

“Shut the fuck up, Egg,” she snapped, not bothering to look at him. The last thing she needed was him asking questions.

But Egg, as always, just laughed softly, the sound too light, too out of place. “You’re so mean,” he said, his tone teasing but without any malice. He seemed oblivious to her anger, to the frustration simmering beneath her skin.

She didn’t respond, just kept rubbing her face, trying to shake off the nightmare.

“I miss my wife,” Egg said suddenly, his voice wistful, like he was sharing a precious secret. “She’s so beautiful, you know? And my three kids—they’re waiting for me. We live in a small house, but it’s cozy. We’ve got a dog too. You’d like him. He's real sweet.”

She blinked, slowly lowering her hands to her lap as she stared at him. He was smiling again, that same soft, distant look in his eyes as he raised three fingers toward her. “Three kids,” he repeated, like he was proud of it.

She frowned, unsure how to react. Part of her believed him—he spoke with such conviction, like he really did have a family waiting for him on the outside. A wife. Kids. A dog. A cozy little house.

But how could someone like him have all that? How could someone in this rotting hellhole dream of such things?

“What about you?” he asked, looking at her expectantly. “Do you have anyone waiting for you?”

She clenched her jaw, her body tensing again. Her life outside? What fucking life? She didn’t owe him that. She didn’t owe anyone anything.

When she didn’t respond, Egg’s brows furrowed slightly, his confusion evident. “You don’t have anyone?” he asked, as if that idea was impossible to him.

“Keep your head up your own ass, Egg,” she spat, turning away from him and lying back down, staring at the wall. She didn’t need this shit. Not from him.

Egg just chuckled, unbothered. “You’re so mean,” he whispered again, the fondness in his voice unsettling in its innocence.

She closed her eyes, trying to shut out his words, trying to pull herself back into sleep. But the memory of the dream clung to her, as did his quiet, persistent voice.

When she woke, it felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.

Her eyes fluttered open, but the world around her was hazy, distorted, as if she were underwater, drowning in a nightmare that refused to end. The light above her flickered一too bright, then too dim-casting eerie shadows across the room, dancing over figures she couldn't quite make out.

She tried to move, but nothing happened. Her arms were pinned, her legs too. A sudden wave of terror washed over her as the realization sank in-she was tied down. Strapped to a bed. Panic surged in her chest, her heart thudding painfully in her ribs. Her muscles strained, burning with effort, but it was useless. She couldn't move.

Her throat felt tight, like something was pressing down on it, and when she tried to scream, her mouth wouldn't cooperate. No sound came out. Not even a whimper. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't scream.

Her vision was blurry, but she could see the outlines of figures moving around her. They wore masks, their faces obscured, just shadows of men and women- scientists. She could hear their voices, muffled and distant, like she was underwater, the words coming and going in waves.

"Increase the dosage."

"Prep the subject."

"It vitals are spiking–"

A hand brushed over her arm, cold and clinical, and she shuddered inwardly, her skin crawling beneath the touch. She could feel the sharp pinch of something digging into her, like metal, slicing into her skin. Pain flared through her body, white-hot and unbearable. Her nerves Screamed, but her voice refused to come. She was trapped in her own body, her own skin, a prisoner in this nightmare.

What are they doing to me?

The thought was frantic, wild, desperate, but there was no escape. Every inch of her burned-her arms, her legs, her chest, her head. It was like her flesh was on fire, melting, tearing apart from the inside out. The sensation was unbearable. She wanted to thrash, to rip herself free, to claw at her skin until she could feel something else, anything else-but she couldn't.

They were talking, their words drifting in and out, but they might as well have been speaking another language. She couldn't focus on anything except the pain, the overwhelming, unrelenting pain.

A needle slid into her skin, and for a moment, everything went white. Her mind screamed, her body convulsing, and the world blurred around her, warping into something unreal, like a fever dream. She wanted to rip herself apart, wanted t scream, to beg them to stop, but her mouth wouldn't move.

She was suffocating. Her body was betraying her. The straps holding her down dug into her flesh, the pain mixing with the agony coursing through her veins. It felt like her skin was being torn off, layer by layer, exposed and raw, the air itself an assault on her senses. She could feel the sharp edges of instruments scraping against her bones, prying her open.

God, please stop! she screamed in her mind, her thoughts a frantic, wild plea. Please stop, someone, make it stop!

Her eyes darted frantically, trying to find anything to focus on, something that wasn't the excruciating agony tearing her apart. But all she saw were the masked faces, the glint of metal tools, the flashing lights above her. The lights flickered, fading in and out, casting long shadows that twisted into grotesque shapes on the walls.

Time lost all meaning. Minutes bled into hours, hours into an eternity of pain. She couldn't remember a time before the burning, before the tearing, before the relentless torture. The world outside of her agony didn't exist anymore.

They were cutting her apart, but nothing was bleeding. She could feel it-feel them pulling at her skin, at her bones, but she was still whole. It didn't make sense. None of it made sense. Her mind was unraveling, and she wanted to scream, wanted to claw at her own head to make it stop, make it all stop.

She could see their eyes through the masks一cold, dispassionate, like she was nothing more than a lab rat, just another experiment. They didn't care. They didn't care that she was in agony, that every part of her was screaming, begging for mercy.

And then-

The needle.

It swept over her, like a wave crashing down, pulling her under. Everything went silent. The pain was still there, but it was distant now, far away, like it belonged to Someone else. Her eyelids fluttered shut, the world around her fading into darkness.

And then there was nothing.

No sound. No light. No pain.

Just oblivion.

Should I make a part 2?

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[caffeinateddino]

Post-Rumbling! Levi Ackerman x reader [18+]

title: i hit my toe pt. 2

♡ warnings: sexual content, afab reader, gender neutral pronouns, oral sex, Gentle, soft Levi

A/N: i was sleepy writing this so it could be too emotional or bad idk

summary: You, a former squad leader in the survey corps luckily survived the rumbling and now you're staying with Levi in Marley, attending him and keeping him company

after catching him masturbating, you two end up on his bed

first par is here

The room was dark, save for the faint sliver of moonlight that crept through the small gap in the curtains. You and Levi sat naked on the edge of his bed, an awkward silence filling the space between you. The tension was thick, not born of discomfort, but of hesitation—neither of you sure who should make the first move.

You glanced at him, catching the way his hands rested in his lap, fingers slightly trembling. His gaze was downward, avoiding yours, and his breath was slow but uneven, betraying the conflict raging inside him. Your own heartbeat thundered in your chest, your skin prickling with both nervousness and anticipation.

It hadn’t been planned. Not really. But here you both were, caught in the fragile moment before one of you finally decided to break the silence.

Your mind drifted back to earlier that evening, when everything had still felt simple. Dinner had been quiet but comfortable. The kind of quiet where words didn’t need to fill the air. Afterward, you had insisted on doing the dishes, and Levi, true to his nature, had insisted on helping, drying them as you washed.

That’s when it happened.

He cleared his throat, breaking the peaceful silence. “I know… you lied,” he said, his voice barely audible over the running water.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Lied about what?” you asked, glancing at him. His expression was unreadable, but the way he gripped the towel tighter gave him away.

“About earlier,” he continued, still not looking at you. “When you said you didn’t see or hear anything. I know you did.” His tone was flat, but there was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes when he finally glanced up at you, searching for a reaction.

You froze for a moment, but then let out a light laugh, hoping to ease the tension. “Okay, fine. You caught me,” you admitted, rinsing the last plate. “I saw. And heard. But it’s not a big deal, Levi.”

His eyes darkened, and his lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m… sorry,” he muttered. “For thinking of you like that.”

You turned off the tap, drying your hands before stepping closer to him. “You don’t have to apologize for that,” you said softly, hoping your voice would reassure him. “It’s not a bad thing, Levi. Honestly, it’s flattering.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, as if trying to gauge whether you meant what you said. And you did.

That’s how it started. One minute, you were talking by the sink, and the next, the unspoken tension between you two finally gave way. The careful distance you had maintained for so long crumbled as you both acknowledged the feelings that had simmered beneath the surface. It was quiet, delicate. A kiss here. A touch there. Until, somehow, you found yourselves like this—sitting on his bed, waiting.

Back in the present, you swallowed the lump in your throat and took a breath. The silence had stretched long enough. Tentatively, you reached out, placing your hand on Levi’s bare chest. His skin was warm under your palm, his heartbeat steady but a little faster than usual. You felt him stiffen slightly, but he didn’t pull away. His gaze remained forward, though you could feel his vulnerability radiating through every tense muscle.

“Levi,” you whispered, your voice soft as you slid closer to him.

He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, they were softer, more open than you’d ever seen them. “I… care about you,” he finally admitted, the words quiet, almost fragile.

You smiled gently, your hand moving up to cup his cheek. “I know,” you replied, leaning forward to press a tender kiss to his lips. He returned the kiss, hesitant at first, but gradually deepening it, as if slowly letting go of the walls he’d kept up for so long.

Your hands wandered down his chest, tracing the scars that marred his skin, each one a reminder of the battles he had survived. But right now, there was no war, no death, no destruction, no titans. Just the two of you, sharing something that felt… safe.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close, his body fitting perfectly against yours. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the way he held himself back even now, so afraid of losing control. You gently stroked his length, and he gasped, a quiet, breathless sound that sent a shiver through you.

He buried his face in your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin as you continued to stroke him, slowly, tenderly. “You don’t have to hold back,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple.

His hand clutched your side, his grip tightening slightly as his breath hitched. “I didn’t expect this,” he murmured against your neck, his voice strained. “I didn’t expect to feel this way about you.”

You smiled softly, resting your forehead against his. “Me neither,” you admitted, your hand moving at a gentle, steady pace. “But I’m glad.”

His lips brushed yours again, and this time, the kiss was different. There was no hesitation, only quiet acceptance and need.

you felt him shiver agaisnt you as you continued to slowly stroke him. his back arched slightly, his scarred chest getiing pressed to your breasts harder. another gasp of soft moan and he pressed his face into your neck. you felt his soft moans vibrating through your skin as you continued to stoke him. did handjob even felt that good? maybe. what was making him feel better was the fact that it was your hands on him, gently guiding him to his climax.

"Fuck" he groaned, lifting his injured hand and craddled your cheek as he pressed his mouth on your neck. his grip on your hips hardened. you felt his neatly trimmed nails digging into your skin. you moved your hand from his back and reached for the one that was holding your hips. you felt is whole bodyshiver as you gently moved him to lay him down. He loved it. He loved the way you lead it, the way you take care of him. with a smile you psotioned yourself between his legs, your hand still on him

He watched you with his hooded, steel-grey eyes, his breath ragged, yet steady as you took him into your mouth slowly. he let out a needy moan as he felt the wet heat wrapping him up deliciously, his back arching off of the bed.

Mind you, this man had no experience with someone, this was all too new, too intimate for him. he dangled his uninjured hand into your hait, gently holding it, as if afraid to push too far.

You kept your pace slow, savoring every reaction, every soft moan that escaped him. The vulnerability in his voice, in his touch, made the moment feel more intimate than anything you had ever shared before. you felt your own arousal building upmore and more with each whimper of your name spilled from his mouth.

When he finally reached his release, it was quiet. you felt it coming as his grip tightened around your hair for a second. His body tensed beneath your touch before he relaxed completely, sinking into the bed with a soft, contented sigh.

gulping everydrop of his release, you licked your lips as you locked your eyes into his. he continued to pant, chasing his breath, drinking every move of yours. you leaned down, pressed a loud, playful kiss to the tip of his cock, eliticing a huff of smile from him. You crawled back up to him, rested your face agaisnt his chest. instictively, his arms came to wrap around you. For a while, neither of you spoke, simply basking in the warmth and closeness of the moment.

And for the first time in a long time, Levi felt… at peace.

As you nestled against Levi’s chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath, you couldn’t help but notice how relaxed he seemed, his earlier tension having melted away. For a while, you both simply enjoyed the closeness, the quiet intimacy that had developed between you.

Levi shifted slightly, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Despite his relaxed demeanor, there was a noticeable hint of shyness in his eyes. His uninjured hand gently caressed your back, as if he was contemplating the right moment to say something or do something more.

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes with a soft smile. “If you’re up for it,” you murmured, your voice gentle, “I’d love for you to return the favor.”

He met your gaze, a mix of desire and uncertainty in his steel-grey eyes. He hesitated, then nodded slowly, his expression turning serious as he considered his movements carefully. Despite the warmth in his eyes, he was mindful of his injured leg, which he kept carefully positioned to avoid any strain.

With a deliberate and cautious movement, Levi gently guided you onto your back, his touch feather-light. His hands were tender as they explored your body, tracing along your sides and settling on your hips. He took a moment to adjust his position, ensuring he was comfortable and that his injury wouldn’t cause him any pain.

He leaned down, pressing a soft, affectionate kiss to your lips, his touch delicate but filled with longing. His lips traveled from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of gentle kisses that made you shiver with pleasure. As he kissed and nuzzled your skin, his uninjured hand slipped between your legs, his touch warm and reassuring.

You moaned softly as he began to gently explore you, his touch careful but confident. His fingers moved with a practiced grace, and he seemed to intuitively know just how to bring you pleasure. The way he focused on you, his gaze never leaving your face, made the experience all the more intimate.

Levi’s breathing became more labored as he continued his attentive exploration, his fingers working in rhythm with your responses. You could feel his care and affection in every touch, every movement. Despite his own vulnerability and the pain from his injury, he was determined to make you feel cherished and adored.

When he finally positioned his face between your legs, she looked up at you for your reaction. hearing no complaints, he spread you with his thumb before getting to work. he took his time, his movements tender and deliberate. His tongue danced along your sensitive areas, and he was gentle but insistent, drawing out your pleasure with every flick and swirl.

You gasped and moaned as his warm breath and skilled touch sent waves of pleasure through you. It was like he knew your body better than you did. His uninjured hand continued to caress your body, his touch both soothing and electrifying. His other hand was on your clit. his thumb drew slow circles, accompanying his tongue.

this was a side of him you couldn't even imagine to see. So gentle, So careful. you wondered if this is the same man who told you about his childhood in the underground, the same man ruthlessly sliced titans one by one.

As his touch heightened your arousal, your breathing grew more erratic. “Levi… I want you,” you whispered, your voice quivering with need. you pushed his now messy hair away of his face to look into his ehes “Please…”

Levi’s eyes fluttered open at your words, their steel-grey depths darkened with a mixture of surprise. The sincerity in your plea was met with a look of determined affection. He paused for a moment, taking in your vulnerability and the desire that shimmered in your eyes. it felt goodー to be wanted like that. to be wanted by you.

He positioned himself carefully between your legs, mindful of his injured limb. His fingers traced along your inner thighs with a deliberate slowness, causing your body to tremble in anticipation. His gaze locked onto yours, holding your stare with an intensity that made your heart race and your body wanting to squirm away

With a deep, steadying breath, he aligned himself on to your enterance. With one slow thrust, he entered you, placing his hands on your hips to keep you close. The initial pressure was a sweet, intense sensation, stretching and filling you in a way that made you moan softly. Levi’s movements were slow, measured.

His breath hitched slightly as he adjusted to the sensation, his eyes closing momentarily as he found his rhythm. He leaned in, his lips brushing your neck with soft kisses that was sk different from the firm, steady thrusts of his body. He leaned to your ear, his lips pressing against your skin “Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, his voice a soothing, hushed rumble against you. it made you shiver and reach up to his neck

You wrapped your hands behind his neck, legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and whispered back with a breathless urgency, “It’s perfect. Just… don’t stop.”

Levi’s pace grew more assured, each thrust a deliberate and steady rhythm that pushed you closer to the edge. His touch was both reassuring yet firm and electrifying. The way he moved inside you was a careful blend of passion and tenderness, each motion a testament to his desire he felt towards you.

As you approached your climax, Levi’s movements became more urgent, though still controlled. holding your hips, he lift them slight up, off of the bed as his body pressed deeper into you and he found a rhythm that drove you to the brink. The pleasure was overwhelming, making you cry out his name in a desperate, breathless moan.

Levi responded with a soft, reverent groan, his own release building. His thrusts grew more intense, and with a final, shuddering breath, he reached his peak. His body tensed, then relaxed, and he let out a deep, satisfied groan. You felt his warm release fill you up as he let your hips down again

Afterwards, Levi withdrew, his movements careful and gentle. He lay beside you, his breath heavy but content. You felt the warmth of his body as he reached and pulled you to his chest, placing his chin to your hair

The room settled into a peaceful silence, the intimacy of the moment lingering in the quiet- though he break it after a moment

"Alright, lets go take a shower we're sweaty" he said in his usual deadpan tone. "also we should take a piss. no need to get an infection" okay, Levi was still Levi at least.

[moremaybank]

stepbro!rafe who convinces you to let him fuck your ass when you tell him that you're saving yourself because it “doesn't really count.” really, he just wants to be the only one who’s broken in that tight little hole !!!!!!! so greedy and icky and selfish !!!!!!!

catch up on stepbro!rafe here ♡︎

[insomniactic-daydream]

Since I Survived..

Pro Hero Bakugo ♡ Pro Hero Reader

Summary: Both of you are pro heroes in your prime. But after a gut-wrenching dream, Bakugo considers other plans for his life with you.

This is an alternate happy ending of 'Beside You' cause I don't want my readers to be depressed. 😭

I recommend reading that first but it can be a stand alone.

Part 1 (Sorta) 》 'Beside You'

TW: Implied deaths, Children (idk if that considered a tw but oh well)

Bakugo's vision starts to dim as he holds you under all the rubble of the collapsed building.

Even though he couldn't save the both of you, he wants to make sure the last thing he sees is his wife angelic face.

It's a shitty way to die. The both of you impaled by a metal bar with no way of escaping and an even smaller chance of survival. Yet, but at least he had you with him.

"I couldn't imagine breathing without you, Kats.." you say in cutting breaths as you use all of your remaining strength to hold him close. Smiling weakly, knowing at least you'd go together.

"Good thing we don't have to, princess." Bakugo heaves out, saying your nickname for the last time as he presses his lips onto yours. Taking each other's last breath...

"PA!"

Bakugo wakes up in a jolt as he gets smacked in the face. Sitting up with a teary-eyed face.

He looks and finds the culprit of his stolen slumber, or savior from that horrible nightmare.

"Papa didn't want to wake up, and Mama said to smack you if you didn't." the blonde and crimson eyed little girl says as she scrambles onto the bed and into his lap.

Katsumi looks at her father's face. For a 6 year old, she is very emotionally perceptive. "Is Papa alright?" She says, reaching to touch his face.

Although the grogginess still lingers, he gives her a big and long embrace.

"I'm fine, princess. Your Pops just had a nightmare, is all." He says while giving her a rare genuine smile. Thank fuck it was a dream.

He held her for what seemed like ages, and yet she didn't mind; after all, she was still your daughter too. Her kindness is genetic.

However, it was not long after that the emotional silence was ruined.

"KATSUKI IF YOU DON'T GET YOUR ASS UP," your voice projects from the kitchen as the smell of breakfast lingers. The two blondes share a laugh before getting off the bed.

Bakugo picks Katsumi up in his arms. "Cmon, our queen is waiting." He says while heading towards the kitchen; using his upgraded nickname for you after you had Katsumi.

He never thought he'd end up here, with kids and a loving wife who hasn't gotten tired of him yet.

Even if the dream was different by the two of you not having Katsumi, his heart still warmed that at least you were the thing that didn't change in his life.

Bakugo is so deep into thought about the dream that he didn't notice he arrived at the kitchen. Guess the dream really opened his eyes about the hero work the two of you been doing.

"Kats?" You say concerned at his blank gaze and hold on Kastumi. His attention now back to reality after your voice.

"You alright, honey?" You say while grabbing Katsumi from his arm and placing her in the chair seated next to her infant brother's high chair. Babbling away like infants do.

Before you can even turn back around to him, he attacks you with a hug. You look at your daughter questionably, but she only shrugs and continues to feed her brother.

"You alright there, you big oaf? ...Kats?" You say before turning around and seeing his teary-eyed face.

"Shut up." He says quickly so he can avoid your questioning. You only sigh in defeat and wrap your arms around him, too.

"Do I at least get to know what this is about?" You say as your husband's grasp tightens.

"We should quit."

"What?" You say confused. Things are going well for the two of your careers, even being in the top 3 from time to time. Hell, he just made number 1 last year.

"We should retire our old asses and enjoy our fucking lives til we're grey and wrinkly." He says in a mumble swaying you back and forth.

"Fuck is a bad word papa."

"Katsumi," You scold the child before sighing. "I mean, I'm not opposed to it, but where's this coming from." You question the vulnerable blonder.

"Mm just had a shi- poopy butt dream," he says, trying to make his sentence child friendly, earning a giggle from his daughter and a chuckled from you. Still, you investigate further.

"About?"

"We didn't make it back from a mission. We held each other til the end, but I don't want that for us," He says quietly to avoid the childs prying ear while his grip tightens on you.

You stiffen. Dying during a mission and leaving the kids behind? That thought left a nasty taste in your tongue and an even bigger ache in your heart.

This time you hold him tighter.

"Guess I'll have to tell the commission that I won't be back from maternity leave then." You say, peppering him with kisses. He let's out a sigh of relief. Being glad that you're both on the same page.

"I think I should just leave the agency to Red then. The interns are going to give me so much crap about being old." He chuckles while kissing you back. Yet his hold on you stays.

A comfortable silence lingers for a little.

"Thank you for keeping up with my crap." He says quietly. His vulnerable insecurity of not being good enough for you showing.

"Til I'm grey and wrinkly, Kats." causing him to chuckle. You always knew how to reassure him.

"Til we're gray and wrinkly."

And with no tragic ends in sight.

Doing this instead of the 8 assignments due tomorrow night. 😭

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[kikyoupdates]

[CHAPTER UPDATE]

For Tomorrow's Sake ⭑˚💫⭑ 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠 𝑢𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑛

various!jjk x f!reader

reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn

You never believed reincarnation was possible, least of all in the fictional world of Jujutsu Kaisen. However, from the moment you meet Gojo Satoru, it’s impossible to deny. Whether it’s a miracle or some kind of curse, you find yourself growing up alongside the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Unfortunately, you know what the future holds in store. You know exactly what kind of tragedies await. Perhaps that’s why you were brought into this world. If it means saving people from a gruesome fate, you’ll gladly suffer in their place. You’ll do whatever it takes.All for the sake of a better tomorrow.

Read Chapter 13 on Quotev! story also available on Ao3!

Not caught up? Read chapter one here on Quotev and Ao3!

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[novasintheroom]

050. Impress

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 0.9k

♡ Warnings - none

♡ Description: Vash catches you drawing in your journal.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

It’s a hobby, you tell yourself. Plenty of people do it.

In the shade of the overhang, you glance over your book and scratch a few more lines down the page. A curve here, some dots there. You bite your tongue gently. It’s getting better. Marginally. And Vash is none-the-wiser to being observed.

He’s slowly taking apart and cleaning his gun. Rubbing a cloth along each piece, careful of where he puts things on the flat rock he’s taken as a ‘table.’ Vash is scrunched up now, making an interesting pose to note down in your journal.

Next to the drawing, you sketch out some lines and notes on his anatomy. Triceps, you write. Brachioradialis. Palmaris longus. You trail down to his legs. Vastus medialis. Gastrocnemius. Back up to his chest. Pectoralis major. Subtly, you put a heart by the name.

“Watcha drawin’?”

So much for subtlety. How did he sneak up on you? Faster than Vash has time to blink, your book slams closed. He’s left with a waft of air blowing in his face and a wide-eyed stare from you. From your side, he lifts his hands placatingly. “Woah, I didn’t see anything.”

Still, blood rushes to your face and you purse your lips, giving him a searching look. “Liar. What did you see?”

Vash’s smile is gentle. Always gentle. “Nothing, really.” Then, that smile turns mischievous. “I didn’t know you drew naughty pictures.”

You splutter. What? “I do not!”

“It’s okay, really!” He waves his hands and walks over to his bag. “Everyone’s into something. Why else would you panic like that?”

The blush has reached the back of your throat. You cough, sucking in air to protest. “I don’t draw naughty pictures!”

He looks over with a smirk, putting his gun back together without looking. “Sure. And I have both my arms.”

“I don’t!” Not only mortified by the suggestion, you’re blatantly outraged he doesn’t believe you. Only one way to rectify this. You stand from your rock and march over to him. Flipping open the book, you shove it in his face. “See! I’m practicing anatomy!”

Vash’s look goes slack, and with care, he takes the book from your hands. You realize he was teasing you too late. He sees your drawings. He sees them. You’re suddenly nervous again, feeling like a child caught doing something wrong. It’s fine, you think, it’s fine, fine, fine.

Vash takes his time looking over your drawings. It’s of him, obviously. Chest bared, missing the scars and wires and plates he feels on the daily pulling at his skin. You don’t know about them. How could you? He never lets you see. But you are studying anatomy. He sees the scientific terms criss-crossing the page in your neat handwriting. On the next page, he sees you’ve sketched him in different poses; some of him crouched as if over a fire, some jumping in mid-air, coat floating wildly behind him. One is just of his face, his smile. The eyes are a little crooked, but it’s impressive, even still.

He sees your hands worrying out of the corner of his eye. Cracking your knuckles. You do it when you’re nervous. “I only have you around to draw,” you explain, trying to save yourself from more embarrassment. Vash hums, and you duck your head. “It’s…an old hobby of mine.”

The next page are close-ups. Hands, feet, mouth, eyes. You have no coloring pencils; everything is shaded charcoal black-and-gray. In the margins, you’ve drawn different worms you’ve come across, with beaks and bug-eyes and many legs. But overall, he’s the subject. He’s the one you’re drawing the most. A strange feeling settles in his chest, and with a slight grin, he hands the book back.

You take it, watching him, wary. “So…?”

Vash shakes his head. “These are really good!”

Your look is dubious. “You aren’t…weirded out?”

Weirded out? Why would he be? He’s never been the subject of someone’s drawings. It makes him feel…he doesn’t know, searching for the word. “No,” he says, “I’m – flattered,” he finally puts a name to the feeling, and his cheeks pinken.

You look down, gnawing at your inner cheek. “It’s something I started doing a few months back. Just…drawing your poses whenever we have downtime.” Finally, a smile breaks on your lips. “You’re very limber.”

Vash laughs. “It’s all the yoga I do.” He reaches up and tugs at the back of his neck. He feels a bit shy, but asks, “Can I watch you draw sometime?”

Your mouth falls open. “Um…sure?”

He kicks at a nearby pebble. “I’m not the best at drawing. But I like to do it too. In my journals, sometimes.”

You perk up. “You do? Of what?”

“Mainly architecture. I tried people a few times, but they…they look like they’re melting.”

You laugh, and he laughs with you.

And later, in the firelight and lamps of your camp, you and he draw together. He practices drawing your face (and it does look like it’s melting, much to his chagrin and your laughter), and you sketch architecture, blown away and inspired by the detailed drawings of derelict ships and abandoned towns and cities Vash has been to in his journals. You trade art secrets, tips, and switch journals with each other to draw in for a page.

You both go to bed with stained fingertips and smiles, happy to have one more thing to bring you together.

[prplocks]

✧❁ wallpaper 〴 enhypen ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

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[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ Marquis of Los Angeles: Ch. 3 - A Manageable Situation

ཐི♡ཋྀ Thank you for the beta-read, @evrensadwrn! ཐི♡ཋྀ

Summary: As LaCroix brings Vincent home to Venture Tower, each one has a very simple plan. Surely all will go well.

TW: mind control, emotional manipulation, kidnapping

Vincent drifted through the city of angels, a prisoner in his own body. Bars and restaurants and strip clubs flashed past in neon and chain link and rain-drenched concrete. The downpour did nothing to stifle the city stench, but rather enhanced it. The air was too warm, too humid, the look of palms and alien plants more unfamiliar than it should have been, given that he’d watched American movies. But everything looked different in person. He had been to the states before, but never the west coast. It occurred to him, in fact, that he was probably farther from Versailles than he’d ever been.

By the clock on the dash, it was just past 8 PM local time. The whole night lay ahead of them. And LaCroix was just getting started, taking his “early” business calls in the front seat as the city’s nightlife shook itself awake. Meanwhile, Vincent fought against the hunger and exhaustion that had not been properly addressed for days even before he was taken.

With Sebastian’s concentration slipping to other concerns, Vincent’s numbed emotions were slipping back into the pit of his stomach, where they tied themselves into an aching knot. Horror was there, in nightmarish quantity, but so was hope - a feverish, desperate kind of hope. This was not the time to panic, but to plan. This was really a very manageable situation, all things considered. “No one is looking for you because no one knows you are missing.” He kept repeating those words to himself. LaCroix was quite right. All he had to do was contact someone. Even being seen alive in public might be enough. And then everyone would be looking for him. And they’d take him away. And LaCroix would be so devastated…pictures of him kept intruding into Vincent’s mind, crying over Vincent, losing him, missing him. There was some overwhelming desire to see LaCroix utterly pathetic on his account. It wasn’t ideal to be so fixated on LaCroix, but…better to hate him than to love him. In the midst of this feeling, it was possible to dream of escape, and so he clung to it.

He’d been directly commanded not to jump out of the vehicle, but he rested his forehead against the glass, hoping to be seen as the streetlamps passed over him in cycling flashes of yellow. But they were, of course, moving too quickly for anyone to recognize him, even if any of the passersby somehow knew who he was. Without any incident, the car came to a stop in front of an enormous skyscraper which LaCroix announced as Venture Tower.

The building itself seemed hostile, designed for intimidation. What kind of a man flanked his doorway with these god-awful Modernist figures of what Vincent could only describe as emaciated shadow people? It was chilling, but in such an unsophisticated way, like hoisting up a head on a pike for all to see. He wondered if they were meant to represent those Sebastian had drained of blood. He tried to play off his shudder of body horror as mere aesthetic disgust. “How is it that you lived through Romanticism without absorbing a single one of its artistic principles? It was wasted on you.”

LaCroix’s eyes widened and Vincent realized too late that he’d given himself away. Until now, the Prince probably thought he was still under full domination. “Already running your mouth again? Extraordinary, how you break free. So much so, in fact, that I’ll indulge you.” He gestured to the dismal grey lobby that would have been better suited to a penitentiary. “I change with the times and the requirements of leadership. It’s called branding, Vincent, and it saves lives. You’ll find the penthouse better suited to your tastes, but there’s no reason for the masses to see how I furnish my own living space. They have a tendency to start lopping off heads when they see too much open gaudiness…or firing bullets through skulls, as the case may be.” The Prince eyed Vincent’s embroidered greatcoat pointedly, as if that had been the sole reason for Wick’s dispute with him.

But he hadn’t stolen Vincent’s voice again, and that was something. Better try for a compliment, keep him talking.

“It does make for a brutal spectacle, at least, which is its own sort of…functionality.” His eyes were fixed on the elevator’s emergency call button, and his mind on the phone at the front desk of the lobby. His own cell phone had been confiscated at some point in his unconsciousness. Who was carrying it? LaCroix, or the Sheriff?

LaCroix nodded, no doubt pleased with his own advice. That confident smile, the way his mouth curled back against his fangs…Vincent suddenly felt like he had lost command of himself again. It was so difficult to look at this man without wanting to crush him to pieces. “You’ll learn a great deal with me, Vincent. I’m offering you an opportunity, to serve the interests of the Camarilla, to rule over LA at my side…and eventually much more than that, as your regnant’s hold expands.”

An opportunity to serve. How enticing. Vincent physically bit his tongue until his irritation subsided before replying. “Do you take me for a fool, LaCroix? I know what it means to share power, and it does not interest me.”

“How unfortunate. Then you will have none. You’ve lost your privileges again.”

A violent jolt of compulsion followed, stronger than anything on the aircraft. He was a passenger in his body again for the remainder of the elevator ride. He drifted powerless into the heart of Sebastian’s domain, gliding past the collection of history paintings that had been missing from the art historical community for hundreds of years, past the gold filigree flickering with firelight and the white moon that flashed through driving rain to cast a sliver of halo against the Prince’s hair. Sebastian wasn’t joking – he was a man of taste after all, and to be at the epicenter of his power was to walk in a decadent dream.

Never had Vincent felt so completely in the power of another person. Never had he felt another person’s strength so directly, inside of his own body and surrounding him on every side with the fruits of his superior’s machinations. He was totally and completely in Sebastian’s hold, spurred to the point of some manic envy. Two centuries of power were concentrated in this room. It made him want to sing and scream out loud, to climb the walls and knife the cushions, to tear the curtains with his teeth, to fling himself at LaCroix and…and…

To outdo him. How good it would feel, to conquer the most magnificent man he had ever seen. An opportunity. Yes, an opportunity to conquer. To see you broken and wretched. To impress you, REALLY impress you, until you bow to me. You’ll look so pretty weeping on your knees when your new pet disappears back to France with all your secrets, Bast…shame I won’t be here to see it… He shook himself, trying to focus only on the return home, but the return home was tied up with a powerful vengefulness towards LaCroix. To live, to be himself, was to struggle against LaCroix. His blood was pounding wildly all through his body, livid with another man’s vital energy.

Then Sebastain’s hands were on him, guiding him gently into a chair. “Easy. It’s hitting you, isn’t it? You like my pretty things?”

Oh, Sebastian. You don’t understand at all. In a wrathful haze, he grinned. “…Oui.”

“Good then.” He straightened up and snapped his fingers at the Sheriff. “He’s coming under control. We should be alright.” They were whispering about some assignment, and the Sheriff was gone.

Vincent stared into the fire, half insensible and trembling. I’m going to devastate him. I’m going to make him hurt. I’m going to devour everything that’s his and make it MINE.

.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸. ཐི♡ཋྀ.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.

LaCroix opened his briefcase, removing the contents from his travels and settling in at his desk for the night. He was thoroughly relieved. It was really a very manageable situation. The Marquis just took a while to feel the full effects. Perhaps that made sense, given how long it had taken him to heal from the bullet wound. Regrowing a brain was such a long process. But the vitae had finally taken root, and he was completely entranced.

Sebastian’s eyes lingered on Vincent. He was shaking in some ecstasy of reverence or lust, his eyes fixed on a Ventrue crest above the fireplace. It was strangely…disappointing. To see him like this was such an insult to the Marquis who had been fighting for his freedom tooth and nail just minutes ago. The Prince couldn’t help the sense that he had crushed something irreplaceable, and that it wasn’t worth it. Brought to heel, Vincent was cute, but before he had been…

Well, anyway, he wasn’t just cute. He really was bright. It was only a matter of how best to use him. He’d make a uniquely opportune spy within the High Table if there was some way to send him back in without compromising the Masquerade. But that was doubtful, and besides, he’d make just as clever a spy within the underworld. It seemed a shame to waste him among the kine - a specimen such as this wasn’t meant for such a life.

Or he could be useful on the trail of the Sarcophagus…

“Join me for a moment.” It was somewhere between hilarious and painful, watching Vincent cross the room. He wasn’t unsteady exactly, but pulled taut as a violin string. He practically vibrated. Sebastian could hear his racing heart. Vincent’s wide eyes locked onto his face and could not turn away. There was still something terrifying in them, and he found himself wondering whether he hadn’t best calm him down before attempting conversation. “…Are you quite well now, Vincent?”

“I am…hungry.” It was said with all the strained desperation of a newborn vampire. “Please, Prince. I know you don’t need to eat, but it’s been all day and night for me. Won’t you get me something, anything?”

He smiled, indulgent. Vincent wasn’t just cute this way, he was adorable. Those pleading eyes. “Alright. One moment, and then we’ll have a talk over your breakfast.”

One moment, turned away to call the front desk. And Vincent had already retrieved his cell phone from the briefcase and run halfway across the room. It was ringing.

He swore and made after him. “Oh for - Just where do you think you’re going!?” Vincent only sped up and disappeared into the stairwell. For god’s sake, his legs were so long…

Down they spiraled, Sebastian shouting useless commands that only seemed to spur him onward. It was no use to take him by force, it would have to be old-fashioned reason. “WHOEVER THAT IS WILL DIE IF YOU SAY A WORD!” The words echoed down some twenty stories. More quietly, for Vincent’s ears only, “The Masquerade. Recall what I told you.”

Vincent went still. In the sudden silence, a voice could be heard on the other side, barely loud enough to filter out towards LaCroix. “Hello? Who is this? It’s not possible that this is the Marquis.”

Panting, staring up at LaCroix with unbridled hatred, Vincent hung up the phone. Why did that look cut him so deeply? He pushed the pain aside and continued his descent, slowly now. Vincent did not retreat any further. “Good boy. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But you have to understand that I couldn’t let you go now even if I wanted to. It’s a violation of all our laws. To save you, I had to take you away. Permanently. You cannot go back.” He came to the same step as Vincent, looking up at him now, their bodies inches apart. “And now that I have you, can you fault me for putting you to use? When you are such a sharpened tool that you frighten even me?”

Very softly, “I frighten you?”

“…Dreadfully.”

Vincent’s eyes had never looked softer, never more innocently pleased. “Merveilleux.” And he lifted Sebastian right off his feet, and hurled him over the railing.

◃ Back ⚜ Next ▹(coming soon)

Image Sources: One (background) | One (Vincent) | Two

[nondelphic]

hey! i was wondering if you have any advice for me: I am wanting to write an epic/high fantasy book, and i started with my worldbuilding, then i moved to characters and their individual arcs. my main struggle is coming up with the overarching plot, the main conflict. any tips for coming up with ideas?

thanks for the ask, anon!! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) ♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

tbh i don't have a lot of experience writing fantasy, but! just because i don't have "a lot" doesn't mean i don't have any!! i was in a similar situation to you literally just a few weeks ago when i started worldbuilding and outlining a fantasy plot :D

so!! i'll just tell you the process of how i came up with my plot!! i hope it can help somewhat!

♡ pulling from your worldbuilding

the beauty of worldbuilding and having complete characters is that you literally have everything you need to START writing. but as you said, coming up with an overarching plot can be difficult. i don't know how extensive your worldbuilding is, but for me, my planning included a list of major historical events/eras in my fantasy world. from this, i just decided "okay, the plot is gonna take place during the *insert historical era from my fantasy world*."

then i'd think "okay... what was society like during this historical period?" what kind of power struggles, conflicts, or changes were happening at that time?" from there, the plot practically started writing itself! by narrowing down a specific time and place within your world, you're essentially placing your characters in a pressure cooker of events that are naturally going to generate conflict.

♡ character-driven plot

another approach you can take is to look at your characters’ arcs and ask yourself what situations would force them to grow or challenge their beliefs. think about what each character wants most in life—what would happen if they couldn’t get it? or what if they got it, but at a great cost? you can build the main conflict around these personal stakes, and that can really help drive your plot forward.

for example: say you have different species in your fantasy world, and one of your main characters belongs to a species that’s an outlier in their geographical area. maybe this species has been historically oppressed, or they’re seen as a threat due to some misunderstood ability or ancient conflict. you could focus on how your character fits into the world—they might struggle with their identity, trying to prove their worth in a society that fears or rejects them. this inner conflict could be the spark for a much larger plot, like starting a rebellion or becoming the key to resolving a long-standing feud between species. their personal journey, then, could naturally tie into the broader conflict of your story.

the key here is to use the uniqueness of your character's background and situation to fuel the plot. how they navigate the world around them can lead to choices and events that shape the entire story!

♡ external threats

sometimes the easiest way to spark an overarching plot is by introducing a big external threat. it could be anything from an invading empire, a natural disaster, or even a rising rebellion. something that shakes up the world your characters are comfortable in and forces them into action. this external conflict can intersect with their personal journeys and create some interesting tension.

♡ combining personal and world stakes

the most gripping plots often combine both personal and external stakes. maybe your character is fighting for their home or family, but there’s a much larger political or magical conflict brewing that they become a part of. it’s not just about saving themselves, but the entire kingdom or world. the trick is to make sure the personal stakes are always tied into the larger conflict, so it feels cohesive.

♡ take inspiration from your fav fantasy works

don’t be afraid to pull ideas from the things you love! if a specific scene, mission, or plotline really stuck with you in a book, game or movie, ask yourself why. for example, when i came up with my fantasy plot, i was inspired by a mission in the witcher 3 where geralt and triss are navigating the tunnels under novigrad. triss, living in secret as a mage, is forced to use these hidden passageways to carry out her plans. i remember thinking, “hmm… tunnels or catacombs are a great way for people with secret missions to carry out said missions!” that one detail sparked an entire subplot for me, where certain characters use an underground network to secretly move around, gather intel, and plot revolutions.

you can take bits and pieces from your favorite stories and use them as springboards for your own original ideas. sometimes it’s a specific setting, a character dynamic, or even the vibe of a scene that can get your creative wheels turning. the key is to make it your own and let it evolve naturally in your world!

i hope these ideas don't sound too "obvious" or like "well, duh," but rather a reminder that you've already done the worldbuilding, so use it!!

good luck with your epic fantasy!! sending digital hugs filled with all the creative energy i have left today to you and anyone else reading this (´｡• ᵕ •｡`)

[stcmstuff]

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