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perseephoneee · 8 months

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four times we almost kissed and the one time we did (kol mikaelson x f!reader)

warnings: slight blood sharing, mostly frusteration

a/n: unfortunately for my sanity, i have fallen in love with kol. why? i couldn't tell you. the actor drives me up a fucking wall. but the character? i am down for bad. so here ya go. feel free to request more kol or over tvdu characters!!

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[1] First meeting

Magic has existed in New Orleans for as long as anyone can remember. The prevalence of voodoo-- NOLA's most giant "tourist trap"-- originated in 1791 with enslaved West Africans who moved to Louisiana to grow a community for as many free people of color. That spirit meant that many of its inhabitants descended from that original society or were drawn here for its magical properties. Your family was one of the latter, a bunch of witches seeking solace in a place that nurtured it. Except with magic came strife, and eventually, other creatures came knocking at the door. Enter the Mikaelsons, New Orlean's resident vampire family that was always at the center of whatever drama was happening. Right now, something involving all those magically oriented.

You made it a point to stay clear of the fight. Not because you didn't care– you did– but because it wasn't your fight to be had. That's how you stayed alive in this neighborhood; you knew where to stick your nose and when to stay clear. Besides, all the commotion with one of the Harvest girls (Cassie, you believe her name was) and the witch's distaste of vampires meant tensions were high. You could help the community from the background anyway; you didn't need to make yourself known.

At least, that's what you hoped. But things rarely turned out how you wanted, and this was one of those times. Walking through the back streets of NOLA was never an excellent idea, but it was shorter, and you just wanted to get to the metaphysical supply store before it closed. You needed more laurel leaves to create protection charms around your house, especially with the uptake in strife in the recent year.

Which is how you came upon a witch killing three vampires in the alley.

You wanted to turn on your heel and leave, but the witch noticed you before you could. You didn't recognize him, so you were unsure what coven he belonged to. He was tall enough to probably tower over you, with golden curly hair and a jaw sharp enough to cut your fingers if you touched it. He was unbelievably handsome, and you hated that it caught your breath.

"You shouldn't be here, luv," he crooned, his English accent thick. He sauntered down the alley, coming up to you with narrowed eyes.

"I don't recognize you," you countered, shifting your weight as you crossed your arms. It's best not to let him know that you're flustered.

"New in town," he smiled, a cocky grin that told you that he absolutely knew the effect he had on women. It left a bad taste in your mouth. "New Orleans is a big city; I'm surprised you would know everyone."

"I know witches," you said, peering up at him.

"Ah, are you a magical thing yourself?"

"What do you think?" You arched a brow. He stepped closer, reaching up to twirl a piece of your hair around his finger. You recoiled slightly but didn't pull back. Never show fear; that's one thing this town taught you.

"I think you're a pretty young thing," he hummed. "I'm Kol." He peered at you as if waiting for you to offer your name. You didn't.

"Not interested," you pulled back from him, letting the hair he had touched fall back in front of your face. He stepped back into your space.

"I don't know, darling," he smiled, leaning closer so his breath fanned your face. It was minty like he had just had an Altoid. "I think you're interested." You hated admitting that this tall, handsome stranger (such a cliche) was right. And you really hated that if you leaned up slightly, you could feel the warmth from his lips. He stepped back, though, hands in his pockets. The same hands that had used magic to wrangle the undead life of the vampires behind him. You took that as a sign to start to leave, walking backward before turning on your heel and ignoring the gaze of the witch behind you.

"Never got your name!" He chimed. You smiled to yourself.

"Figure it out yourself."

[2] Cemetery watch

Disgruntled. That's how you felt. Chaos had grown over the past weeks, but you didn't see Kol again. A sliver of disappointment, as you did find him cute, but also a relief. You know enough flirtatious bastards to not want to add more to your life.

You weren't thinking about him today, though. You were thinking about your grandmother, who lived in the cemetery right outside your block. A popular cemetery for Wiccan rituals, it made sense for your grandma (the high priestess of your family) to be buried there with heavy praise.

You were laying a combination of roses, lavender, and rosemary for protection when the hair on your neck stood up. Feeling a presence, you soon turn around, making eye contact with the stranger who approached you.

Definitely not a witch; his aura was too dark for that. He was tall, with tousled brown hair and eyes that lingered on you for far too long. He was cute, though, even if he was dangerous.

"Hello darling," he purrs, stalking closer.

"Can I help you?" You sigh, crossing your arms as you peer at him with suspicion. He wears a cocky smile and a look that tells you he would love to have a taste.

"Don't remember me? I'm hurt," he puts a hand on his chest, feigning pain. You look at him closely, but the only recognition is in the pet name. Darling. Not many people called you darling.

"Kol," you said. "You're shorter." His face had a hint of shock before settling into amusement.

"That was uncalled for," he laughed, walking closer to you. In closer proximity, you could see that he was, in fact, very handsome, and he was definitely aware of that.

"I'm reiterating my previous question, can I help you?"

"When my family sent me on this mission to track down the 'wisest witch in the quarter,' I was not expecting you," he looked down at you with gold-flecked eyes. "The beautiful girl who wouldn't give me her name. Except now I know it's Y/N."

"I thought you were a witch," you took a hesitant step back, trying to create space.

"Temporarily," he sighed. "Now I'm back in my original form of vampire." The way he said it gave you pause, as if he was resigned to the fact but not happy about it. You could relate. If you lost your magic, you would be devastated.

"You said something about your family?" you coughed, changing the subject.

"There's someone working against them, and we would prefer if they don't kill us," Kol shoved his hands in his pockets, looking up at the clouds above. "People tend to hate us, Mikaelsons."

"You're a Mikaelson?" you hissed. It was because of the Mikaelsons your home was in constant disaster. "Why should I help you? Any of you?"

"For the most part, we don't want to cause trouble. It just tends to find us. Helping eliminate a threat means fewer problems in the quarter," Kol sighed, stepping closer. His fingers brushed your cheek, delicate as if touching the grass in a meadow. "Also, you'd get to spend time with me."

"Why would I want to spend time with you?" you breathed, voice wavering slightly. Curse your damn hormones for being swayed by a vampire of all creatures. His thumb came under your chin, allowing him to bring your face closer to his. Kol smelled like fresh snow and evergreens, and you knew that if he leaned a little bit closer, you wouldn't stop him. In the process, likely offend the ghost of your grandmother who was probably rolling her eyes at you right now. Before you could offend all the ancestors with your choices, Kol stepped back, resuming his cocky grin and leaving your breath lodged in your throat. Without a second thought of the implications, you made your decision.

"Fine, I'll help you."

[3] Late night spell-casting

Late nights in the Mikaelson compound meant one thing. Coffee, and lots of it.

You made a deal with the Mikaelsons after you agreed to help them that in exchange for your time, they had to buy you cafe drinks whenever you liked it. Elijah was the most taken aback, but Kol chuckled as if he found you amusing. Still, they found it a small price, not expecting how much you valued your drinks. Most nights, it was coffee, sometimes tea, or even hot cocoa. Quite honestly, you just liked having the power to make them run around.

You sat at one of their many couches, a book of shadows in your lap and a notepad in your hands as you made quick notes about possible spells that could combat the evil at hand. A couple of ideas swam in your head, but you wanted to exhaust your options before risking anyone else's life with a botched spell. Still, you had been at it for hours and started getting sleepy. You yawned, feeling your eyes close slightly. Thankfully, footsteps alerting you to the presence of one of the originals had you sitting up and shaking off your fatigue. Unfortunately, that original was Kol with your coffee order.

Kol was precisely what you thought he would be. Flirtatious, cocky, impulsive, and too attractive for his own good. You hated when murderers were cute; it made life confusing. There were moments, though, when the two of you were performing recon or pouring over spell books that you saw a side of him that only showed when his guard wasn't up. He was calmer, more academic, and a lot more unsure of himself. The only thing you hated about seeing that side is it made you like him more.

"How's my witchling doing?" he chimed, dropping off your coffee and settling beside you on the couch. You told him that being called darling felt ridiculous, so instead, he found a new nickname, which was even worse.

"The usual, I suppose," you yawned again, leaning your head against the back of the couch.

"Take a break."

"You realize it's your life on the line, right?" you huffed, turning to look at him.

"My life will always be in danger, Y/N," Kol hummed, taking your books out of your lap with a minor protest from you. "That's not going to change tonight."

"Don't underestimate me," you grabbed your cup, taking a deep sip and looking at him over the lid.

"I would never underestimate you," he grabbed your coffee and stole a sip himself, earning a growl from you. "Half the things you say shock and confuse me."

"It's my charm."

"Let's do something fun," Kol stood up, trying to drag you with him. "Research is bloody boring."

"We have two very different ideas of 'fun,' Mikaelson," you curled up into a ball on the couch, peering up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. An idea sparked in your head, and you turned a devilish smile to the brunette. "How about tarot cards?"

You found an old deck in the compound, creating a space on the table in the central area to lay out the spread. Even though having your cards would be better, you thought you could probably make do with these. You gave Kol the cards to shuffle and watched as he spent meticulous time connecting with the cards before handing the deck back to you. You started laying out the cards on the table, forming a cross with four cards separate on the side. You tucked your legs underneath you, curling up on the floor so you were huddled by the table. Kol joined you, his back against the couch as he peered at you straightening up the cards.

"You realize you're going to flip them over, right?"

"Shut up, Mikaelson," you chimed, finishing your organization. He watched you with a small smile, and you made the effort to ignore his stare. "We'll start with your Present card."

“Boring,” Kol sing-songed. "Tell me my future."

"I have to go in order, to give an accurate reading."

"Darling, the cards are already laid out; you can do whatever you want," Kol leaned closer to you, squinting his eyes in amusement. "I live my life in futures; who cares about the past?"

Sighing, you decided to obey the nosey vampire and flip over his cards for Future and Near Future. The two cards revealed were the Lovers and Ace of Cups, respectively.

"In your Future is a strong romantic relationship," you start, pointing out the Lovers card featuring two swans intertwined. "This correlates to the Ace of Cups, which signifies new beginnings. Since the Ace of Cups is in your near future, you'll likely encounter someone you'll soon develop a deep, long-lasting relationship with." You turn your eyes to Kol, raising an eyebrow. "Shocking, considering your personality."

"It's not that shocking," Kol quipped, leaning closer to you. "We're here, aren't we?"

His pupils were enlarged as he gazed upon you, and his glance to your lips told you exactly where his mind was. You couldn't deny you weren't thinking the same thing. It didn't help that Kol was dangerous in an enticing way. Ignoring all rational thought, you leaned in closer, nudging his nose with yours. Your heart was beating erratically, and you heard the sharp intake of breath he took. His fingers traced up your arm, each finger leaving goosebumps in their wake. What were you doing?

"How's the research going?" a voice called from the hallway. You scooted away immediately, but Kol stayed where he was. His jaw clenched as he suppressed a growl. Freya appeared, not aware of the situation and probably not caring anyway.

"I have a few ideas," you coughed, taking a deep breath to calm your beating heart.

"Great, I'd love to hear them so I can stop having stressful dreams," Freya chuckled, moving over to the couch. You sent Kol a glance as you passed your journal to Freya. The look he gave you told you that what started wasn't over. And the worst part was you didn't want it to be over.

[4] Injured after a fight

A headache. That's what you were nursing.

A sharp ringing pierced through your ears, the lights above you blurring into a bad abstract painting. A figure appeared above you, and you slowly registered that it was calling your name. You squinted your eyes, the action causing a splitting pain as the shape of Kol formed in front of you. Worry creased his brows, and blood splattered his face.

"Y/N, Y/N, can you hear me?" Kol asked, cradling your head. You nodded, grabbing his arms to help pull yourself up. Chaos was erupting around you, and the stifling smell of magic was enough to knock you out again. That's what had happened. It was an ambush, and despite your abilities, you were blasted back into a wall, probably with a concussion and broken bones. It was times like this when you were envious of a vampire's healing skills. "I need to get you out of here."

"They need our help," you grimaced, catching Klaus ripping off someone's arms in the background. Kol caught your gaze and bothered with a slight smirk.

"I'm sure Nik is fully capable of handling himself. Plus, my other siblings are here, and Freya called Vincent. They won't miss us."

"I'll be fine," you tried to say, but it ended in a wheeze as the effort of sitting up caused pain in your lungs.

"You will not. Can you stand?" Kol watched you struggle for a second before picking you up. In a normal situation, you would've complained, but considering all you felt was ow ow ow ow ow you thought better than to complain. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on tightly as he sped out of the scene and back to the compound. Kol laid you gently on the couch, kneeling before you, biting into his wrist and holding it to your lips. "You need to drink."

"I don't want to be a vampire," you mumbled, brushing a hand across your forehead. Your fingers held blood on them, and you became dizzy with that knowledge.

"I won't let that happen now, drink," Kol insisted, his voice having a hard edge. Considering he was a stubborn bastard, you relented. You hesitantly grabbed his wrist and brought it up to your mouth. The blood slid down your throat cleanly, but you had to suppress the urge to gag anyway since it was blood. You felt your bones click into place, and your headache dull to a memory. You finally looked up, catching Kol's gaze on you. How was it intensely erotic to have someone watch you drink their blood? There must be therapy for issues like this, but you didn't really care. How he looked at you was akin to a predator waiting to devour its next meal. You knew if you let him, he would fulfill every potential vampire fantasy one could have. He touched your cheek, touching your lips where his blood was just a second ago. He pulled away, red coating his fingers, and you suppressed a groan when he sucked the leftover blood.

"Kol," you whispered, your voice raspy. He sat up at eye level, leaning down as if to kiss you. Of course, things weren't that easy, as his family burst into the compound right at that moment. You wanted to let out a scream of frustration but ended up being caught off guard by Klaus dropping a head by the entryway.

"Glad to see our little witch is okay," Klaus chimed, looking pretty proud of himself. If Kol were a cartoon character, he'd blow smoke out of his ears.

"I'm alive," you sighed. Klaus walked over, ignoring his brother's glares, and patted you on the shoulder. That was the closest thing to the affection you were getting from the hybrid. As the rest of the family delved into a conversation about the ambush, you finally got up and looked at the original kneeling on the ground before you. "We'll finish this later," you smiled, pretending to ignore the slight growl that left Kol's mouth as you walked off.

[5] Evil has passed

"I thought you would've left."

Kol stood in the entryway of his bedroom at the Mikaelson home while you stood (guilty) by his bookshelf.

"I was returning this book I borrowed from you," you said innocently. Putting the book back on the shelf, you turned to the man before you, trying his best to plaster on a convincing smile. The threat has passed, your job was over, and yet you were melancholy. These people had caused problems throughout your home since they arrived, yet your temporary alliance ending was something of sadness. You were tired of pretending it was for any reason other than Kol. Kol started as an annoying individual who sought to drive you up the wall, but now was someone you saw a kinship with. Your long talks on history and adventures across the globe were moments where you saw his guard fall, and you loved every second of it. It helped that he was pretty to look at.

"I guess this means goodbye then, doesn't it witchling?" Kol sighed, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. You could swear he sounded disappointed, but you didn't want to get your hopes up.

"Depends," you crossed your arms. "I could be persuaded to come back."

"Persuaded?" Kol inquired, that mischievous glint in his eyes telling you he would ensure a way to keep you around. "Any particular reason?"

"If someone wanted me around, I guess," you smiled, a tiny grin but good enough for Kol to stroll towards you until he towered over your figure.

"I'll give you a good reason," Kol murmured, a devilish smirk on his lips. "Something that we kept getting interrupted for in the past." He cupped your face in his hands, lowering his lips so they were a hairsbreadth from yours.

"Don't be a tease," you breathed. Letting out a dark chuckle, he pressed his lips to yours. It was surprisingly light, not hungry like his usual personality. He tasted like a fresh snowstorm and an evergreen forest, and you know you could get drunk on that alone. Wrapping your arms around his torso, you brought him closer to you, deepening the kiss and earning a light groan from the vampire. Kol's hands tangled in your hair, one of them going to hold your waist. Every touch of his was coldfire, and you were so glad that you were finally alone to burn in him. He tilted your head back, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your throat that caused you let out a moan. He nipped the junction of your neck and shoulder, kissing over it until he was back at your lips again, leaving a searing kiss. Kol pulled away, glancing at you with eyes abysmal. "What took you so long to do that?" you breathed, a grin covering your face as Kol laughed, kissing the corner of your mouth.

"You're all mine now," Kol smiled, kissing you again. "Always and forever."

#kol mikaelson #kol mikaelson x reader #kol mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson #freya mikaelson #the originals #vampire diaries #tvd #tvdu #tvdu imagines #mikaelson #mikaelson family #my writing

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pastshadows · 15 days

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Shadows of the Past

Chapter 15: Home

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 7K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

The day is cloudy, obscuring most of the sky, with brief breaks where the clouds crack to let through cerulean rivers and dapples of sunlight. The flames in the fireplace flicker and dance in the breeze coming in off the Great Harbour.

You flip through another book on vampire covens in Waterdeep. So far, Gale has procured an impressive amount of information, but most of the texts are outdated. You’ve searched crypts and ancient mausoleums and scouted every location mentioned with Shadowheart, but they’ve all been long abandoned dead ends.

“I brought you lunch.” Shadowheart smiles, nudging the door closed with her hip. “Before you turn your nose up, I made it.”

“Thanks. Already sick of Gale’s cooking?”

Shadowheart’s nose wrinkles, and she smirks slyly but refrains from answering. The gleam in her eye tells you all you need to know. She nods toward the book in your lap. “Anything?”

“No,” you say with a shake of your head. "According to these, most vampire covens in Waterdeep don’t last. They’re either eradicated by something or vanish."

“You’re thinking this is the work of the Vampire Lord we’re looking for?”

You nod. “Astarion said vampires are territorial. If other covens have tried to make a home in Waterdeep for decades, even centuries, and none have survived, I think whoever we’re looking for predates all of it.”

“That’s disconcerting.” Shadowheart’s brows furrow, but she sheds her trepidation easily. “We’ll figure it out. We always do. Gale and I sent letters to the others to see if anyone could come and help.”

“If they are able to come, Gale’s going to have a lot of mouths to feed.”

“And Astarion is going to have to answer for his foolish disappearance.” Shadowheart scoffs with a frown. “I still have half a mind to—“

“Shadowheart." You cut Shadowheart off as nicely as you can while still sounding assertive. "I know you mean well, and I love you for being so protective, but what happened between Astarion and me is our business. He had his reasons, and maybe I didn’t understand them at the time, but I do now. Furthermore, I understand him better.”

“You cannot be serious.” Shadowheart retorts sourly. “I swear that man could thrust a dagger through your heart, and you would still find a way to exonerate him with your dying breath.”

She’s not wrong.

“Please give him the benefit of the doubt.” You swallow the irritation and try pacifying it with the knowledge that her prickliness is her way of showing you she cares. “You must keep in mind that he’s never experienced a relationship before, and he’s still learning who he is as a free man. Some of the blame falls on me too. It might have been prudent to allow him to decide if he wanted to live alone for a while before we moved in together. I might have pushed him too fast.”

“He could have at least told you he was leaving.” She snorts. “Coward.”

“That’s enough,” you growl in a warning that you’ve reached your limit of her tartness. You take a deep breath. “None of us can fathom what he’s been through and the scars he carries. He deserves our understanding, not our expectations of what we think he should have done.”

“Fine, ugh, fine,” she replies coolly. Her expression softens. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s okay,” you smile. “I’m sorry I ruined your vacation. I know you came to see the House of the Moon, not possibly die helping me fight another vampire.”

“Do you want to know a secret?” She giggles gleefully with a broad smile. “Retirement has gotten rather boring. I may not have chosen another Vampire Lord as our next foe, but at least we have experience with this particular enemy.”

“Hells below.” You laugh. “I thought I was the only one who found all this lounging around in safety utterly dull!”

“I hear you and Astarion haven’t been doing much lounging around since he returned.” Shadowheart waggles her brows with a sly, bright grin.

If you were a more bashful person, your cheeks would be heating, but Shadowheart became your best friend during your travels, and you don’t need to be shy with her.

“Oh,” you smirk smugly, “about that. You may want to reconsider moving your room to the upper floors of the tower with Gale, or I suspect you’ll never get any rest.”

“You are downright uncivilized, Kamena!” Shadowheart dissolves into a fit of laughter. “I think I will survive. It’s not like you two were exactly quiet in camp, and I’d rather keep a close eye on Hecat.”

“She’s still here?” Your brows furrow. “I was rather hoping she would take her leave after the whole vampire thing.”

“Me too. Instead, she seems rather keen to help. I haven’t decided yet if she’s an idiot or up to something.”

You rub your tired eyes. Your nightmares have returned with ferocity, and Astarion has had to wake you up several times every night lately. “We will watch her closely.”

“You mean you’re going to watch her closely around Astarion?” Shadowheart giggles, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “I saw that at breakfast the other day. She could not stop gawking at him!”

“I know!” You grunt with an exasperated huff. “I could veritably see her undressing him with her eyes. The woman is lucky I didn’t pluck them out with my fork!”

Shadowheart takes your hand in hers. “Astarion’s heart is yours. It has been since he met you. You have no reason to be worried.”

“I am not worried about him. I trust him.” You groan and try to push away the little green monster that seems to infect your very essence. You’ve always been a jealous person, although you prefer to call it territorial. Though this is a little much, even for you, “I’m worried about her.”

“If she lays a hand on him, he will likely cut it off before she can blink.” Shadowheart cajoles, obviously trying to reassure you.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “He won’t have time to before I make her spontaneously combust.”

Shadowheart leans in close, whispering, “You don’t need to worry, Kamena. You’re much prettier than she is.”

You both laugh until your eyes are watery and your cheeks are sore. Shadowheart sits with you, reading a different text and making notes. The words on the page start to blur before your tired eyes.

“Go rest.” Shadowheart nudges you awake. You didn’t even realize you had slipped into your trance until she roused you. “The books aren’t going anywhere.”

“Yes.” You nod with a yawn. “I think that’s a good idea.”

Descending the spiral staircase to the lower floor of the manor, Astarion’s voice draws you to the grand sitting room, where he’s chatting with Hecat. For some reason, you don't enter the room and decide to eavesdrop on the conversation. Astarion will undeniably know you’re there, but Hecat wouldn’t have heard you.

What does she say to him when I am not around?

She asks him questions regarding his vampirism. It makes you uncomfortable, though you cannot put your finger on why. Astarion seems unruffled by her interrogation. In truth, they are rather innocent . She asks simple things like what blood tastes like, if he can eat food, and what it tastes like to him, among other pointless inquiries. Her line of questioning is much like what you imagine a child’s would be.

“Can I see your fangs?” Hecat asks with a chortle.

You smother the urge to stomp into the room and tell her that he’s not a spectacle for her viewing pleasure. You did ask the same thing once, but that was at least after you agreed to be his meal. Gods. If she asks him to bite her, you will surely lose your shit.

Taking a deep breath, you enter the room as nonchalantly as you can, feigning surprise to even see her.

“Afternoon, dragon girl!” She chimes happily. “Your friend and I are getting to know each other a little better. I’ve never seen a vampire that’s not a bloodthirsty maniac.”

Hecat makes a point to emphasize the word friend with all the subtly of a neon sign flashing in a dark hallway, and it makes you fume like a kettle left unattended over an open flame. You can feel the pressure building up to a deafening whistle in your ears, and you’re ready to blow your lid off in frustration.

“Then you don’t really know my friend very well.” You retort with a curt smile, and you’re proud that you manage to keep the bitterness out of your intonation. “He’s just very selective about his meals.”

Astarion cocks his head at you, smirking with a low chuckle. “She is correct. All vampires are bloodthirsty maniacs. I just happen to be a picky, bloodthirsty maniac."

Hecat regards you thoughtfully, and her eyes land on the telltale puncture wounds on your neck that are still in the process of healing. She laughs, looking at Astarion. “By picky, I assume you mean you prefer blood that’s spiced with a hint of draconic fire?”

Your hand shoots up to your neck, the pads of your fingers running over the scabbed skin.

Astarion seems rather bemused by the entire conversation. “I do indeed enjoy spicy food. The hotter, the better.”

“I’m from the Hells.” Hecat remarks confidently with a wolfish grin. “You can’t get much hotter than me.”

The fire in the hearth discharges with a sonorous crack. Embers and sparks eject from the fireplace, making both Hecat and Astarion jump. You have never been more tempted to show her that, though she may hail from the Hells themselves, nothing is hotter than the Hellfire of an angry dragon. You’re not sure if she’s trying to irk you or is just terribly stupid.

Probably a combination of both.

“Excuse us.” Astarion’s drawls as if nothing is amiss, taking your hand, but you don't take your glowering eyes off the Tiefling until she yields, and her eyes snap away in deference.

Astarion virtually drags you away from the interaction before you can decide if murdering this woman might be worth any further trouble it would bring to your doorstep.

You follow him reluctantly back to your room. Before he can lecture you or comment, you blurt out hastily. “Pack some clothes and your things. We’re going to get away from here for a couple of days.”

“We’re leaving?” Astarion quirks a brow at you. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, given the predicament we find ourselves in?”

“It’s only a couple of days.” You sigh, sitting on the bed, letting your head drop into your hands. “I’m tired, and I need a break. I spoke to Gale about it already. He’s positive they will manage without their fearless leader. If you would rather stay, you don’t have to come.”

“Stay here? With them? Alone? Hardly.” He scoffs, clicking his tongue. “A worse fate than even the kennels. Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Gods. I hate surprises.” Astarion groans with a cheeky grin. “It’s rarely anything good. Surprise! You’re a vampire. Suprise! You’ve been tadpoled and might burst like a boil into a grotesque squid at any moment. Surprise! That sweet, demented old crone is indeed a hag.”

“I think you’ll like this one, petal.” You tut, smirking back. “If you don’t, feel free to kill me.”

“Hmm.” Astarion taps his lips with his finger. “That’s very tempting. I’m almost convinced. Alright, deal. Lead on.”

“I cannot believe I let you talk me into this,” Astarion groans, bringing the dapple-grey gelding beside your mare.

“Stop being testy.” You giggle at the frown he shoots you. “You seem to know what you’re doing.”

“I am centuries old,” he scoffs, jutting his chin into the air cavalierly. “I did not once say I couldn’t ride. I said I do not like the beasts. Horrid creatures.”

“I do forget how positively ancient you are. Did horses even exist all those long years ago, or Gods forbid, did you have to walk everywhere?”

“Ha-ha!” Astarion’s says sarcastically, curling his lips into a scowl. “You are so very funny, my dear. Where in the Hells are you taking me?”

“Follow and find out!”

Easing your mare into a gallop, the horses easily soar over the terrain on the outskirts of Baldur's Gate. The night is clear, and the stars shine brightly, their raw celestial energy dotting the sky like grains of sugar.

Despite Astarion’s plain distaste for horses, you can’t help but admire the way he looks in the saddle: confident, refined, and mouth-watering. The wind’s fingers flow through Astarion’s typically perfectly coiffed hair, mussing it up handsomely, and the silver moonlight plays between the rolling waves, casting an ethereal luminance across his porcelain skin.

Spotting the pathway, surrounded by a dense forest, you rein the horses into a walk through the narrow pass. The canopy of the towering trees filters out the beams of the moon’s waxen rays, so you cast Light. It makes eerie shadows dance around the thick trunks like restless spirits, their ghostly tendrils writhing around in the dark like tentacles, and you’re surprised to find yourself increasingly unnerved by the sight.

Your heart flutters around your chest like a scared bird in a cage as your eyes dart and track the serendipitous, playing shades. Your mind plays out memories you would rather forget, and you find your palms tingling as you seize the Weave reflexively.

Mind flayers and their slithering tentacles. Tadpoles squirming behind your eye.

The hungry shadows of Shar’s curse twisting their vines into you and sapping your life.

Good Gods. That abomination, Kar'niss.

Intellect devourers. The Netherbrain. The Emperor.

The feel of countless fangs of feral spawn, wild with hunger, piercing your skin in the Underdark.

Aldous. The sound of fabric ripping when he wrenched at your robe.

Prison. The crack and pop of breaking ribs.

“Hey.” You jump when Astarion’s hand touches your forearm. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” you quickly brush away the wetness strung upon your lashes.

“Pass me the reins of your horse.” Astarion instructs.

You do so mindlessly, staring into the penumbra obscuring the land between sagging boughs, as you continue to spiral through a tornado of every terrible thing that’s happened to you.

Astarion halts both of your horses, bringing his as close to yours as he can in the limited space. He ties the reins to his saddle and scoots himself back. “Come on, love.” Astarion leans over and folds an arm around your waist. “Slide over here.”

Wrapping your arm around his neck, you carefully ease over to Astarion’s steed with your back pressed tightly to his chest. He keeps an arm fixed around your trembling body.

“I am here, sweetheart.” Astarion murmurs, pressing his cheek to yours. “You can talk or not, but I am here.”

Astarion continues along the trail, humming a soothing tune that you don’t recognize. Every time the horse's hoofs snap a twig or thud off a rock, you cannot help but flinch. It’s not like you to be spooked so easily. You’re not fearless, but Gods, you’re far from this coward currently swallowing the urge to weep in Astarion’s arms at every unexpected sound.

You squeeze your eyes closed so the darkness stops staring back at you. Screaming inside your head, you try to quell the onslaught of thoughts, but it’s hard to forget your past when it’s written into the scars on your psyche. Some wounds never seem to heal and bleed again at the slightest provocation.

You want it to stop.

You want to drink until you can’t remember your name.

You want to beg Astarion to touch you, drain you, or both until you're numb.

You do not care how, as long as it fucking stops.

“Kamena…” Astarion trails off, and your eyes spring open, broken from your descent into madness. His eyes widen with recognition, and he gasps, “Hells. Are we where I think we are?”

“We are home."

Even with the dust covers removed from the furniture that remains and the fire spitting and popping in the brick fireplace, your cottage looks sparse and empty, devoid of all the belongings that made it look like home. The fine threads of dusty cobwebs hang in all of the corners. It makes you smile, warming your heart, when it’s the first thing Astarion attends to, listening attentively, his expression frozen in concentration.

“Well?”

“Oh, darling,” he feigns solemnity, looking gravely serious. “There are spiders everywhere. Millions of them, hiding in every nook and cranny, just waiting for you to fall into your trance so they can crawl all over you.”

Astarion takes quick, silent steps, grabbing you by the waist and crawling his fingers gently up your arm, laughing boyishly at the way you cringe, shudder, and try to twist away.

“Astarion!” You squeak, swatting him in the chest playfully while he giggles at you. “This is no joking matter! You know I will burn this place to the ground around me.”

“Perhaps,” he smirks, jutting his hip out confidently, “but you won’t burn it down around me, especially not with the sun out.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” you smirk, letting liquid-like flames swirl around the two of you, and letting them ebb out. “I just might if you don’t tell me the truth!”

“Go ahead,” he challenges, pretending to yawn and lying down on the bed with his hands behind his head. He smirks boldly. “You’ve dropped a building on me before. How much worse can it be?”

“Are you going to hold that against me for the rest of our lives?” You groan, climbing onto the bed. Astarion pats his lap with an enticing grin, and you straddle him. “You were very enthusiastic in your approval to yank the weapon out of the device, you know.”

“I wanted to see what would happen. What can I say?” Astarion laughs, sitting upright, ghosting his lips over yours. “You should have known better than to listen to me of all people.”

“You’re the thief! I figured you already had it all planned out, Rogue.”

“Interesting that you thought I was a details person when I much preferred to sow blood and chaos wherever we went.” Astarion taps your nose with each word he tuts at you. “Not very astute of you, Sorceress.”

“Gods above,” you snort, galled, and stick your nose in the air. “We just got home, and I already want to break up with you.”

“And here I was thinking we were just very special friends.” Astarion muses flippantly, tilting his head and looking askance. “What do you think Tiefling blood tastes like? Brimstone? Smoke? Char?”

You spring up, staring at him with an icy scowl, your lips pressed together firmly. Astarion’s brows raise and curve, wrinkling his forehead in puzzlement as he scrutinizes you. It makes you want to hide, and you fold your arms around yourself to strangle the diffidence making bile rise into your throat.

“Maybe you should ask her for a nibble if you’re so goddamn curious, friend.”

Astarion’s mouth drops open at the choler braided into your voice. “What in the bloody Hells is going on with you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you swallow thickly.

“The Hells you don’t.” Astarion snaps. “If it’s alright with you, I would like to skip this part of the argument where you try to convince me nothing is wrong. I am not a fool.”

The bilious bubble bursts, and you shout, “Then stop acting like one! You allowed Hecat to pester you all about your vampirism like it was an ordinary thing for someone to do! You hid it from me when we met, but you seemed more than happy to humour her, even while she gawked at you like she was lost at sea and you were driftwood to cling to!

“Good fucking Gods. Grow up!” Astarion booms with bared fangs, making his expression severe, bordering on frightening . It’s not often you’ve seen him so angry, especially with you. “You have always had a jealous streak. I find it quite endearing most of the time, but this magnitude is new even for you, and it’s decidedly not cute.”

He’s right, and you know it, but that fact does nothing to assuage the indignation. Your eyes jump around the cottage. There are so many happy memories that now have a vinegary tartness after being pickled by heartbreak.

The bed you laid on for days with that damn letter weaved between your fingers.

The window you sat in front of at night, drunk and dazed, hoping beyond hope that he would appear between the trees.

His favourite lounge, where you spent days curled up crying until your eyes were sore.

And so many more.

You thought coming back here was a good idea. It was the last place you remembered feeling truly happy and whole. Now all you see are the reminders of a life that could have been if only you had been wise enough to catch the signs of him withdrawing.

I wish we could go back to a time before it was too late.

Now it's you who needs to withdraw, because this is all you're good at now. Isn’t it? Running away from your problems and fears.

You are afraid to fall because if your fire is extinguished, you’re unsure if it will ever burn again. Your soul is too indurated with heartbreak. You will have nothing left but to stand in the ashes of who you used to be.

“Get away from the door,” you say despondently.

Astarion steps toward you to stop you, but you open the door and stand in the streaming sunlight so he can’t touch you.

“Where are you going?” Astarion sighs, easing his tense posture and shying away from the sun.

It makes your heart clench in your chest to see him so afraid of something he used to love, and now you’re using it as a weapon to shield yourself from him.

What is wrong with me?

“To go grow up.” You spit harshly and disappear out the door, slamming it behind you.

Astarion listens as the sound of pounding hoofs races off until he can’t hear it any longer. He combs his fingers through his hair, scraping his fingernails over his scalp, while looking around the cottage that he used to call home.

Ever since he left, he’s dreamed of returning, where his memories are full of her smiling face, joyful, feathery laughter, peace, and safety, but now that he’s here, it feels like a bleak reminder of the life they could have had.

It’s empty, quiet, and dark without her. Kamena has always been the fire that banishes the shadows. Her smile warmed these cold walls, and her laugh threaded the air with sweet life.

Fuck.

He sits on the floor with his back pressed up against the bed and takes a deep breath. His eyes wander and focus on a crack in the ceiling, and he lets his mind drift back to the conversation. Before he left, usually, their quarrels ended with a swift recovery and reconciliation. They hardly ever turned into escalated disagreements.

And she never ran.

Astarion's head drops into his hands, and he winces at the recollection of his own gruff voice telling her to grow up. He admonished her when he should have been trying to figure out why her reaction to the Tiefling’s brainless queries was so uncharacteristically intense.

His mind races as he delves into the depths of his memories, seeking clues to explain Kamena’s fragile security.

Well, at least she was generous with her blood tonight, Astarion thinks, as his fingers part and find her folds slick with arousal. If nothing else, he got a meal out of it.

Astarion’s eyes stay open, even while their tongues dance, staring blankly at the pattern of the tree bark in the distance. He does not need to focus much as his finessed fingers fall into a perfectly choreographed rhythm engineered by how her thighs shake, her breath hitches in her throat, and the sighs that slip from her lips.

He will have her coming undone for him in no time, and then he will take her again, perhaps from behind.

It’s always easier when they don’t look at him.

Gods. The only being that has treated him like a person in the last two centuries, and he’s still playing the rake, but this is all he knows - all he’s good for. He needs her help and protection, so he might as well make himself useful.

His mind is clapped back into reality rapidly when he realizes her moaning has stopped, her body is still, and their lips are no longer locked in a kiss.

Shit.

He glances down, and she’s staring at him thoughtfully. “Is everything okay, Astarion?”

He reels to think of some beguiling response. He weaves together words like spider silk in the deep, purring timbre he knows will current her away in the river of his verse. “Apologies. I was just getting lost in the bewitching melody of your moans.”

It’s half-assed, admittedly, but he thinks that should do it.

It does not, in fact, do it, and he does not like that she doesn’t look entirely convinced. She stares at him as if she’s undressing his mind, unbuttoning his thoughts with those eyes that could swallow whole universes.

It’s... unnerving.

He doubles down on his ministrations to distract her. Moving forward to the next act in this play, and eases two fingers into her, pressing upward to find that pad of sensitive flesh that should send her spiralling into pleasure.

This one is more observant than his usual fanfare and far more clever. He will have to be mindful.

Astarion barely registers when she tumbles into her orgasm, spasming around his fingers and crying out his name. He should say something. They usually like it when he says something.

He leans down, kissing up the column of her neck, skin flushed under his lips. He whispers, letting his lips brush up against the shell of her ear. “Gods. You’re beautiful, darling.”

Unoriginal perhaps, rehearsed to oblivion, but par for the course of this performance.

At least she is truly a vision with her doe-eyes, heavily lidded, sparkling as if flecked with moonstones. Her long hair waving upon the ground, and the pale light glints off her prismatic scales cherubically.

He lets himself admire the arc of her waist and the curve of her hips. It helps when they are attractive. He’s seen many seductive bodies, but hers is different somehow. It’s enchanting... inviting even.

He settles between her thighs, hands splayed on the loamy ground, to brace himself, and he eases his cock into her aching core. Gods. She’s tight, and it makes him sigh out a hissing breath.

He pumps into her at an easy pace until her body adjusts, and then autopilot takes over as he descends into the recesses of his mind, floating out of his body and away from what he’s partaking in.

It’s not that it doesn’t feel good. In fact, he’s rather confounded to find that, despite his mind trying to separate itself from his body, he keeps being dragged back, overwhelmed by a sudden surge of pleasure.

She feels... good. Hells below, really, truly, good.

This is... different. Her body flush against his, her tightness so wet, warm, and disconcertingly sublime.

“Astarion,” she breathes as her hand gently comes to his cheek, bringing him back into his body, and his eyes snap open to meet hers. “Show me what you want and what you like, not what you think I want.”

His hips stutter for a moment, processing the request. When’s the last time someone cared about what he wanted or liked? Hells. What does he like? He’s usually so focused on providing other people with their fantasies that he hasn’t bothered to consider what he likes in centuries.

"I... I don’t know,” he murmurs shakily. A revelation cracks into him — something he’s never done, never been allowed to do, never had the agency to do. Another first . “I want to taste your blood as you come for me.”

She smiles, nodding her assent, and Astarion’s hips snap erratically, changing the depth and pace of his thrusts until he finds one that has him squeezing his eyes shut, enraptured in his own bliss.

She whimpers his name as she nears her climax, lolling her head to the side to give him access. His name in her breathy whimpers sends shivers down his spine.

He bites, pulling her blood into his mouth and letting it sit on his tongue. He can taste the spice and fire of her desire, a beautiful harmony that makes him groan. His hand grabs her hip so he can plunge into her deeper and fuck her harder into their combined euphoria.

She crests, fingers curling into his hair as she clenches around him. Her blood floods with a new flavour in her nirvana. It tastes like dawn, hope, and... home?

His orgasm takes him by surprise when it charges through him. His cock twitches as he spills himself into her with a grunt against her throat.

When he lays down beside her, she makes no move to touch him or get closer, and he’s beside himself to find he’s disappointed with the lack of intimacy. When he looks over, she’s once again observing him, gentle yet contemplative.

“What is it, my sweet? Already looking for round two?”

“You weren’t all there tonight.” She whispers, looking up at the stars.

Fuck.

He’s a master performer, able to improvise and fabricate on a dime, but he cannot think of a single cunning explanation to reply with.

Why, oh why, couldn’t it have been the gullible Tiefling or braggart Wizard leading this group of godsdamned misfits?

He catches the hoofbeats long before they approach the cottage. When Kamena opens the door, sunlight no longer spills through the gap. She doesn’t speak as she curls herself around him, her head on his chest, taking a deep breath. He wraps her in a tight embrace, kissing her hair and pressing his cheek against her forehead.

Astarion closes his eyes and revels in her warmth before he speaks. “I spoke out of turn today.”

“Ugh. Stop being so nice to me.”

Kamena shucks off her robe, disappearing into the bedroom, and returns attired in one of his shirts. The red tunic is too large for her, with the hem rippling about her thighs, putting her long, shapely legs on display for him.

She smirks at him as he feigns irritation, crossing his arms and jutting his chin up. “Did you not bring your own bloody clothing?”

She descends into a chair by the fire, curling her legs up under her, and whispers. “It makes me feel close to you. When you left, it was one of the few things I had left.”

Her answer takes him aback. He had expected a clever retort, not such raw vulnerability.

“You still doubt my commitment to you,” he states, rummaging his fingers through his hair. “I can hardly blame you. Our relationship didn’t exactly start or end candidly. If I would have opened up instead of running out on you-”

“Should have, could have, would have,” she shrugs. “You had your reasons, and I'm not much better, it seems. Gods. I’m a mess.”

“Perhaps, but you’re my mess.” He purrs, crouching and hooking her chin with his finger to guide her gaze to his. “I want you, Kamena. I always wanted you, even when I didn’t know what I wanted.”

“Hecat.” The shakiness in her voice makes every one of his bones ache as her eyes begin to well up. “I should not have overreacted. I just… You don’t understand how hard it is to watch everyone covet you like you’re a prize to be won. I hate it. It makes my blood run hot, and sometimes I just don’t recognize it for what it is - insecurity.”

“The Tiefling is just another fool in a long line of idiots who sees how positively beautiful I am, but their interest goes no deeper than flesh. You are the only one who ever saw me and took the time to get to know me, even when I was being an insufferable prick.”

Kamena hiccups out a laugh. “I just really want to burn her eyes out of her skull.”

“HA!” He giggles, kissing her forehead. “That’s my girl. Not to worry. Dear Shadowheart is right. If she touches me, I will cut her hand off swiftly.”

“You heard that, did you?”

“Of course.” He smirks, leading her to the bed and giving her a playful shove. “I hear everything that goes on in that tower.”

“Am I more attractive than the Tiefling?” She pouts adorably with a sassy undertone.

“Digging for shallow praise, are we?” Astarion chuckles. “Alright. I’ll bite. Let me see. If an angel fell for every time I thought of you, the heavens would be empty.”

She giggles – sparkly and beautiful and bright. Home suddenly doesn’t feel so desolate.

“You can do better than that,” she teases.

“Hmm... What about this one? Even in the astral plane, where gravity is fickle, I would still fall for you.”

“Oh, Gods above.” She laughs until her eyes shine. Astarion leans down and kisses the single teardrop creeping out of the corner of her eye. “One more.”

“Another?” He looks deeply into her eyes, which gleam brightly as if laced with flame, shining with every beautiful shade of her being. He grins at the memory, and this time, when he says it, it does not sadden him. “I love you, Solicallor.”

“I love you, too, Aerasumé,” she says, running her fingers through his hair and tousling it playfully. “You’re cute.”

“Bad girl,” he purrs. “Retribution is required.”

She warns, “Don’t do it!”

“Don’t do what, love? This?”

Astarion tickles her until she is fighting for breath between her laughter, squirming under him as he pins her with his body, and pleading for forgiveness.

“That was rude!” She sucks in heavy breaths. “You better watch your back, Astarion. I’m going to strike when you least expect it.”

“I await the day you’re spritely enough to catch me.”

Astarion moulds his lips to hers, basking in the warmth that radiates across his cool skin. He nips her lower lip impatiently when she doesn’t part her lips for him. If miracles have a taste, he’s positive they would taste like her. He places chaste kisses along her jaw and down her neck.

She looks at him lustily, batting her long lashes. “What are you doing?”

“Well,” he rucks up her shirt, placing a kiss on her stomach. He grins. “We find ourselves alone, truly and completely alone, in the middle of nowhere. Honestly, darling, do I have to spell it out for you? I want to make you scream while I make love to you in our home, in our bed.”

She stares at him with her wide doe-eyes shining brightly as if scattered with dewdrops. “Be mine, Astarion.” She whispers.

“I have never not been yours, Kamena.” Astarion murmurs between kisses, inhaling the scent of her.

She pushes his shirt over his shoulders, and he throws it off hastily. Astarion cups her breast, thumb rubbing over the hard peak of her nipple. She moans, and every breathy little noise and pound of her hectic heartbeat is a symphony to his ears. He rolls her sensitive peaks between his thumb and forefinger. She sucks in a sharp, wavering breath, and his cock twitches, rock hard and eager against his trousers.

Her hands run reverently up his sides to his chest, letting the pads of her fingers ghost over his nipples, making him shudder with a groan. Every place her lips meet his skin radiates vitality, as if she’s breathing life into him with every kiss. The fabric of his breeches strained against him is far too restricting, and he kicks them off, freeing his erection.

Astarion slips his hand between her legs, sliding his fingers into her wetness, swirling them around the border of her achy pearl, and she arches into him. Her tepid breath tickles his skin as she muffles her cries against his shoulder.

“Gods,” he pants, and is surprised to find himself breathing so heavily. “Don’t hold back. It’s just us. Scream for me, my love.”

Her eyelashes flutter as she cries out, and he cannot help it; he fucking moans with her. Every sound emanating from her makes his yearning flood him in an intense upsurge, making his cock twitch and beg for attention. He’s not sure he’s ever been this aroused, this openly intimate, with no hint of the shadows that have constrained him before.

He desires her like a magnet clings to its polar opposite, impossible to sever and hopelessly drawn to the very core of its existence.

Astarion eases two fingers into her, pumping them slowly deeper and deeper while he sucks her tender rosebuds, wresting whimpers and moans from her full lips. Once her body has adjusted, he hooks his fingers just so, finding and stroking her most sensitive spot. He adjusts the pressure until he finds one that makes her breath catch and has her moaning, unbridled and wanton.

“O—oh,” she whimpers; her eyes squeezed closed, tugging at the bedsheets. “Hells. A-f-fuck—Astarion.”

Gods. He loves that sound; his name a prayer upon her lips.

He could undo her like this, but Hells, he craves the taste of her lust. Astarion licks and kisses her stomach as he continues to thrust his fingers into her sensually. She blinks slowly and watches him crawl down her body with half-lidded eyes and parted lips.

Astarion snaps his eyes to hers, kissing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and then pushes her leg, spreading her for him. He pants shakily, opening his mouth and pressing his tongue against her clit.

He groans gutturally under his own rampant desire as he laps up her sweet arousal. She squirms and whimpers with every lick of his tongue, every pump of his fingers, and he can’t help but wrap his hand around his throbbing cock and stroke himself.

Her fingers twist into his hair, and he closes his eyes as he savours her. Astarion takes his time working her to her climax until her thighs start to tremble, her moans come between uneven breaths, and a flush blooms over her skin.

Astarion’s fingers continue to rub that perfect spot inside her. His lips close around her swollen clit. He sucks gently, flits, and flutters his tongue in the way he knows will send her cascading into ecstasy.

Her body convulses, thighs trembling on either side of him as she succumbs to her climax. He indulges himself, watching her come, watching her lose herself in blinding sensations.

He’s not sure he’s ever seen anything so godsdamned spellbinding and arousing.

But he’s not quite done with her yet. He angles his fingers, pulses his tongue, and watches her ride out every wave of pleasure, drinking in her nonsensical whimpers. Only when she’s gasping for breath and shaking does he let up.

“You, my love, are a delectable treat.” He purrs, crawling up her flushed body until he’s holding himself above her. “In so many more ways than one.”

“Show me,” she stammers between irregular breaths.

He kisses her intimately, his tongue still coated in her rapture, exploring her mouth. Kamena carves her curves into every contour of his body, pressing her heated skin to his.

This is the way he remembers her - unapologetic, unafraid, and passionate.

Astarion grasps her hips, pulling her toward him, and runs his aching cock through her seam. “S-shit,” he stutters at the exquisite sensation.

He watches raptly as his cock sinks into her, swallowed in tight warmth, his girth stretching her. They fit together too perfectly to be anything other than made for each other.

He thrusts slowly, deeply, and intensely. Every moan he liberates from her is echoed with his own. They are both a mess of desiring hands, deep, intimate kisses, and promises of devotion and love.

She folds her arms around his neck, pulling herself flush to him, her breasts heaving against his chest. He leans back, sitting on his ankles with her in his lap and her legs around his waist. He plunges deeper, grinding into her, and she clenches, squeezing him as his length massages her ridges.

She is like supping on dawn’s fire, the way she lights up just for him is the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

Bliss escalates and flows, surging between them, and she melts into him. He laces his fingers into her hair, and her body tenses at the threshold of her release, every muscle quivering against him. She whines into his mouth, and he increases the pace of his thrusts, bringing her higher, higher, higher.

His own breathing is ragged and uneven; his body taut and veiled with sweat. Every thrust draws a panting whimper from his lips. He kisses her deeply, devout and passionate, as he throws her over the edge.

Her sex is still spasming around him as he bucks his hips into her, his forehead pressed to hers and her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. Every erratic pump of his hips is met with another shockwave running through her, stimulating his sensitive head, and he cries out loudly as his own release takes hold, a swelling wave of fire blazing through him with an intensity he’s never known.

He grinds his hips while his cock pulses deeply inside her, filling her completely.

Time seems to stop as they sit together in this everlasting serenity, holding each other closely, bodies trembling in the aftermath.

Marry me.

The thought comes unbidden to him. In his confusion, he does not dare speak it aloud. An idea spurred on by a moment of passion, surely.

Once her heart rate has returned to a steady pace, he nuzzles her, nose to nose, and she giggles, light, airy, and happy. He would give anything to keep her here in this moment where she is weightless and worry-free.

He kisses her once more, gentle and cherishing. She looks up at him, and he gazes back at her. There is no need for words. Their eyes have a secret language that only their souls are fluent in.

Good Gods. Marry me.

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #astarion x you #astarion x mc #astarion #astarion smut #astarion ancunin #astarion romance #baldurs gate astarion #shadows of the past

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wardenparker · 7 months

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Vampire Waltz - ch 6

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

A mysterious inheritance, sprawling mansion, eccentric roommates, friendly bat, and coven of New England witches are the newest chapter of your life after being unceremoniously dumped and kicked out by your boyfriend. For Max, the biggest change in his life is you, and what exactly he's going to do about the fact that he is stuck living with you as long as his sire continues to punish him for that incident at his last office...

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 14.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships. Anxiety and trauma responses. Self-worth issues.* brief mentions of medical procedures/accidents, protective Max, imaginary friend nostalgia, telephone anxiety, secrets revealed. Summary: An important conversation with Max takes more sharp and unexpected turns that a labyrinth and is followed by even more revelations from another source. Notes: Again, deep apologies for the erratic posting this week. I swear we're back on track now!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5

The developing rhythm of the days is overtaken with masquerade planning, and it occurs to you somewhere in the first few days of going through decorations and flyer wording with Allison, Tracy, and Candance, that what you're doing here isn't that far off from the life of one of the Gilded Age hostesses that you're imitating with your party theme. Tonight is for relaxing, however, as Dancing with the Stars night has come around again. There was a lot of debating back and forth with yourself but here you are standing outside of Max's room at ten minutes before eight and shaking in your stylish yet affordable boots while you knock – unsure if you're hoping that he's been looking forward to tonight or if you'll be surprised if he even gave it any thought.

There is no answer after the first knock, and his door is closed, so you're left with a dilemma: try again and be disappointed when it seems as though you're being ignored...or just give up after one try and go watch your show alone like you would have done otherwise. Like you would have done before Max watched with you last week and shared a part of himself with you on that couch. Before he insisted on being your escort to the masquerade. Before he danced with you in the ballroom. Before you think he was about to kiss you. It's the culmination of everything that gives you the smallest semblance of hope, and you knock again – a little louder – only to receive no answer all over again.

With your head hanging a little lower, you take yourself to the sitting room alone and turn on the tv.

******

"Cutting it close Max." Mrs. Taylor tuts at him as Max rushes around the kitchen.

"I know, I know." He hisses as he tries to make sure the hot chocolate has the perfect ratio of cream to chocolate. Nearly burning his blood that is warming up in the process. Burnt blood stinks and he can't waste the few minutes that he has before the show starts trying to air out the kitchen. "I couldn't watch it with her without snacks, though."

"She liked the tray you brought up last week that much?" The housekeeper makes no effort to hide her smile as she cleans up the kitchen from prepping tomorrow morning's breakfast. She found a new baked French toast recipe that soaks overnight that she thinks you will love.

“She ate it.” That is a high praise in his mind because all this food tastes like shit to him. The point for him is to make you feel good.

"Then you had better get going." The clock on the wall reads three minutes until the hour and she smiles privately as Max hurries to finish when he realizes the time.

"I know, I know." As soon as the hot chocolate is on the tray, along with his own cup of blood, Max is out of sight. Using that speed to make it from the kitchen in the basement to the floor where you are in less than a few seconds. Having to take extra time to keep the hot chocolate from spilling or the snacks from rattling around too much. "Good, I made it." He huffs like he’s out of breath when he comes into the sitting room to find you already curled up on the sofa like before.

“Max?” Even though you practically jump three feet in the air when he appears — you didn’t hear him coming — the smile on your face is a complete betrayal of how glad you are to see him. With his tray of snacks in hand Once more, you immediately scoot over on the sofa to make room for him. “I…went to knock on your door to see if you wanted to watch with me again. When you didn’t answer…” you shrug instead of finishing your thought, mostly just relieved to have been wrong.

“Sorry.” Max shoots you a small grin. “I was down in the kitchen. I realized about ten minutes before that I hadn’t figured out the snack situation.”

“I wasn’t sure if after…the other night…” It was two days ago that you’d danced in the ballroom together and somehow you could still swear that you feel his hand on your back. But that’s not to be dwelled on, and you shake your head to pitch the thought away. “Never mind. Come and sit down?”

“Gladly.” Max sets the tray down and picks up the hot chocolate to hand to you. “Who’s your money on tonight?”

“Jason Mraz did really well last week, but the Marvel actress might be a ringer. It’s hard to tell if it’s that, or just that she’s young and picking it up quickly.” The smell of the cocoa is already a sense memory locked away in your mind, and you inhale happily before telling yourself it’s far too hot to take a sip right away. Mrs. Taylor had made you cocoa one afternoon this past week but — you hate to admit — it didn’t hold a candle to Max’s. “Latin Night is always fun, though. Somebody’s Cha Cha is bound to go wildly wrong.”

“Cha Cha is so hard to do when you don’t have natural rhythm.” Max snorts and waggles his brows at you playfully. “Not everyone has it like me and you.”

It feels like he’s flirting with you — if you can even remember what flirting feels like anymore — and before you can even blink your cheeks are flushed hot in response. “It’s not fair, ya know,” you mumble sheepishly. “My competitions were filmed. But…after you said it…I looked for yours. They weren’t.”

“No, they wouldn’t have been.” Max smirks slightly, pleased that you had been searching for his own videos. “Romanian Ballroom Dancing competitions aren’t filmed.” He snorts. “Kind of like Russian Ballet practices I guess.”

“Is that in case Dracula shows up?” You snort slightly at your own joke and take a first sip of the cocoa he’s brought you. It’s just as amazing as you remember and you hum happily at the rich, creamy taste.

He chuckles and shrugs. “Maybe, you never know. Or maybe it’s not filmed since vampires couldn’t show up on old film? Since it was processed with silver back in the day? Tradition, I guess.”

“Ballroom dancing vampires.” Another soft laugh escapes you and you reach for a few pieces of popcorn from the bowl he brought. “That would be a sight to see. Imagine a vampire doing a Viennese waltz? That sounds like it would be the most elegant thing in the world.”

There’s a moment where Max considers telling you. Like this is the segue into the ‘I’m a vampire’ conversation that he wants him to have with you. “Very elegant.” He hums. “As if they are gliding.” Call him a coward, but he’s gotten used to your warmth and he doesn’t want to have you terrified of him just yet.

“Maybe you should be a vampire for the masquerade, then.” It’s bold, at least for you. To joke and tease and flirt like this. For so many years this kind of behavior simply wasn’t allowable in your life. But with Max — and even with Eddie and Renee and everyone else in this house — it’s like the old parts of your personality are starting to come back to life.

“That will be easy.” Max grins. “Does that mean you’ll be the Vampire Bride?” He asks. “Big, blood red gown with a veil?”

“I bet I can find an old wedding gown at a thrift store and get some red fabric dye at the craft shop in town.” It sounds silly and light, and like the kind of thing that would have made you laugh a long time ago. What you won’t do is let yourself have any illusions about it meaning anything to Max. Eventually you’ll have to admit to yourself that you have a crush on him, but not just yet.

“You should ask Mrs. Taylor to take you to the dress room.” Max snorts. “Use one of Ms. Brown’s dresses.”

“There is a dress room?” Suddenly this knowledge is far more important than the fact that the show is starting, and your eyes widen at Max. “Is that where the dresses we wore last week came from?”

“I assume so.” Max shrugs. “One of the storage rooms in the attic is where Mrs. Taylor has everything.”

“This house is insane.” You huff, shaking your head and turning to the tv for a moment before looking back at Max. “Everybody seems to be very into vampires around here. I think it sounds fun for costumes. A—as long as you do.”

“No reason not to be into vampires.” Max snorts with a small smirk.

“I guess I’ll have to see what’s in the dress room.” Returning his smile seems so much easier than you had thought it could be, even just a few days ago.

He chuckles and nods towards the tv. “Op, here’s our first contestants on ‘Who’s Gonna Twist An Ankle’.” He adopts a smarmy TV persona voice just to see if you will laugh. It earns a snort and a giggle from you, and you pull your sweater around your shoulders and shift unconsciously closer to him. He isn’t a warmth so much as he feels safe, which is a welcome change from the brash teasing of the first few days of knowing him. “Christ, look at those heels.” Max winces when he sees the clunky shoes on the female performer. “She’s gonna break an ankle, not twist one.”

"I always liked the sequined and bedazzled sneakers on the swing dancers at my studio in high school." You muse, comfortable enough to get lost in a memory while you sip your cocoa beside him. "I swore up and down that I was going to start competing in swing, too. Just to get some."

“Those are cool looking.” He nods as he watches the screen, hyper aware of you beside him and he’s happy your pulse is nice and slow. You’re relaxed. “You know, you could always start up again. You have the perfect practice area.”

"I have nothing but time, I guess." Right now you spend all your time reading, with the girls from the coven, or planning the masquerade. You really have become like an upper-class Gilded Age lady in no time flat. "But..." Glancing over at him, you find his attention on the tv and not on you, which makes you bury your face behind the mug again. "Lessons are always...they're awkward unless you have a good partner."

“So you find yourself a good partner.” He makes it sound like the easiest thing in the world and it honestly is. It just requires you to ask him.

The moment of quiet that stretches between you is where you struggle with yourself. Personal inner strength hasn't exactly been a strong suit of yours in the last few years – or more – and you don't really know if he'll accept if you ask him anyway. Being so afraid of the question means that you start to shift nervously beside him until finally the show's first commercial break blasts across the screen and you scrub both of your eyes with the meat of your palms. It doesn't have to be romantic. You don't even know if it should be romantic at all. But you know you won't enjoy dancing with anybody else nearly as much. Not if the other night was any indication. "If you're too busy or you don't want to find a studio with me, I would totally understand..." you manage, not quite able to look him in the eyes. "But dancing with you was...it was really natural."

“It was, wasn’t it?” Max grins and turns to face you. “Like it was meant to be.”

“You…don’t mind?” That surprises you more than it probably should. Especially because he actually sounds happy about it.

"Dancing with you?" He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "Why would I mind?" He asks seriously. "It was the most fun I've had in years."

“I’m just…” When you blow out a breath it feels a lot more self-deprecating than you mean it to be. You were only trying to state a fact. “Not usually people’s first choice.”

"Not people's first choice or not your ex's first choice?" Max asks, wanting to know why you think so lowly of yourself. To see how badly this asshole damaged your self-esteem.

“I already told you.” Curling in on yourself again is instinct, and your eyes drop to the pillow you’ve been holding in your lap. “The night I met him I had gotten stood up at a bar. So it’s clearly not just him.”

"Do you know who stood you up?" You had said it was a blind date, so maybe it’s one of those issues like 'fuck the dude got into a car accident' or something.

“It was a friend of a friend. Some guy that my roommate was taking her art history elective with that she said was so cute and so my type.” You shrug again, burying deeper on yourself. “She said he agreed to it and then dropped off the face of the planet. Stopped coming to class and everything. But…at the time I didn’t care as much. I’d met Derek instead.” Now though…for years now…you’ve wondered time and time again what that guy would have been like and how your life would have been different if he had showed up. “Probably took one look at me through the windows and decided he’d rather drop out than have to have a drink with me.”

Max frowns and shifts in his seat. The memory almost completely obscure and faded through time. There had been other pressing matters, other things that had consumed him that he had completely forgotten about it. He hadn't meant to, but the idea that he was supposed to meet you the day that he had been expelled shakes him to his core.

“What?” The frown on his face makes you frown even more deeply, and the impulse to smooth away the furrow between his eyebrows with your thumbs has to be squelched immediately.

"It's— it's nothing." He shrugs casually, or in a way that is supposed to appear casually. "It's not like your roommate was Shandra Taylor or something."

Now it’s your brow that furrows, the deep ridges marked with confusion. “You knew my roommate?” It’s not impossible, of course. You went to the same college during overlapping years. He could have known Shandra. She was exceptionally outgoing and kind, lots of people knew her.

Max blows out a breath, completely fabricated but he enjoys the little nuances that remind him of human life. “I knew her.” He shakes his head. “You were supposed to meet the blind date at that shitty little bar down from the dorms, right? The ones with the great wings and darts?”

“Bowen’s…” It’s not like it’s a difficult guess, considering that particular bar was a frequent haunt of Vanderbilt students. They notoriously ‘forgot’ to ID so undergrads loved it there.

Max closes his eyes and drops his head into his hand. “In October, that Friday the 13th?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer but he gives a small chuckle. “I promise you I didn’t take one look at you and run away.” He huffs. “That’s the day I was expelled.”

“Oh gods…” The way that idea twists in your gut is haunting, making you feel instantly sick as you shrink back in your seat — a move that accidentally spills cocoa on your sweater and you curse and apologize for the mess as though you’d gotten it on him and not yourself. “Fuck— sorry. I’m so sorry, I—shit—” Your breathing picks up as you start to panic, pulling off your sweater in the process and curling in on yourself on the couch beside him while your mind spirals. It was him. It was Max. He was supposed to meet you. It was Max—

“Hey, hey.” Max doesn’t know how to interpret the fact that you are about to have a panic attack, but he doesn’t like it. He takes you by the shoulders, turning you towards him and ignoring the way you flinch. Looking into your horrified eyes and trying to ignore the way his dead heart clenches, he starts to speak. “Calm down.” He tells you slowly, using his powers of suggestion. “Breathe slowly. In.” He pretends to inhale. “And out.” He slowly exhales even though air does nothing for him. “Everything is fine…”

The calm that washes over you is instant and consuming, even if being told to calm down doesn’t usually help at all. This time it seems to be the magic charm of the whole situation, and you feel yourself relaxing easily in his grip. “I’m sorry…” you murmur, squeezing your eyes shut tight and slumping softly against him with your sweater balled up in your hands. “I just—I’ve spent years wondering what happened…and thinking of it as something awful that happened to me. And that’s so fucking selfish when I finally know what a terrible thing happened to you that day…”

“You didn’t know.” He reminds you quietly. His hand on your arm and stroking the back of it lightly. “You couldn’t have known. Shandra didn’t know what happened.”

“I’m so sorry.” Not a single second of your own unhappiness stands up to the way his life was basically ruined in one fell swoop, and you wish you were brave enough to push past self-consciousness and hug him.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Max promises, giving you a vulnerable half smile. “You didn’t do it. I just wish I hadn’t stood you up that night. I just— I completely blanked out on it.” He admits.

"You had much more important things on your mind." Life changing things. Although now you can't imagine all the ways your life would have been different if you had met that night.

“I still shouldn’t have stood you up.” If he had known then what he knows now, there’s no way he would have missed that date. His thumb rubs over your birthmark gently.

"Sorry." The instinct is immediate once again, and you move to put your sweater back on to cover the birthmark that Derek had hated so much.

“What are you sorry for this time?” Max huffs, smirking at you slightly and not letting you move out of his embrace.

“The—my—I mean—” Letting out an exaggerated sigh at your own very clear trauma responses (you know what they are, you’re self-aware enough to realize), you shake your head when Max doesn’t let go of you. “Derek hated my birth mark,” you explain quietly. “He was completely anti-soulmate. So I got used to covering it. You just…you touched it a second ago. That’s all.”

“Probably because the motherfucker didn’t have one.” Max sneers, his opinion of your ex falling even lower than it had been, and it was in the dirt. It sounds like this asshole wouldn’t even be a man Max would eat. He would just rip his throat out. “Can I see it?” He asks quietly. This is the moment. If you say no, he won’t press. If you say yes, you’ll learn that he’s your soulmate.

“Um…sure, I guess…” It’s just an oddly shaped set of marks in your skin that your mother insisted looked like a clover, but you just always thought it was a little muddled. Maybe roughly diamond shaped if you squint. Not sure why he would care, you turn in your seat to let him see the back of your right shoulder where the marks have sat your whole life.

“There it is.” Max swallows, his mouth suddenly dry when he sees your mark as a human. “Do you think it’s more diamond or clover shaped?” He asks you, tracing it with his finger. “I always thought diamonds because they are expensive.”

“I’ve kind of thought it was more of a diamond but my—” His comment registers just a moment too late and you pause. “Always?”

His eyes watch you carefully as he nods. “Always.” He confirms softly.

“What do you…?” Straightening up again, your head tilts uncertainly.

Max bites his lip and stands up. He knows he will have to show you. Already out of his suit jacket, he starts to unbutton his vest. “Always wondered what they looked like on someone else.” He admits as he shrugs out of it and starts to undo his cufflinks.

“Max…” Watching him undo himself is a level of arousing that you hadn’t expected, but it’s far more confusing because you’re trying to wrap your head around what he’s saying to you.

“If you are disappointed, I’ll understand.” He tells you, wanting you to know that despite the marks that he shares with you, he doesn’t expect you to do anything. Not when you just got away from a monster. Ironic, coming from him.

When his shirt is finally moved aside, your gasp fills the room loudly enough to drown out even the applause on television. “Oh gods…” It’s right there — the relatively small marks look bigger on his skin but they’re unmistakable. Max is wearing your mark. “I—but—how?” You manage, holding your breath and trying to contain yourself so you don’t reach out and touch him without permission. “I lost my soulmate’s marks four years ago. How do you still have mine?”

Here comes the part that you aren’t going to believe. “There’s an explanation for it, but, you’re going to think I’m nuts.” You frown slightly, but you don’t say anything so he continues. “I—uh, I died four years ago. I mean, I was destroyed. And when I was brought back…all my tattoos and shit, scars, they were gone.”

“You…died and were brought back?” Chewing on your bottom lip, you can’t quite fathom what the hell he might mean by that but all that comes to mind is those fast-paced scenes from medical dramas. “Were you…in an accident or something?” It wouldn’t explain how his scars and tattoos are all gone unless…you suppose skin grafts would explain it. But that’s a lot of skin grafts.

“Not exactly.” He gives a wry grin, looking down at you with a small shrug. “I got staked.” It still irritates him how Evan won, but he could admit he got cocky. Made mistakes. At least he was brought back for a second chance.

“Sure. Sure. Of course.” Once it finally registers with you what he’s said, and that he’s decided to make up a story instead of telling you the truth, your heart sinks. The evidence that Max is your soulmate is right there on his skin, but as he buttons his shirt back up you frown that he clearly isn’t taking this seriously. “You were staked but somehow came back. How did I not think of that?”

He can hear the sarcasm in your voice, seeing the way your eyes clearly display your disbelief. “Well, how else do you kill a vampire?”

The way your heart clenches and then deflates is nearly instant. It’s broken without even realizing he had the power to break it. Finally seeing your birthmark on someone else’s skin has been your literal dream — and to be teased about it makes you feel like you should have just stayed in Tennessee with Derek. “Sure.” You murmur, shaking your head in disbelief and aching sadness. “You’re a vampire. Of course.”

“I am a vampire, Queenie.” Max had never flashed his fangs casually since he’s been brought back, and it feels foreign to let them slide down. Exposing the razor-sharp incisors to you.

“Fuck!” Surprised and more than a little scared, the way you jump backward on the couch would easily be called recoiling by anyone else. But it’s more about utter confusion on your part, if you’re honest. Witches exist, yes. And ghosts. And folk magic. But vampires? They were supposed to be one of those things that was fabricated by humans.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Max’s fangs disappear the second you recoil in horror. Stepping back from you to give you more space. “I just— didn’t want you thinking I was lying.” He sighs, looking down at his shiny loafers and then glancing back up at you. “I wouldn’t lie to you. Not my soulmate.”

“How…how long?” While your mind works to keep up with the information you’ve just been given, your heart aches at the way Max has reacted to your understandable shock. It’s a lot all at once and you’re reeling from overload. But evidence is evidence, and you can’t get much more concrete evidence of vampires being real than having your soulmate be one. “I— want to understand.”

Max keeps his distance, making sure that he doesn’t move. He knows that he can move quicker than you can see, or react to, but this is about making you feel safe. You haven’t run away in terror, so he’s taking that as a good sign. “When I was kicked out of Vanderbilt…the only college that would accept me was in Romania.” He tells you, snorting slightly. “You would think they wouldn’t lean into the legends, but you’d be wrong. The MBA program was run by vampires and I was— well, to graduate, you have to become one.”

“That sounds…simple.” Unexpectedly simple. In all honesty you had expected a long tale about illness or an accident and being offered the chance to pull through. Maybe it’s because of its simplicity that you’re inclined to believe it. It has none of the theatrics of good storytelling which makes it all the more likely to come from real life.

“I guess it does.” Max snorts. “My sire turned me and when I was…staked, he brought me back.” He’s surprised that you are still talking, but maybe it’s not that you don’t completely disbelieve him.

“That…seems less simple?” If you’re going to choose to believe him — which it seems like you are because you aren’t running and something in the back of your head is warming subtly but you can’t explain it for anything in the world. “Staking is supposed to be…it? That’s…in the stories, anyway?” Blowing out a breath, you sigh and trying to resettle yourself. “There are going to be a lot of questions.”

“As far as I knew, it was.” Max admits. “But he could and did bring me back. He’s a powerful vampire.”

“So…you’re…” Breathe. Remember to breathe. “You’re…not alive?” It’s almost an afterthought, the way your mind is starting to connect dots. “I guess…that explains why your hands are always kind of cold. I just figured you had bad circulation.”

“Technically.” He huffs, grinning slightly. “My heart hasn’t beat since I was changed. It won’t…until.”

“Until?” You prompt. That isn’t exactly something you just trail off on.

“There’s something that makes a vampire’s heart beat for a moment.” Max nods, as if that reinforces the statement. “A vampire’s soulmate can make their heart beat for a split second.”

To say you are incredulous would be generous, but the entire situation has you incredulous. Not just him. “I would say that I’ve never heard that before, but I’ve also only ever heard of vampires having soulmates in romance novels.”

“Well…now you have.” He wonders what you are thinking but for once, your eyes aren’t giving away what you are thinking.

“So…what is it?” You ask, shifting on the sofa a little to face him. The show and everything else have been forgotten. The only thing that matters tonight is this conversation.

“What makes our heart beat?” He asks, wondering what you would say to the answer. “A kiss.”

“As simple as that?” Years ago, you might have considered it a cheesy pickup line. Or at least cute, seasonally-themed one. But the story that Allison told you at the bonfire and the fact that Max has fangs are tied together in your mind.

“Simple as that.” He shrugs. “Or so I’ve been told. I don’t know if it’s true or not.” He bites his lip and sighs. “There’s also something else you need to know.”

“More than that you have my mark, you’re apparently a vampire, and you got revived after being staked?” More seems impossible. But considering you’re the daughter of witches living in the mansion of a mystery relative you never met who simply left you everything in her will? Sure. Let’s go for more. “What is it?”

“You know the bat that’s been visiting you?” Max shoves his hands in his pants pockets and shrugs his shoulders slightly, giving you a sheepish look.

“How do you know about that?” You know the girls from the coven haven’t mentioned it, and you haven’t told a soul. It had felt a little too silly to admit to anyone.

“Because…” he shrugs again. “It’s me.”

“It’s a bat.” Somehow this is truly the thing that you can’t wrap your head around, only associating bats with vampires because of the Dracula story — a novel. It isn’t real just like novels about witches aren’t real. The truth is always a bit different than those pages portray.

"Yeah." He nods, "a really cute bat that you call Cutie."

Your eyes widen, mouth falling open, and an instant later you’re sinking deeper into the couch in embarrassment. “That’s…how I’ve ended up in bed…” you murmur, disbelief evident in your voice. “The nights that I could swear I fall asleep on the chaise and then next morning I wake up in bed?”

"Yes." Max can see that you are curling in on yourself and he hates that. "I just— I didn't want you to be uncomfortable." He explains lamely. "I didn't – it wasn't anything, uh, touchy or anything."

It’s almost too much information, the facts at least how they have been presented to you, are working in your mind and clouding a deeply buried instinct of trust. As if the mark on your shoulder that binds the two of you together has reached into your consciousness and turned your mind on to all many of extra possibilities. Composing yourself enough to pick up the remote and turn off the tv, you blow out a puff of air like you’re somehow knocking the dust out of your mind. “I’ve…been reading to you almost every night. The bonfire at Mabon…the night last week when I just made up stories?” Every time you wake up in bed instead of in your chair. Every time he’s snuggled up to you in bat form and trilled happily, he understood every word you said to him. “That means…you saw my birthmark two days ago.”

He nods slowly, keeping his eyes on you as he tries to figure out what the fuck you are thinking. How you are coping with this. "I did." He snorts. "Damn near fell out of the air."

“This is…kind of insane.” Yet, somehow, you don’t actually think he’s lying. That is the strangest part of all.

He decides that the best way to prove this is to prove it. He pulls his hands out of his pockets and winks at you. There's no poof of smoke, no sound. One minute Max the human is standing there, and the next, Max the bat is flapping his wings in the air in front of you.

“Oh my god!” It happens so fast that you barely have time to react, but you cover your mouth with both hands and nearly shriek when your little bat friend is hovering in front of you as clear as day where Max was just standing. “Ohhh gods…it’s…it’s been you this whole time?” You manage to sound insistent and authoritative but only just.

He squeaks and then finds that he would rather talk to you as a human, so in the blink of an eye, Max is standing in front of you again. Rolling his shoulders slightly to work out the feeling of wings as he hums. "It's been me."

“Does anyone else know?” This time when you shift on the couch it’s to make room for him. If witches are real, and folk magic is real, and apparently vampires are too? Then you have questions.

"That I'm a bat? Or that I'm your soulmate?" He asks, unsure of which conversation you want to have.

“Both?” He seems to want to talk about them one at a time, though, so you swallow down your nerves and try to go about this in a rational way. “Vampire first. Soulmate second.”

"Um...." he shrugs, "Everyone?" He tells you. "I've not exactly hidden what I am. As far as the soulmate thing? No one but my sire."

“Everyone knows?” You just can’t believe that, along with everything else. It’s too out there. “Eddie knows? Mrs. Taylor knows?”

Max doesn't know if he had wanted him to tell you everything, but he's not going to lie. "They do." He nods. "Of course they know."

Suddenly the raw beef appetizers and blue rare steaks come back into your mind and you could just slap yourself for not seeing clues earlier. Although, technically? No one could blame you for not assuming your roommate is a vampire. “So you can eat regular food, then? You don’t only…drink blood?”

"I can eat regular food, but I prefer blood." Max grimaces. "Most food, like that orange cake thing the other week, tastes almost rancid. But it’s more palatable if its raw. Or has blood in it."

“Okay…” you nod slightly and are slightly mollified when he sits down beside you on the couch again. “I’m sorry if I’m asking a lot of questions, I’m just trying to wrap my head around this.”

"You can ask me anything." He promises, settling out amongst the cushions and looking at you expectantly. "Hit me with your best shots."

“So…” Of all the three thousand questions in your mind, you try to pick just one to start with and end up floundering until you can pull in the thread of a thought. “You don’t speak to your family anymore but Eddie said you were adopted brothers. Does that…mean he’s a vampire, too?”

"Bingo." Max knew you were smart, that you are so much smarter than you think that you are. "We are 'brothers' because we were turned by the same vampire. But actually, Eddie is older than I am. He was turned in the nineties."

“So it’s just…non-biological family? Like your sire is your new father?” There’s something instinctively human about that, but you won’t say so. Not when you’re trying to get your facts straight.

"Kind of." He nods. "Eddie was, is more human than vampire at times. He was here before I arrived. And our sire thought he could teach me a few things. Like how to be a better human I guess."

“He eats more than you.” It was something that you had noticed and just filled away under likely useless knowledge, but Max never eats much at dinner unless it’s on the raw side and never shares the snacks he brings you. At most he’ll have a drink. A drink. You glance at his mug now and then back at him. “Is that blood?” You ask, extremely tentatively, looking back at the mug again. It’s a black mug with a lid and dark liquid inside so it’s impossible to tell what’s in it.

"Yes." He admits quickly. "Normally we would have ‘wine’ with dinner," he even uses air quotes. "So I would just be a person who preferred a dark cab. But I have to admit that I like those double walled tumblers. Keeps it warmer longer."

“That…” You groan, annoyed with yourself for having gotten in the way of things you didn’t understand. “That’s why you got upset that Mrs. Taylor hasn’t been serving wine with dinner. Not because you wanted alcohol. I’m so sorry.”

"Don't worry about that." Max shrugs slightly. "I understand why you don't like alcohol." He clenches his fist at the thought of someone hurting you in a drunken rage. Even if it was to make you cry. "It's not like you knew that the wine was non-alcoholic."

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow,” you promise him immediately, wanting to set things right. “It’s not fair that I get to eat whenever or wherever I want to and you can’t.”

"Don't." Max shakes his head, almost reaching out to touch you, but he's afraid you will recoil. "It's been okay with just having it in mugs or tumblers." He doesn't want you uncomfortable. It's a strange thing for him, considering his past, but Max wants to make sure that your comfort is the primary priority. "I won't die eating a rare steak."

“Max…” When he takes his hand back you instinctively feel yourself reaching forward, trying to close that gap for the two of you. Who knows if it’s more for him or more for you. “I may not…really understand this, but I do understand that even if you never want to be more than platonic soulmates, we’re still connected. And we live together. So some adjustments are going to have to get made if we’re both going to be comfortable.”

"I'm not—" He shakes his head. "I want you to be comfortable." He murmurs quietly. "I'm not a 'platonic' kind of man, right? But you— you've obviously been through a lot and despite some thinking I'm a douchebag, I'm not the type to fucking push myself on someone. Especially a woman I'm supposed to love and protect." He almost feels like he's trying to convince his parents that he didn't cheat, begging them to believe him. Instead, this time he's begging you to believe that he's not the type of man, vampire to ever push you for more than you wanted to give him.

“I want you to be comfortable.” Which puts you at an odd sort of stand still, if you’re honest, but that’s okay. At least, it’s a hell of a lot better than what you’ve had before. “I don’t want you to think that I expect anything from you. Hell, I don’t even know what I’d do if you said you wanted a relationship. It’s— I don’t expect you to say that, obviously, and I— I don’t know. Considering what I just got out of, I’m probably a terrible person to even think of like that.”

"Why?" Max frowns and shakes his head. "This asshole you were with obviously mistreated you. Abused you. You were probably emotionally detached from the relationship for months, maybe years before it ended." He had listened during the psychology classes he had to take. He had just pretended that it was just to get inside clients and competitors’ heads, to get an edge in business, but he had always been curious about the human condition. There were plenty of 'self help' books he had read during those sleepless hours. Theres only so many hours you can surf porn. "You are—" he huffs. "You're beautiful and kind. Caring. You deserve to be happy."

“Emotionally detached doesn’t mean I wasn’t still there every day. Dealing with the anger and the threats and whatever else he feels like dishing out that day. It’s just…” You want so badly to take his hand, but fear is a very real thing for you in this moment. Being unsure and afraid means your fingertips barely bump his before you’re worried about overstepping. “You shouldn’t have to deal with a partner who could crack or break down at any time. And at this point my list of triggers is a mile long. I’m broken.” And that fact has you near tears just from the simple fact of it, but you have to do your best to blink them away. “You deserve so much better than that.”

"You aren't broken." Max hisses, trying very hard to control his anger. It wouldn’t be directed at you, but at the bastard that had convinced you that you were somehow lacking because he had been. "No one broken would have the strength to travel to a new place and start their life over." He growls. "No one broken would accept the strange circumstances they are faced with. You damn sure wouldn't be as kind and giving as you are. If you're broken, you can't possibly dance the way that you do. You couldn't."

“I feel broken, then.” Sniffling quietly, you wipe away an escaped tear with the hand that isn’t near his. “And I have no idea how long it will take me to not feel that way.”

Max can't help but reach in, hating how you are crying because of him. His fingers brushing yours and he's happy that you don't pull away in fear as he wipes the tear away. "I'm a vampire, sweetheart." He reminds you with a quiet chuckle. "I've got eternity if that's what it takes."

It’s cheesy and sweet, and you crack a smile when his cold hand touches your warm skin. “Would you really do that?”

“What else do I have to do?” Max asks softly, grinning back at you. “I don’t—I was always wondering about my soulmate. I have been drawn to you.”

"I kind of...brushed it off in the beginning," you admit with a note of guilt in your voice. "Tried to tell myself if it's just that you're my type and I shouldn't think that you're cute because you're my roommate. But...this sort of changes things."

“Don’t worry about what you did or what you might do.” Max protests. “I’m not going to yell at you. Mrs. Taylor would tear me apart.”

"She might have a little trouble with that." A small chuckle escapes you, unable to believe the reality of the situation. But Max's cool hand in yours is very real proof. "With you being a vampire and all."

"Not as much trouble as you might think." After all, the housekeeper is a much older vampire than he is. He doesn't even know how long she had been working for him and Cookie.

“No!” The implication of that and the amused smile on his face has you sitting up in surprise. “Mrs. Taylor, too? Is everyone here a vampire and I was just completely oblivious?”

“We try very hard to not make it obvious.” Max excuses your oversight easily. “But you are the only person with a pulse on this estate.”

“I—” Somehow this time it’s amusing that you didn’t know instead of concerning, and you huff out a laugh. “Cookie knew, right? She had to have known.”

“Of course she knew.” Max snorts. “Hard to not know when her soulmate was also a vampire.”

You have never been so acutely aware of your breath as you are when you’re blowing out a sigh in front of a man you now know to be a vampire and you shake your head in that age-old signal of disbelief. “The story Alli told me was true, then? About the witch and her vampire soulmate and all that…gods I feel like such an idiot.”

“It’s true.” He nods, smiling slightly. “Cookie was a powerful witch. And her soulmate is my sire.” It seems like an important piece of information for you to have.

“This just gives me so many more questions.” You admit, laughing quietly. “But I guess…having a vampire for a soulmate runs in the family.”

“I guess.” He doesn’t know why he had wanted you to have a vampire soulmate, but that is a question you can ask him. “I know it’s a lot.”

"It is." And you won't pretend otherwise. That would be worse than disingenuous, given that this is your soulmate and these are the people around you. This is your entire life now. And honestly? You don't want to change it. Which is a whole other issue you will grapple with privately – the fact that some of the nicest people you've ever met are vampires seems to go against every story about the creatures that has ever been told. "But I have my baggage and you have yours. It's...it's honestly not nearly as bad as how some other people have it. Or even anywhere near as bad as my last relationship."

“Do you want me to kill him?” Max asks. “I normally don’t waste food, but it seems like he would taste disgusting.”

The question is startling but not necessarily out of bounds, but you shake your head without even giving it consideration. “I’ll be happier if I can just forget he ever existed,” you tell Max honestly.

“Okay, but you let me know if you change your mind.” He insists.

“I’m not going to ask you to kill someone.” The idea is too much to even fathom and you shake your head again. “Is that…do I want to ask how you all get your blood?”

“Blood bank.” Max smirks. “Or donors. Willing donors.” He adds. “We don’t really have to skulk in shadows and trick people into giving us their blood in today’s society.

“That’s reassuring.” It’s downright relieving, actually, because with your hand in his you don’t really want to think about how he’s had to survive.

He doesn’t mention that he used to play with his food before. The new lease on life or immortality he had been given had come with a ‘sanctity of life’ outlook. He didn’t think you would be okay with him as your soulmate if he kept eating people anyway. “Absolutely.” He gives you an innocent grin.

"This has been an...enlightening night. To say the least." All of the information weighs on you and on your mind, making you feel heavy but in a very different way than the heaviness would feel when someone like Derek used to be upset with you. It's different. Like you know this time it will all settle.

“I’m sorry that your show has been ruined.” Max glances at the clock and realizes that the entire show has ended.

"You're more important than a tv show." There isn't a single note of hesitation in your voice and you give his hand a small squeeze. "And that will always be true. I always said that if I ever met my soulmate that they would be my first priority in everything. I'm standing by that."

It’s been a long time, maybe even never, when someone put Max above anything else. It’s oddly sweet and he looks down at your hand in his. “I—okay.” He nods quietly. “What else do you want to know?”

"Is there anything you want me to know? Or anything you want to know about me?" He looks so surprised that you would make him a priority that you have to wonder if his parents weren't the first people to not have faith in him. Which is pretty heartbreaking, and unfortunately you know exactly how it feels.

He frowns, hating the next part, so he huffs slightly. “Being that I’m—well, dead technically, if we ever got to the point of…intimacy…” He breaks off and looks down at your hands again. “I can’t give you kids.”

That...is a very good point. And one you hadn't thought of. But since it seems to upset him you're not going to harp on it. Not even a little bit. "Well, I think you know I like pets a whole lot," you joke, laughing softly. No one knows that better about you right now than he does. "When we get to that point, it will all be fine."

He gauges your eyes, wanting to see if you are just telling him what he wants to hear and when he finds that you are serious, he chuckles. “Okay.” He nods. “I’ll get you a real pet bat then.”

"I looked it up," you can't help but grin, a slightly guilty laugh coming out of you. "They're kind of illegal to have, and you can get rabies from petting them. You were just...too cute to resist."

“Well, I don’t have rabies.” He snorts and pretends to look offended. “So I’ll change into a bat when you’re missing Cutie.”

"Is it cheesy to say you're cuter like this?" It feels cheesy, and it definitely feels presumptuous to say, but it's out of your mouth now and there's nothing you can do about it.

“Yeah?” Max preens, smugly grinning like he’s just struck the winning lottery ticket. “It’s not cheesy at all, sweetheart.”

"The suits are nice, too," you mumble, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks at both the admittance and his obvious glee hearing it.

“They are nice.” He admits, scooting a bare inch closer to you. “Tailored is the way to go. Better quality than off the rack stuff.”

"I'll have to trust you on that." From warm to burning, your cheeks get hotter instantly, and you duck your eyes away for a second to bite back an unaccustomed smile. "You have much better fashion sense than me."

“Doubtful.” He tuts, shaking his head. “I saw your competition outfits and you can’t tell me you didn’t design them.”

“I learned a little bit from my mother,” you admit with a shrug. It won’t do any good to tell him that Derek had you on strict allowance after always making you use your paycheck for bills and groceries and his beer. The few new things you’ve bought in Newport are the first clothes you’ve had not from a church basement in years. “But I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten it all now.”

"Then it will be fun remembering it all." Max reasons, making it sound simple. He has a good idea from your reaction why you are insisting that you don't have fashion sense, but you also need to remember that you have more money that you could possibly spend in one shopping spree.

“I trust you to pick.” The submission is so easy, so ingrained, that you don’t even think about it. Which speaks volumes about the kind of dictation you’ve been living under. “Whatever you want me to wear is fine.”

"What if we picked together?" He's sure that you have natural style, but you've been so stifled, it's almost natural to repress it. He wants you to start realizing that you can do whatever you want.

“Is that something you would want to do?” You would never go so far as to consider it a date, but spending more time with him after this newfound revelation has an undeniable appeal. You’ve liked Max almost since the beginning. This is an extraordinary next step to take.

"It's not like I would hate it." Max doesn't want you to feel obligated, but he gives a small shrug. "I know the coven has been showing you around, but maybe they haven't taken you everywhere."

"We certainly haven't been clothes shopping." Somehow you can't imagine Max even in a regular mall, but shopping with him sounds like it might be all the more fun for it. A unique experience. "I..." you chuckle softly. "I have nothing but free time these days."

He smirks slightly, finding it ironic that you have the life of leisure while he had work. He was the one that was immortal. "That's not a bad thing, Queenie."

"I'm still getting used to it." Though you highly doubt that you ever truly will, if it will make him less embarrassed to be seen with him you will definitely work harder on your wardrobe.

"Nothing wrong with that." He chuckles. "I can imagine it's hard to go from worrying about your hours, your pay, to not having to anymore."

"I'm honestly kind of surprised to hear that you still work as hard as you do," you admit. "In the stories, vampires are always fabulously wealthy."

"I'm still a baby vamp." Max snorts, shrugging slightly. "Those vampires are also hundreds of years old. So I've still got to create that wealth."

"Ah." Nodding in understanding, you can't help but smile that he's still holding your hand. "Starting from the ground up. Got it."

He snorts and nods. "Exactly. But don't worry, I'm pretty damn good in a board room. Making deals and money."

"I fully believe that you could sell ice to a Norwegian." From what you've seen, he has the confidence and swagger to do just about whatever he wants.

Your outrageous comment makes him laugh, completely charmed by the faith that you have in him when you haven't even seen him close a deal. "I should use that." He admits, rubbing your warm skin with his thumb.

"If anybody ever remarks that you have cold skin after a handshake, you just tell them it's how your soulmate teases you about it." Gods you just ache when he laughs, and you feel like you might explode with smiling.

Max smirks slightly and reaches into his pocket with his free hand. Pulling out a warmer packet. "I try to make sure that I warm my hands up right before I need to shake hands." He admits bashfully.

"Clever." It's something you never would have thought of in a million years and the fact that he's utilizing it so effectively proves your point that he must be extremely good at what he does.

"A good handshake can make or break a deal." Max admits, having learned that when a pharmaceutical exec had told him that he couldn't trust a man with poor circulation. It had cost him a fifteen-million-dollar contract. "I really like warm places." He hums. "Like right there." He reaches up and touches your clavicle where he had snuggled in as Cutie. "And I can hear your heartbeat."

"Is it loud?" You blurt out the question before you can stop yourself, but it's one of those things that when you read fantasy books you had always wondered.

"When I'm close by, it seems like that's all I can hear. But it's gentle." His fingers brush your skin gently, caressing you. "I like when you sleep. It slows down, like your breathing. You are a very peaceful sleeper."

"I very rarely have vivid dreams." The fact that he's listened to you sleeping seems so utterly romantic that it steals your breath for a long moment. "They only started up again maybe a week ago. But they're not bad. Just kind of...nostalgic."

"What do you dream about?" He asks curiously. Wanting to know what you think about when you are lost in your dreams. He hopes they are sweet, kind. A reassurance that you deserve only the good things in life.

"Um..." Suddenly terrified that you shouldn't have said anything, you try to swallow that impulsive fear and be open with him. Since he's been so open with you tonight, he deserves that. "I had an imaginary friend...when I was a kid. And I've started dreaming about him again. But...also...sometimes...you."

His brow raises, surprised that you dream about him. But he's intrigued by your admission of an imaginary friend. "What was your friend like?" He asks, smiling slightly at the thought of a little girl with her friend, playing by herself in the room.

"He's very kind. And encouraging. And gave oddly good advice for being the figment of a child's imagination." Which makes you smile in turn, and you lean in to Max's side slightly. He feels safer than almost anywhere else in the world right now. "With curly black hair and a big smile and I always imagined that he gave the best hugs in the world."

Curly black hair. Max stares at you in shock. He had been visiting you when you were a little girl. That had to be what it was. He had convinced you that it was dreams. Probably coming at night so it would be more plausible. "You didn't hug him?"

"Invisible friend, Max." You laugh softly. "I imagined that I did a hundred thousand times. But it's not like he ever existed anywhere other than my mind."

"What would this friend. talk to you about?" He asks.

"Everything I guess." Sinking a little closer in to Max's side, you tilt your head slightly like you're trying to let a memory drip out. "School. Dance classes. My parents and my friends. I guess I must have used it like a sounding board. Working out all my little kid problems by talking to Yayo and then playing tea party with him afterward once everything was better."

"Yayo?" Max tilts his head. "Did you name him that or did he tell you to call him that?"

"Who knows," you shrug slightly. The memory is nostalgic enough that you don't notice how he reacts to hearing the name. "I was a little kid the first time I remember him, so I must have made it up somehow."

"Cute." He smirks slightly, imagining him coming into your dreams and spending time with you. He needs to find out why you are so important.

“Everybody has imaginary friends, right?” It had always just seemed like such a natural thing to you. Sure it was unusual that your made up friend was a grown ass man, but it’s not like it was a manifestation of abuse or anything. Yayo had always been your biggest fan and biggest supporter. Whether it was soothing your childhood fears, getting excited with you to start dance classes, or just listening to you babble about your day as kid are want to do. “Mine just wore fancy clothes and had a Spanish accent. Who knows? I must have seen an Antonio Banderas movie as a little kid and made up a character with the voice or something.”

“I am sure that your Yayo was a good thing for you.” Max frowns slightly, wondering why he had skulked in shadow and come to you in the night. “It sounds like he was.”

“Imaginary friends fill a gap.” You shrug your shoulders a little, leaning against him. “I’m sure you had one, too. Most kids do.”

“I didn’t.” Max admits. “But that’s because I was normally trying to surround myself with people. To pretend I was better than I was.”

“Better than you are?” Brows furrowing immediately, you tilt your head back to look at him and frown. “But you’re fantastic.”

“Not really.” Max snorts. “If I were better, my parents wouldn’t have abandoned me. I wouldn’t have needed my sire to bring me back.”

“The person you’ve been with me…the person I’ve gotten to know?” You shrug your shoulders again, wondering if a compliment from you is worth anything at all. “I think he’s pretty fantastic. Maybe you were just finding yourself.”

Your words are probably some of the most soothing he’s ever heard and he bites his lip. “I really want to be a bat right now so you will scratch my head.” He admits with a huffing laugh.

“C’mere.” You can’t help but grin, and you cradle his head against your shoulder with one hand before starting to scratch, gently and soothingly, over his short-cropped hair and scalp. “Does it feel as good when you’re like this?”

“Oh shit.” Max’s eyes close and he leans into your touch. “How— it’s so good. This is why dogs love people. It has to be.”

Your blunted fingernails take over his scalp and you shift so he can cuddle closer if he wants to. “But they don’t love vampires?” Somewhere in your memory you remember him remarking that dogs were not terribly big fans of him.

“Nah.” He grumbles slightly. “Knows we are a more dangerous predator.”

Humming in understanding as your nails find a rhythm gently running along his hairline, you revel in the closeness without expectation. Without demand. Without rules. Just simple intimacy without conditions.

How he ended up with his head in your lap, he couldn’t tell you, but it’s the most relaxed he’s ever been. “This is nice.”

“You don’t have to be a bat to get scritches and cuddles,” you promise him with a quiet giggle.

“Yeah?” He grins up at you. “Might have been my favorite part of the day. Your reading voice is really nice.”

“I can still read to you.” The idea that he actually enjoys it makes your cheeks heat up again, and you rub his shoulder with your other hand. “And you don’t have to carry me to bed anymore. Though it was very sweet of you.”

“I liked doing it.” He pouts slightly. “I’m either a wicked vampire carrying you off, or a valiant hero saving a damsel in distress.” He grins. “You pick which one I imagine.”

“I guess it will depend on my mood.” It’s intimidating, and a little embarrassing, realizing that he’s heard every time your heart has skipped a beat around him. But at least this time when it happens, he’s smiling right at you. “You can…keep doing it if you really want to.” It’s utterly romantic, as far as you’re concerned, but you didn’t want him to feel that he had to.

“You sleep, you should be comfortable.” He doesn’t mention that he had wished he could lay down beside you. That would be too far, at least as a human.

“Well, we’ll have to find a new way to curl up.” The way you are now is so nice. So calm. And deeply domestic, which you would never point out. “You won’t exactly fit on my shoulder for me to read to you like this, and that chaise is not built for two.”

Max smirks, resisting the urge to tell you that it could be, as long as you are laying on him. Instead, he hums, surprised you want to give up your furry little friend.

“If you want.” It will always be up to him. You’ll never push or impose. But you want him to know that — as small as your steps forward might be — you’re willing to take them.

“I want.” He closes his eyes and burrows his head into your lap more. “I think I’d scare you with what I want, Queenie.”

“I’m used to being scared,” you admit, fingers still raking through his short hair. “I’d rather be intimidated by something good than afraid of darkness.”

“I don’t want you to be afraid at all.” Max nearly growls, but he doesn’t want to make you nervous. “I’d rather be staked again than hurt you. Or let someone else hurt you. Just think of me as your own, personal guard bat.”

“Life is scary.” Looking down into his face, there is something there that you can’t identify, but it’s less so than in the beginning. There are fewer secrets now. Fewer. Not none. But you would never ask anyone to change for you, and especially not in the course of just a few hours. “And I guess…so is the afterlife. But it’s less scary with an actual partner, I think. At least, I have to think that it is. Hope that it is.”

"I can be rude, downright inconsiderate. Selfish. Maybe too much of a flirt, but I've never, ever wanted to make my soulmate cry." He admits quietly. "Always said that whoever she was would get the best of me."

“Nobody’s perfect.” Your hand stills, leaving only your thumb stroking along the shortest of the hairs on the back of his neck. “I’m certainly not. I would never expect you to be. All that matters is that we try to be the best we can for each other.”

"Why are you so sweet?" He's slightly confused by it. It's obvious you've not had an easy time, and yet you are so willing to accept this when you had just sworn off relationships. "So accepting?"

It’s confusion in his eyes, not criticism, and you frown slightly at the question. It seems fairly obvious to you, but there is more than one answer. “Part of it is just…me. And I haven’t been able to be myself in so long that I thought I had forgotten her. But I guess that’s not the case after all. But also…you’re my soulmate. If I was ever going to accept anyone, wouldn’t it be you?”

"I never thought my soulmate would accept me." It's a hard thing to admit, a sobering one. After he had been turned, he had been certain that he wouldn't be accepted. When he had refused to let him put any marks back, it had just be a silent confirmation of those deeply internal views.

“Surprise.” Sniffling back a laugh, your fingers trace his cheek and jaw in a move far bolder than you thought you could feel. That deep thread that connects soulmates truly is stronger than you ever thought. “I thought I’d lost you when all of your marks disappeared. So surprise for me, too.”

Max sighs, closing his eyes in regret. "My sire— he didn't want me to put the marks back." He explains. "Said it would cause confusion. Ordered me not to. And since I'm dead, I can't really scar anymore."

“If I got a tattoo do you think it would show up?” It’s not really something you had ever considered before, but he’s right. Wounds probably don’t affect him the same way anymore. But ink? Ink might.

"I don't know." He admits quietly. "Your birthmark is the only thing I have."

“The next time you speak to your sire, you could always ask him.” Whoever Max’s sire is, he sounds a bit like a strict father. But there’s probably a reason for that even if you don’t know what it is.

He chuckles. "If he decided to answer me, it would be in a riddle."

“Maybe I should ask him, then.” You offer him a valiant smile, like you’re offering to go into battle. “If you wanted, I mean.”

"You would do that?" His amazement is astounding, nearly making the blood in his system rise to the surface again.

"If you want me to." He seems so genuinely shocked that anyone would do something nice for him that it breaks your heart a little. After all, you know that feeling all too well. "We could pick out a design together, too."

“I- I honestly don’t know what to say.” He confesses softly. “I really don’t.”

“If you don’t like the idea, it’s okay to say so.” But from the expression on his face says otherwise, and it softens your own smile into something akin to dreamy. “But I think it would be nice.”

“No, I like it— it’s just— it’s surprising.” He tells you. “In a good way.”

"I...liked having your tattoos. Having that part of you." He lights up when he smiles and it makes your heart skip again. "Now that we know each other a little, it would be nice to have that to share."

“You never wanted tattoos?” He asks curiously, wondering why you never put a mark on him besides the odd scars that were now gone. “Or did the asshole not want any on you?”

He has hit the nail on the head, of course, and you bite your lip. "Big tattoos aren't great for competition. But...Let's just say he wasn't sad when they disappeared one day."

Max blows out a raspberry. “He sounds like a dick.” He would say more, but he doesn’t want to upset you. “I’m glad you’re here and not still around that prick.”

"I'm glad I'm here, too." Especially now. Now that you know what he is to you.

Max is quiet for a moment. Letting the seriousness of this settle and he doesn’t have a quip, or a joke about it. No snide remark comes to mind. He just feels…peaceful around you. “Do you want to dance with me tomorrow?” He asks finally.

"Yes." You don't even have to think about it. Or consult a schedule. Or second-guess. "Definitely."

“Yeah?” He grins, twisting his head to look up at you. “We do dance together really well, don’t we?”

"Not bad for a few turns around the ballroom." Dragging your fingers through his hair again, you can't help but smile, feeling warmed all the way through. Ironic considering Max is so cool to the touch. "We'll have to go for something a little more complex this time."

"Oh...are you thinking of something special for the opening dance of the ball?" He asks with a smirk. "It's supposedly tradition for the hostess to start the dancing."

"You just want to show off." Still, it sounds sweet. Like he wants to show you off, which seems entirely foreign but utterly romantic. "It might be sweet, though. We'd have to pick a good song, of course. And make up the choreography."

"Tempo should be lively, celebratory." He tells you. "Starting things off with a bang, as it were."

"An upbeat Viennese Waltz?" It seems like the thing to do, traditional but good for an ice breaker. "I don't want to do something that feels staged and showy...even if that's exactly what it is. A salsa or something like that would feel out of place."

"Especially at a Gilded Age party." Max agrees. "Plus it will almost convince people they could do it with a little practice."

"Maybe we can put flyers for the tickets up at some dance studios around town?" Not that you know of any, but there is a decent chance that he might.

"Perhaps we should invite the teachers to the ball." He offers after a moment.

"It would certain be beautiful for the dancing." You hum dreamily, imagining all of those whirling dresses in the ballroom that is now so familiar to you. "Maybe we could go to a free dancing night at each studio to give the invitation and talk it up a little? Since it's for charity and all."

"There are several dance studios in the area." He knows you will be all dreamy about it. "I'll email you the list and you can call them tomorrow. Set something up."

Alright. Looks like overcoming phone anxiety is on the schedule for tomorrow. You nod and give his shoulder a squeeze. "I guess we'll be dancing together a lot."

He sees the way you freeze for a split second before you try to push it aside. "What is it?" He asks softly, wondering if you will pretend everything is fine or if you will confide in him.

"Nothing," you insist immediately, knowing that previous to the last few weeks you would have been expected to shut away every ounce of your anxiety in order to make sure everything got done precisely the way Derek wanted. The fact that Max gives a damn how you feel about things is so strange to process. "It's—" Letting out a sigh, you close your eyes briefly but force a smile. "I'm not always very good on the phone. You know...anxiety. But I'll manage."

"How about I take a portion of the calls?" Max offers. "And if you find that you can't do it, I'll take them all."

"No, it's okay." The fear of being a burden is instant. It seizes like ice water through your veins, and even though you know logically that Max isn't the same kind of man that Derek is, you still shake your head tightly. "I can take care of it. There's no reason for you to do extra work."

“It’s not like I would mind.”

“You work all day. I don’t. I can manage it.” There is no way on earth you’re going to let this slide backward and you shake your head. You’ll make those damn phone calls yourself just so he doesn’t start to think you’re untrustworthy or — like you said you were before and he didn’t believe you — broken.

“If you’re sure.” Max doesn’t want you to be overwhelmed. “You’ve got a lot on your plate with planning this event. I don’t want you to get overwhelmed.”

“If I get overwhelmed, I’ll split the calls into two days.” You promise him, not really knowing if that will help at all but willing to give the — as they say — old college try.

“It’s okay.” Max promises you. He doesn’t want to call attention to it, but he captures your hand and brings it to his mouth. He kisses it softly. “You will be settling into your nickname of ‘Queenie’ before you know it.”

******

Sitting in the teahouse with your cell phone, a notebook, and a list of dance studios had seemed like a good plan for the afternoon. You’ve called three of the four studios on the island but the fourth seems always to be too busy to pick up their line and it has you frustrated and anxious that you can’t finish your task. At this point you feel like you’ve been twiddling your thumbs waiting for Max to get home, and you finally decide to pack up and go inside, intending to catch Mrs. Taylor before she starts making dinner for the night. She should know that you know — and that you have no intention of keeping her or Max or Eddie or anyone else from having the blood they need.

Renee had told you before about the reason for the call buttons in every room of the house. How they shouldn’t be looked at like ringing a cow bell to demand service, but as a polite way of requesting to speak with a staff member when you need something. Rather than the old-fashioned families a hundred years ago or more barging into their servants’ areas, you press the button as a polite request. Trying to keep that in mind, you choose the library as a place to sit once you reach the house, and press the button hidden in the wainscoting before settling down at the desk. Whether Mrs. Taylor or Renee answers will be up to them.

“Ms. Dolly?” Mrs. Taylor’s voice immediately comes over the intercom, like she had been hovering next to it. You don’t know that she was across the kitchen, but that’s the beauty of being able to move so fast. It’s why her and Renee can handle the housework and keep the place spotless.

“Do you have time to speak for a moment before starting dinner, Mrs. Taylor?” The little speaker box on the desk is reminiscent of the 1950s and makes you smile. It’s odd. But it works.

“Of course, Ms. Dolly, I will be right up.” In the time it would take a normal human to come upstairs, she will put together a light tray for you with the fresh apple cider that she had thought you would enjoy. You seem to like the fall theme.

It takes the housekeeper only five minutes to appear in the library doorway with a tray of assorted snacks and a large drink, and this time instead of feeling like a burden that she is serving you, you find yourself amused that she had so much time to fix the tray. Max had demonstrated his vampiric speed for you last night by zipping across the second-floor hallway so now you have a better idea of how fast your housemates can move. “Thank you, Mrs. Taylor. I know your time is precious.”

“It was nothing, ma’am.” She nods her head and sits down across from you when you motion her to sit. “Did you wish to discuss the menu for the party? I’ve already made several varied menus for you to choose from.” She pulls cards out of her sweater to hand to you.

“Well…yes. But I wanted to speak to you about the…general dinner menus as well.” Just because you had been trying to hype yourself up for this doesn’t mean that you had figured out how to go about it gracefully. Grace is only something you have when you dance — not really in conversation.

“Is there something you don’t like?” She looks positively horrified by the prospect and curses herself. She had been treating you like Cookie, and there’s a very real chance your palette is completely different. “If you give me an idea of what you wish to have, I will make sure to adjust accordingly.” She assures you.

"It's not that. Your cooking is wonderful. In all honesty it's high above what I'm used to and I couldn't possibly ask you to change a thing. Not for me." You shake your head profusely to dispel any worries, practically reaching out to take her hand, but you have a feeling that she would find that improper. "It's just that...I have been made aware that...Max and Eddie and...well, everyone else in the house...you all have rather a different diet than I do. And that there have been a few things hidden from me until now, which I presume was done so as not to stun or panic me."

Surprised would be a mild way to put her reaction. Mrs. Taylor’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plate and her stomach drops. “Who told you that?” She had been assured by the coven on the first visit to the manor since you have befriended them that the witches would not tell you.

"Max did, but please understand that he did it for the most noble reason possible." After talking it out with him last night, the two of you had decided that your soulmate status would be impossible to keep quiet in the house so it was probably best just to let people know. If it had taken the two of you only a few weeks, it was sure to come out quickly to everyone else. "We had a long discussion last night about some very important things. And I...I appreciate that you all did your best to make me feel comfortable here. I do feel comfortable here. But I don't want any of you to have to hide your blood anymore. That would be incredibly rude of me to ask when I am the only human in the house."

"It is not a problem." She insists, leaning in slightly. "We are used to being...more formal about things than the average vampire. Cookie had been pleased with it as well as her soulmate. He was the one that had set that formality in place. However, this is your home and what you wish will be."

"The formality is...it's sort of nice, if I'm honest. It's comforting to have an order to how things are supposed to work. But it's really fine with me if Eddie and Max just want to have blood at dinner instead of...well...food. I understand that it used to be served in wine glasses and that my dislike for drinking sort of threw a monkey wrench into that habit."

She smiles softly and tilts her head, a motherly sort of affection for you making her squeeze your hand gently. "It was not vexing to anyone save for Max and well, he likes to make a nuisance of himself at times." She confides. "I think it was that 'only child' syndrome he had."

"He likes to feel special." There's something soft and affectionate in your tone that you just can't help, but you swallow down any sort of guilt that bubbles to the surface from it. Max is your soulmate after all. And it's been weeks since you left Derek's house. There doesn't need to be any guilt whatsoever.

Her brow raises at the change in tone, pursing her lips in amusement. "I gather that the snack trays he has been putting together for you during your show has changed your mind about Max?"

"It's not—" Your cheeks burn hot and you suddenly wish you were a turtle so you could just bury yourself in your shell at the first mere hint of embarrassment. "It's more than that," you tell her quietly, acknowledging that this is surely the opportune time to tell your vampiric housekeeper the truth about what you and Max are to each other. You're just not sure how she will react. "We...discovered...last night..." You take a deep breath, suddenly very aware of that action around so many people who don't need to do it at all. "That Max and I are soulmates."

It's like the key to the riddle of why Max was brought here suddenly slides into place. Her eyes light up and even if she is surprised, she is charmed by soulmates. Her own dear Mr. Taylor is her own, so very fortunate to have found each other so many years ago and to continue to be deeply in love. "That is...spectacular." She hums, sure that he was always aware of the connection, even if he had not confided in her.

"It's very unexpected." And it has you smiling like a lunatic, but you clear your throat and try to compose yourself. "But it really has shown me that I would prefer to have fewer secrets around me from now on. I used to be utterly surrounded by them, and I don't want this next chapter of my life to be that way again."

"Understood." While there is still one secret that she must keep, Mrs. Taylor is determined to make sure you are aware of most of what happens here. She is bound by her sire to keep his secrets, and that unfortunately predates your wishes.

"I appreciate that, Mrs. Taylor." There is some reticence in her – years of having to read Derek's moods at the drop of a pin have made you sensitive to things like that – but you won't push. Just because you've asked for openness doesn't mean it is an easy thing to give, and it means nothing if it is demanded. "I have nothing but respect for you and I'm so grateful to you for helping me to feel at home here so quickly."

"This is your home." She promises. "It was always meant to be your home."

"I'm sure there must have been other relatives along the way that the house could have gone to." You can't imagine that there were no other options for an heir, but you would be lying if you said you weren't grateful for Cookie's choice.

"No." Mrs. Taylor looks down at your joined hands and smiles sadly. "Unfortunately, due to a...family issue, you were the only choice in Cookie's mind for a recipient."

"I wish I could thank her." Your mysterious and enigmatic great-aunt has changed your life entirely and you only wish you could tell her how much it has meant to you. Because of Cookie, you know your soulmate.

"I know she would have loved you." Mrs. Taylor looks a bit misty-eyed, even though vampires don't cry often. She smiles again. "But I know that she knows. Wherever she is now."

"She was very important to you." That much is obvious, and it gives you an equally unexpected reason to smile. Knowing that your great-aunt was loved so dearly is reassuring.

"She was a wonderful lady, in every sense of the word." She nods and looks down again and clears her throat. "Please look over the menu cards I've created and let me know what you are thinking?"

"Of course. I'll look them over now. Thank you, Mrs. Taylor." It's obvious that she doesn't want to continue the conversation and you respect her too much to push, so you simply nod and pick up the cards that she laid out in front of you. "Everything you make is wonderful so I'm sure the only difficulty will be choosing between delicious options."

She smiles proudly and nods. "The apple cider is fresh." She tells you. "I thought it would pair nicely with the pumpkin scones that I had experimented with."

"You very quickly nailed down my weakness for fall flavours." There are crunchy sugar crystals on top of the scones and something that smells suspiciously like honey butter in the ramekin sitting alongside the small plate and full mug.

“It seemed like the cozy comforts would be to your liking.” Mrs. Taylor admits with a smile. “I enjoy having a human in the house.” She admits. “Vampires can eat, but normal food does not taste as appetizing to us as it does to humans, and I enjoy cooking.”

“I am very grateful for that, and for you.” A small smile cracks your face, as uncharacteristic as that may seem for you sometimes. “And I am more than happy to eat anything you feel like cooking. I’m pretty abysmal at it myself.”

“That is no concern.” She waves off your comment about yourself. “I am here to make sure you eat well.”

“Do you mind if I ask you one more thing?” Still working through all the questions you have about the circumstances and about your distant relative, there is really only one more you wanted to ask for now.

“Anything.” Mrs. Taylor was halfway out of her seat, but she sits back down and looks at you expectantly.

“I was wondering…how long you had worked for Cookie? The real answer. Allison told me the story about her soulmate prolonging her life and I didn’t believe her then. But I do now…so I wondered. That’s all.”

Mrs. Taylor smiles, the twist of her lips slightly melancholic. “Two hundred and eighty-seven years.” She admits. “Her soulmate brought me to care for her right after they found each other.”

A split second of quick math has your jaw on the ground, and you press one hand to your heart instinctively. “That…she…1736? And they met right here where the house is built?”

“Back when it was the colonies.” She nods, chuckling quietly.

“Gods…” Exhaling a shaky breath, you nod, trying to wrap your head around this extraordinary piece of information. “She must have had a remarkable life.”

“When I tell you we have an extensive collection of Cookie’s things, her clothes, I mean extensive.” She’s proud of that, because it had been her idea to preserve it. It had been meant for someone else, but now, it’s yours.

The endless possibilities flow out in front of you in every direction but you wrap your hands around the large mug of cider and smile, nostalgic already for a past you can’t possibly remember. “I hope one day you might feel open to sharing some of her stories with me. And yours, as well.”

“Since you are aware of our nature and feel no concern, I have no issue sharing.” She pauses for a moment and then decides to share a vital piece of information. “We did not start the formality with the blood until Cookie had decided to no longer prolong her life.” She admits, folding her hands in her lap. “Then it was a measure of respect to make it seem like we were drinking wine.”

“That seems very respectful.” This household is nothing if not respectful. You know that. “It doesn’t need to be hidden anymore. I know you were…being respectful of me in different ways. But besides the initial shock? It seems…well, I feel a bit silly for knowing that magic is real my whole life and not even entertaining the ideas that vampires could be, too.”

“Some things are viewed as too fantastical. Like werewolves.” She hums as she stands. “I will have dinner ready at seven.” She promises before disappearing in the blink of an eye.

The immortal housekeeper is gone before you can open your mouth again, and you slump backward in your chair with her menus in front of you and a furrow between your eyebrows. Now you can’t help but wonder if werewolves are real, too…

______

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johnwickb1tsch · 17 days

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The Girl Next Door - Chapter 3

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader fic based on this imagine. all chapters warnings: nsfw, blood, biting, brief mention date rape, domestic violence, not reader oh make me over, i'm all i wanna be, a walking study, in demonology - celebrity skin, hole

3. for the life of the flesh is in the blood

It is both a relief and a disappointment, that you find your first experience of feeding on John Constantine was quite singular. No one since has inspired the same brand of heady lust when you break a vein. You think about him often, but you've done your best to give the demon hunter a wide berth. You're sure the last thing he wants is some needy little leech following him around, begging for his attention.

You're sure he only saved you out of pity, anyway.

It still hurts, so you try not to think about it anymore.

You have taken to hunting your meals amongst the evil doers of the city—of which there is no shortage, in the City of Angels. Your favorite method has become playing the party-going damsel in a bar not watching her drink. When the inevitable asshole drops a dose of something in it, a thing you have found does not affect you at all, you play drowsy and accompany him to the inevitable alley or sometimes even his car, where you pounce.

You can't say you feel too terrible about removing such trash from the population. You're not sure how God feels about your methods, but then you're not sure it matters any way. It helps pay your rent too. Holding down a job as a vampire kind of went out the window, so you help yourself to whatever cash you find in your criminals' wallets with little remorse.

The fact of the matter is, as time goes on...you don't exactly hate being a vampire. It took some adjustment, sure, but you have power you'd only dreamed of as a human woman. You can go anywhere you want now without fear. You are fast. You are strong. You haven't figured out flying yet, but even that seems like it might be possible down the line.

Maybe you could ask a fellow vampire about what is and isn't possible, but you have yet to actually meet one.

You've sensed them around the streets of LA—but in the end you always chicken out and flee the scene. The vampires who made you were not exactly shining examples. You're not in a hurry to fall in with their ilk. You'd observed there was a definite pecking order in the coven that took you, and you're not exactly eager to become some asshole's toady again, a little cog in some evil plot or another. You’d played that game in corporate America in your old life, and you're not going back to it.

One evening when you are heading out for the night you run into John in the hallway again.

You are astounded when he is first to greet you. "Y/n."

"Hi, John." You can't help but feel the contrast to the way you used to play this game. You feel the loss of innocence, of your humanity, so keenly when you see him. You'd be a liar if you said the sight of his stupid, handsome face didn't still move you. The loss of what might have been...hurts, like a half-healed wound with a finger in it. You haven't been avoiding him, per se...but seeing him still ties you up in knots in a way you don't necessarily like.

"You look...nice." You glance down at your dark low-cut dress and leather jacket. Bar bait chic. It's quite a shift, from the sweet floral sundresses and bright colors you once favored.

"I was just popping out for a bite to eat."

"Yeah?" He is looking at you with an intensity that makes you squirm a little inside. A look that a vampire does not like, on the receiving end from a demon hunter. "How's that...going for you?"

"Fine."

He looks around the hallway for potential eavesdroppers. You already know it's vacant. Your hearing was excellent on the night you were Born to Darkness, and it's only improved from there.

"Fine?"

You cross your arms with a look of what the fuck else do you expect me to say out here?

Constantine makes an annoyed sound that's almost a growl.

You shouldn't find it as endearing as you still do.

“Come talk to me a minute?” he invites, nodding towards his apartment.

Remembering all the crosses and weapons he has stashed in there, you're not too keen to go, in case he's decided letting you live your undead life was an oversight.

You wrinkle your nose like you’ve smelled something bad. "You can come talk to me in here," you counter, nodding towards your own space.

He smirks at you, as though he knows very well the cause for your caution. “Sure,” he agrees, cocky as ever. John Constantine isn’t afraid to walk unarmed into the lair of a baby vamp like you.

You unlock your door again, ushering him in with a wave. As he steps inside you are struck again by how big he is in your tiny apartment. A wave of nostalgia hits you, for a night when you'd still been human, and he'd made you feel like you were the most desirable woman in the world.

Suddenly, your throat is tight.

Wow. Who knew you could still feel these things as a creature of the night? You’ve been so focused on your day to day, or night to night, as it were. You never really allowed yourself to process everything that had happened. You were too busy figuring out how the fuck to survive.

"Do you...want something to drink?" you ask, looking in your pantry. “Or perhaps can I interest you in some whole kernel corn?” Your perishable options have long gone by the wayside, but you still have alcohol, canned goods, and dry cereal. All together, not the most appetizing combination.

A snort of laughter escapes him at your attempt at humor, and he seats himself in one of your surviving kitchen chairs like he owns the place. "Sure. To the drink. Hold the vegetables."

You produce a bottle of Scotch that you may have bought with him in mind after your little tryst, and pour him a couple fingers.

"What about you?" he asks with a glitter of something in those obsidian dark eyes. Even with all your vampire senses, this man is still hard to read as a brick wall.

You cant your head to look at him, curious what he’s about. That is when you realize... you smell desire. You hear the spike of his heartbeat, see the dilation of his pupils almost lost in the black of his irises.

His only outward tell is the corner of his mouth curled up, but blood never lies.

You yourself would be a liar if you said you hadn't thought about the way he'd tasted that first night with a sharp longing.

The sound of his pulse hammering in your ears makes you bold enough to ask, "Why, are you offering, John?"

He lifts one eyebrow nonchalantly, though the sound of his racing heart is sweet sweet music to your ears.

"Maybe."

Cautious as a cat, you dare approach, a finger sliding along the surface of the table as you regard him curiously. Cool as ever, he leans back in his chair, man-spreading as he looks up at you. You stand between his legs, looking down at him with a new confidence, armed with the knowledge of his blood rushing double-time through his veins.

He certainly hadn’t sought you out before this. Not once in the past few months has he even tried to check on you. At least, as far as you know.

He tilts his head up, returning your gaze. It’s impressive, really, how little he manages to show on the outside, while you can sense the rising roil of something brewing within him. Lust, you tell yourself. Anything more…would be wishful thinking, on your part.

You really should know better by now, but you still can’t help but carry a torch for this man, stupid little vampire that you are.

“A little warning: I’ve heard some hot shot High Table vampire hunter is in town from New York. You should be careful where you go to hunt.”

Your own heart thumps in your chest. Just the once. You don’t have a regular heartbeat anymore, unless you’ve just fed on someone.

“You worried about me, John?”

“As far as I've heard, you're keeping your nose clean, but I thought you should know."

So he has been keeping track of you.

"I’m not exactly feasting on the blood of newborn babes."

He winces a little at that, as though you have invoked some long-buried memory. You suppose you cannot fathom the horrors this man has seen in his time battling the Darkness.

"Who are you feasting on?"

"Mostly assholes who deserve a lot worse than what I give them."

It's his turn to tilt his head as he looks up at you, his eyes sharp as a hawk’s. "What does that mean?"

"Do you really want to know?" you ask, propping a hand on your hip. What you really want to do is insinuate yourself into this man’s lap, but some sense of self-preservation holds you back.

"It's why I asked."

"Ok.” You start to tick your recent exploits off on your fingers. “I saved a girl from getting mugged and maybe worse the other day while she was walking to her car at night. Before that, I snacked on a date raper who tried to drug my drink. Before that, I broke up a domestic dispute and made the piece of shit husband disappear. Before that—"

Both of John’s dark eyebrows shoot up.

"Ok, Miss Vigilante Vamp. I get the picture." There's a gleam in his eye, and you almost think he might be proud of you? Or at least, amused. You should not care, of course, but his approval definitely tickles some long-buried little pleasure center in your brain. You always were a teacher’s pet type, for better or for worse. "You should be careful though. You could get hurt."

"By who?” you counter, knowing you sound cocky as hell. “This vampire hunter?”

“I think you missed the part where I said he’s High Table?”

“What does that mean?”

He gives you a look like you should know that, but you don’t know how or why you would.

“It means you don’t want to mess with him. I heard he’s here for the Master, but you don’t want to attract his attention.”

“The Master?” You are so confused.

Seemingly exasperated, he lifts his eyebrow at you. It kind of starts to piss you off. “I don’t know any other vampires, John.” And he certainly made no efforts before now to fill you in.

“Look, just be careful, ok? Just because you’re a vampire now doesn’t mean you’re invincible.”

It’s almost touching, that he’s worried about you. It would be, at least, if it didn’t sound so fucking much like mansplaining.

“A girl’s gotta eat, John.”

“Well…you coulda asked.”

You narrow your eyes down at him, knowing they flash a molten orange with your annoyance. The thing he said when you’d first woken as a vampire echoes in your mind, the way it has every night since. I guess they thought you meant something to me.

“I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“I told you I’d help you. You kinda disappeared on me after that.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Thinking some distance might be a good thing after all, you turn to go, just to have his long fingers wrap around your wrist. “Wait—”

You try to pull away, and he doesn’t let go, so you jerk him out of the chair like he’s a ragdoll. You find yourself in a pile on the floor with John Constantine’s solid weight half on top of you—not a horrible arrangement, truth be told, but the context is less than ideal.

“Jesus. Easy there, tiger.”

The fact that this man has the gall to needle you, after everything that has happened, suddenly fills you with white-hot heat, like gasoline on a fire. You’ve been bottling it up for months, just shoving it down so you can do what you have to do, but now everything bubbles to the surface with a vengeance. Suddenly, you are sitting on him, a clawed finger pointing into his chest. “You asshole. I got turned into this thing that I am because of you, because I was stupid enough to care about you, but I was supposed to be the one knocking on your door for a handout? I bet you would have just loved it, if I came crawling back to you for another taste.”

It’s just so fucking unfair.

That you can still feel so much for this man, and maybe he desires you back, but outside of that there’s just nothing. You’re sure of it. It shouldn’t matter to you anymore but it does and it hurts. Jesus fucking Christ it hurts.

You feel too much.

You’ve always felt too much, as a human, and now as a monster, apparently, and it sucks. You feel the sting of tears filling your eyes, and you know they look like blood to him and it’s just so gross you could scream.

“Tell me how to do it,” you hiss through the aching lump in your throat. “How do I feel nothing like you, because I’m so tired of this.”

Constantine’s frown is utterly thunderous below you. You guess it’s a real buzz kill, when people—monsters—emote all over you. He says nothing, just glares back up at you, breathing heavily through his nose.

Only later will it occur to you what a miracle it was, that he didn’t go for his cross, or a holy gun, or gold knuckles, with a spitting mad vampire perched on top of him. He really does have nerves of steel.

Only when you notice a small dot of blood blooming on his white shirt beneath your razor-sharp fingernail you let up, clenching your clawed fists at your sides.

“Sorry,” you half-snarl, closing your eyes against everything. But now the scent of blood is in the air. His blood, and it is just as intoxicating as you remember from before, and a powerful, prickling heat rises within you, spreading out to him too. Every hair on his body lifts, and you wonder if he reacts to you this way because of his psychic abilities, or if…it’s just the chemistry between you. Some of the tension in his frame softens—other parts of him decidedly do not.

“My life is dangerous, y/n. What happened to you is exactly the reason I don’t have many friends.”

Or lovers, hangs unsaid in the air.

“Yeah. Well…too late for me, I guess. What’s the worst that can happen now?”

“You never want to challenge God like that. Believe me.”

“Why do you sound so certain it’s God who makes bad things happen?”

He snorts derisively. “Because as far as I can tell, he’s an even bigger asshole than I am.”

You look away, feeling guilty all of a sudden. “I’m sorry I called you that.”

Surprisingly he turns your gaze back to him with a finger on your chin. “It’s ok. The shoe fits.”

You get the sense that this is his way of apologizing…maybe, and the last of your anger leaks from your body. You nod, and close your eyes, and one of those bloody tears escapes to make its way down the curve of your cheek. No one is more surprised than you, when he reaches up to wipe it away.

“For what it’s worth…you’re not bad, for a vampire.” Coming from him, that’s quite the declaration. Again, you’re not proud of what it does to you, to receive praise from this man who usually keeps so aloof.

You dare to open your eyes, your vision sharpening upon him, your vampire senses keen to detect a lie. You can tell he’s a little excited beneath his cool façade, but it doesn’t feel like he’s lying to you. That has a certain smell. A pheromone maybe, or a stink of fear of getting caught.

“Yeah?”

He sits up, so that you are cradled on his lap, nearly nose to nose, and you can’t help but be painfully aware, groin to groin. He’s so tall, and broad, and you still want to climb him like a tree. Another wave of that titillating energy rises in you, a mix of hunger and desire. You know he feels it too. You can tell by the way his eyelids half-close, his grip tightening momentarily on your thighs.

It’s not a horrible development, truth be told.

“Yeah.”

“Even though I scare you?”

“Let’s go with…yes and no, on that,” he answers with a quirk of the side of his mouth.

“Hmm. You know, it’s hard to lie to a vampire?”

“Can’t say I usually spend much time conversing.” He cups your cheek, his fingers sliding into your hair—and you’re not sure you really want to converse anymore either. “I was giving you space—guess I should have kicked down your door.”

“You could have just…knocked,” you tell him with narrowed eyes, smiling in spite of yourself. You feel your teeth pressing into your lips—and you shut your mouth again.

“I know they’re there,” he teases you, surprisingly gently, his thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip. “You don’t have to hide them.”

You close your eyes again, sighing. “I just…feel like such a monster.”

Again his long fingers slide through your hair, like he’s petting you. It does things to you, to be stroked like a favored pet by this man.

“You’re not a monster.” You clench your fists, so moved to hear him say it. And as you do, you can feel your claws biting into your palms. You lift your hands so he can see them.

“No?”

He examines them, seemingly nonplussed. You guess he’s seen bigger and sharper. “No,” he asserts again.

Your eyes flick down to the little bloodstain upon his nice white shirt. “I made you bleed.”

“I probably deserved it,” he excuses with that smirk that pulls at your undead heartstrings. “Keep going like you are, you might get to Heaven before I do.”

“John…” you sigh, a wave of emotion sweeping through you that you can’t even name. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Me? Nice?” Again, that barely discernible purse of lips, the suppression of a smile that would give him away.

You find yourself staring at his mouth, before forcing your eyes up to meet his once again. You don’t do it on purpose, but the power of your hunger fills you like a cup, spilling over into him where your bodies touch. This time he gives in to that tingling wave of treacherous pleasure, closing his eyes and letting it wash over him without a fight. Longing throbs in your loins, and hunger in your belly. They really feel one and the same, in this man’s arms.

“You’re…getting good at that,” he tells you, his voice low and gravely with desire.

“It just…happens, with you,” you’re almost reluctant to admit.

He smirks, the way you just knew he would, the smug bastard. “Just with me, huh?”

You roll your eyes to the ceiling. This man.

His low chuckle should not inspire such a thrill inside you. His strong arm looped around your waist, pulling you harder against him, does not help either.

Your claws have retracted again, and you run your hand up the flat of his chest, fingering the starched collar of his white shirt. You are gratified to receive a shuddering sigh as your touch moves higher, caressing the jumping pulse in his neck longingly.

“Bar’s open,” he offers.

It’s your turn to sigh, and you go about undoing his tie, carefully loosening the knot, resisting the urge to tear it off of him. You’ve learned a little bit more about how to control your hunger now, but it’s all still so new. You wonder if you can use it to make this, whatever this is, last longer than the frenzied chaotic rush it was last time.

“Did you miss me, John?”

He doesn’t answer you, just makes a sound low in his throat and leans in to kiss you instead, and with his soft mouth on yours you are content to let it go for now.

Maybe if you read between the lines, it’s answer enough anyway.

It’s a little funny, that the two of you never really make it up off the floor. Wrapped up in the wonderful, heady power that is your hunger, amplified by mutual desire, you are content to shed clothing and trade appreciative caresses there on the rug. You had not forgotten how beautiful this man is, the feeling of his warm muscled flesh beneath your questing hands, and yet still it somehow surprises you.

He makes a face as he pushes your jacket from your shoulders, tossing it unnecessarily far across the room. “You don’t like it?” you tease breathily.

“It doesn’t suit you,” he admits, and goes for your dress next, pulling it up over your head. He stares down at the skin he bared, your lacy push-up bra. He’s kinder to the dress, but maybe just because he’s distracted, ducking to kiss the soft mounds of your breasts.

The glitter in his dark eyes as you extricate his belt from between your pressed bodies should be illegal, it’s so intoxicating. With a hand on his bare chest you press him down to lay back on the floor. He does not fight you, looking up at you with that signature smirk that makes your blood boil. Rolling your hips against his straining erection between you wipes some of the smug off his expression, replacing it with a raw need.

With careful fingers you unbutton his pants and extricate him into the palm of your hand, his velvety length almost searing hot against your cool grip. Your undead body hungers for the warmth of his life, absorbing it anywhere you touch. His nerve falters a little, as he watches your fanged mouth descend towards his swollen manhood, his eyes widening just a bit. It’s your turn to smirk up at him.

“I haven’t tried this yet, John. I’d be very still, if I were you.”

He doesn’t tell you to stop, and the sound he makes as you descend on his hard cock with your silken tongue isn’t pain. In fact, it’s extremely gratifying. You are careful, and as you work him up and down with your mouth he trembles with the effort not to move beneath you. When his fingers tangle in your hair you moan against him, winning a twitch of his hips that would have made you smile, had your mouth not been so very full. You withdraw with a pop that makes him growl with pleasure beneath you. “Fuck, y/n...”

He tries to sit up to reach for you, but you pin him down again with one hand, tilting your head with a playful look down on him. The heated frustration in his narrowed eyes is rather priceless. Maybe you’ll pay for this later, but the predator’s instinct in you is enjoying this immensely.

Too impatient to take them off, you pull your panties to the side to sink onto his beautiful cock, his thick head pushing past your entrance rocking your head back with ecstasy. “John…” you sigh, moving your hips up and down, until he’s seated fully inside you, bottoming out against your cervix. It doesn’t hurt, like it once did. You are learning all kinds of things about your new vampire body.

“I would have returned the favor,” he rasps, his head rocking back hard into the floor as you carefully squeeze him inside you, conscientious of your new strength. It wins you a gratifying moan, his eyes drifting closed.

“Next time,” you answer cheekily. If he can’t admit that he missed you—then you’ll be damned if you say it first, even if it is the truth.

You look down, fascinated by the sight of his big hands on your thighs, his strong fingers pressing into your flesh. The whip-cord muscles of his forearms draws your eyes, to the curve of his bicep and the sweep of his collarbone—your attention fixes on the jumping vein in his neck like a laser.

You lean down to lick his pulse and he tilts his head, baring his neck for you. You know that part of it is him riding the power that crackles between you, but another part–it feels like a gesture of trust, and somehow that warms your undead heart. The razor-sharp tips of your fangs brush his pulse, winning you a sigh. “Do it,” he moans, surging inside you, lifting you with his hips. It’s all too much to resist, and with trembling caution you slide your fingers into his hair, and press your teeth into his pale skin.

The resulting rush of blood filing your mouth is intoxicating–by the sounds he makes, not just for you. The rush of pleasure across your tongue and in your loins is like nothing you’ve ever felt before, an exhilarating bliss that spreads warmth through every nerve across your skin.

You’ve always thought of lovemaking as some kind of small miracle–a gift the laughing gods bestowed upon you poor mortals to make all the drudgery of life somehow bearable. A scientist might argue it is a trick of hormones and synapses played by nature, to encourage the endless march of procreation. You wonder what Constantine thinks about it, this man who so clearly believes in The Almighty God, but also seems to find the deity an insufferable asshat.

A less than charitable philosopher might argue this beguiling euphoria is just the lure a vampire could use to secure a good meal–but like this, with this man–you cannot help but think it’s more. Whatever ancient magic that animates you, and maybe his own powers mingled too, it grants you this boon in what could be a life of infinite nights of lonely darkness, this undeniable connection with a special human whose lifeblood nourishes you.

You are not even sure what to call the pinnacle of this pure shining ecstasy you share–orgasm seems too paltry a word. Pleasure, pale by comparison. John insists you are no creature of God, but you cannot help but reason that what you share together is nothing less than divine rapture.

The challenge is when to stop.

For as long as you pull draught after draught of his delectable hot blood into your mouth, this bliss goes on and on.

He starts to fade beneath you, his heart slowing. You could drain him dry like this, and maybe not care until the moment you realized he was dead in your arms. This is the thing that throws you back from your latchpoint upon his neck, woozy from the delight of it all, yet scared that you may have hurt him.

He too seems drunk beneath you, looking up at you through hooded dark eyes. “Why’d you stop?” he asks dreamily. It’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen this man. You touch his cheek; you are not sure if the coolness of his skin is due to blood loss, or the fact that you feel almost feverish at the moment, riding the high of the blood magic you invoked with him.

If you hurt him you are walking out into the sunlight, you promise yourself with panic.

“I’m afraid I took too much,” you admit, wide-eyed.

Of course, he scoffs at the very idea. “I’m fine. C’mere.” He pulls you down on top of him, to snuggle, you presume. The wonders of this evening do not cease. It is lovely, to curl up in his arms, your thighs slick with the excess of his seed. But as he dozes, you are wide awake, the world come even more alive around you. A potent meal, the magician makes. You feel as though you can sense the whole city in your head. The comings and goings of all the people, and all the creatures, and the planes and trains and cars.

What a marvel, is this modern age.

You sift through them all as an amusement, catching snatches of thoughts and bits of conversations, eavesdropping on their lives.

You realize that you have never been able to read John Constantine’s thoughts. You wonder if it’s because of his psychic abilities–or just a result of his abnormally hard head.

As you make this little psychic tour around the inhabitants of L.A.--something senses you back. You feel it push against your mind, holding you at arm’s length. Something old, and seething. For a flash you see it–him. Definitely a him, tall and forbiddingly handsome, bearded and raven haired. His eyes flash molten orange–right before he strikes you. It is only a psychic blow but you feel it like a fist between the eyes. It makes your physical body jolt in John’s arms. This stirs him from his bliss-induced coma; the demon-hunting magician blinks and looks up at you, taking in your wild-eyed look, your fangs bared to some invisible threat.

“You ok, baby vamp?” he grumbles, not too happy to be disturbed from his deep rest.

“Fine,” you answer, unsure if it’s true. “I think I need to get you something to eat.”

“Not hungry,” he grouses, closing his eyes again. “Tired.”

“Would you like to lay down in the actual bed?” you ask, thinking he will regret this hard pallet tomorrow.

“No.” Now you can tell he’s just being stubborn. You would like to stay and cuddle with him, but you really are afraid he needs to eat and drink. Fluids and iron rich foods, is what you googled for after-care of donating blood, a while ago.

Funny, until now, you hadn’t had occasion to use the knowledge.

You dress and pop out to the 24 hour market, obtaining red meat and dark leafy vegetables. When you return John has reclaimed his boxers and stretched his long body out on the couch, his big feet hanging off the end. It’s ridiculously endearing, to see him so relaxed in your space like this.

When you are nearly done preparing his stir fry dinner, he finally rises to a sitting position, scrubbing at his face with his hands.

It’s silly, how much it pleases you, when he wraps his arms around you from behind at the stove, his chin resting on your head. “A vampire who cooks. This is one for the record books.”

“It’s not like I’ve forgotten how,” you fire back over your shoulder, amused. “It just…doesn’t really smell like food to me anymore.” The bloody bits of raw steak had seemed more appetizing than the ingredients in their current form.

“Hmm. Smells good to me.” You thought he’d come round to food. “This does too though,” he teases, kissing your neck with a playfulness that leaves you dumbfounded. When he nibbles you can’t help but squirm, laughing out loud.

“John!”

He must still be power drunk from earlier. He’d barely touched his glass of Scotch.

You feel his body shake with mirth behind you, more than hear it out loud. Then he stills against you, resting his chin on you again while you stir the meat and vegetables, the rice steaming on the back burner. You know it won’t last past tonight, but the scene is so damn near domestic it makes your heart ache.

“What did I feel, earlier?” he asks. “Like, a gust of air in here. Did I dream it?”

You honestly aren’t sure how to answer that. It’s not that he wouldn’t believe you. You just…don’t have the language–and you don’t want to worry him.

“I don’t know, I was half asleep,” you say, so smooth in your white lie, craning your neck back for a kiss. “Sit down. It’s your turn to eat.”

As you bring John his plate of food your attention is drawn to the window, by what you’re not really sure. Nothing is there, you see nothing, you feel nothing present–and yet…you cannot shake the sensation that you are being watched.

Almost as though to assure yourself, you reach out to brush an unruly dark lock of John’s hair behind his ear. He looks up at you with a lazy, almost boyish smile. It squeezes your heart. “Thanks.” You’re pretty sure he means for the food, but maybe…the rest too.

You smile, and you know it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. He seems to sense something is up, but maybe he doesn’t want to wreck the moment yet either. He catches your hand, kissing the back of it, before picking up his fork and tucking in.

Again, you look to the window, and the mean city beyond it, and wonder how many malevolent things out there could mean the two of you ill. You don’t think you have too many enemies of your own yet–but in John’s case?

The number could be infinite.

#john constantine x reader #john constantine x you #constantine #constantine 2005 #constantine vampire fic #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #this chapter took fucking foreeeeever #i hope i finally got the feel right

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captain-yeet · 1 month

Text

The Fine Line

Summary: Requested by @thiccboinbackpack, all is going well until a new recruit into the Volturi tries to stir the pot. All of the coven learns what happens when someone draws even a speck of blood from Felix's mate.

Word count: 800, short and sweet.

Warnings: Violence, explicit language

Author's Note: I love this person for suggesting this to me because YESSSS. I am a 🥰weakling🥰 for some hyper protectiveness.

Executions were a smooth operation for Felix, same shit different day. Some poor sod doomed for damnation by the Volturi get sentenced, he executes them, time to burn the bodies and clean up, repeat.

Now that he had a mate in the castle - a human mate no less - he took extra precautions around the time of sentencing.

"Promise me you will stay right here?"

You'd nodded, humming in agreement. "Don't worry Felix, I'll keep out of trouble."

The trial was mundane. Another vampire thinking that because they're immortal they didn't have to bow down to any rules or laws. The masters give their sentence. A swift twist of the head. Demetri at his side to assist by holding the accused in place, and another successful trial ended.

Everything was in order.

Felix liked order. Needed it.

As he was disposing the body Heidi came careening into the room, all her decor and poise gone. She locked eyes with Felix and he knew that something wasn't right.

"It's Y/N. There was another vampire - I didn't see. I didn't see him slip away from the rest of his coven."

If his heart could still beat it would have frozen. Wasting no time he dashes out of the room, following the trail of Heidi's scent to find his mate. Climbing staircases and numerous hallways the smell of blood made his throat burn.

Her blood.

His mate's precious blood.

Two lower guards had an unknown vampire pinned to the ground, his mate backed into a corner. A single cut on her cheek and a burst lip sent him over the edge; not in hunger, no, but rage.

Taking long strides to where she stood frozen in place, he took her chin gently, making her look at him. "Did he do this to you?"

You nod weekly, eyes wide in shock. Frozen. Like a deer in headlights.

His gentle, soft and caring mate in a state of such fright... It hurt him.

The culprit had to pay.

"Bring him into the throne room."

"Felix, please don't-"

"Darling, it's alright," he soothed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His body felt like a live wire. Electrified. Ready to burst. "Demetrius..."

His friend knew him like the back of his hand. Being around someone for two thousand years will do that to a relationship. By the dark tone in Felix's voice, the blond already knew what was coming. "Just tell me what you need from me, brother "

"Take Y/N to my room. Keep her there until I return."

Felix locked eyes with Demetri. With a curt nod, he scooped up Y/N and whisked her away to safety.

Leaving Felix with the freedom to succumb to his most primal form. A predator whose mate was just harmed by a lesser life form. And like any other predator, the urge to tear apart this pathetic excuse of a vampire's stone flesh piece of piece powered each step he took towards him.

The rogue vampire blanched at the menacing expression Felix wore. "No, wait, stop! I was just hungry, come now. It's just a human-"

The pleas were cut off by a large hand crushing his windpipe. Squeezing so tight a meek squeak was the only sound the vampire could make. Bending down to eye level, pure rage glowed in Felix's eyes. "My human. Mine," he snarled."

The other guards released the rogue vampire. Anyone who knew Felix recognised that glowering stare by a mile off and knew to steer clear of it.

Quicker than the vampire could keep up with, he was spun about and pinned to the ground, arms held behind his head, freeing his throat. Growls filled the room, Felix being driven on by the need to protect. To kill. To destroy. Effortlessly, he tore the arms from the vampire's body, the sound of a cracking boulder echoing in his ears.

Ignoring the vampire's screams, he lifted him off the ground and sunk his teeth into his neck, ripping away stone flesh until the head rolled free of his shoulders. No one hurts my mate and lives.

Y/N was curled up in Felix's bed when he returned. His expression impassive. The rush of the kill coarsing through his long-dead veins. A small half smile lite of her face. "You killed him, didn't you?"

"Of course I did," Felix huffed, joining her side in the blink of an eye. "You're only the most precious thing to me in the world."

Y/N snorted. Her eyes shimmered with love and adoration. Crawling to her knees, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. "My big protector," she sighed against his skin.

A low, content sound rumbled through Felix's chest. Instinctively, his arms wrapped around her body, pulling her close to him. "Always will be."

#twilight saga #volturi #felix volturi #twilight fanfiction #its been a whileeeeeeee

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loousir · 11 months

Text

[Vampire] The only one

Vampire Male x Hunter Male Reader

Abel

Warnings/Notes: Mentions of blood, blood loss, knives, deep wounds, bandaging, nudity. I dunno, nothing crazy but part 2 coming soon. Will spice it up a bit with that one. I only went over this with a "proper" proof reading once so please forgive me

Part 2

If you like my work, please consider reblogging!

An infamous vampire you've been dueling with for the past decade has seemingly gone MIA. You didn't think much of it, assuming someone else ended him first or he had gone into hiding to plot his next move. Some days had gone by and there was no word of him, not even a confirmation he was dead. Not until you heard a weak knock at your door. You stood up from your arm chair and carefully opened the door. There knelt a battered and bruised body. It was covered in so much blood you couldn't even tell if it was a man or a woman.

The head lifted to reveal the slashed face of your rival, an awkward yet desperate expression on his face. "I'm sorry I... I didn't know where else to go..." He said weakly, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. You stared down at him, a shocked and confused expression crossing your face as you realized what was happening. "What the hell..." You whispered. You looked around to make sure no one else was nearby and pulled him in. He may have been your enemy but you knew all about him.

"You understand who I am right?" You asked, staring down at him with furrowed brows. He nodded weakly. "Fully..." He said softly, voice rough with a cough, spitting blood across your floor. As much as your brain had been fighting with yourself, against your better judgment you pulled him into the bathroom. With a grunt, you picked him up and put him in the bath tub, turning on the water and letting it warm slightly before hosing him down. He didn't care you were being rough with him. His eyes remained closed as the blood was washed down the drain.

You were kicking yourself in the ass. You should have just killed him as soon as you opened the door and moved on with your life. But there was something that was keeping you from doing it. Maybe it was your curiosity. Wanting to know why or how he became so infamous. Or why he was a mess on your doorstep. Once he was as clean as you could get him, you ripped his clothes off, knowing they were ruined anyways. "Why did you come to me." You asked, tossing the wet, bloodied clothes into the sink. He didn't respond for a moment as he helped you get the clothes off. "I really... Didn't know where else to go..." He paused and glanced up to you while you were turned away. "I dont have anyone to help me..." He whispered.

You looked at him with a confused expression, starting to rinse him off again. He was fully naked and neither of you really cared in this moment. "I left my Coven." You blinked a couple times, pausing the water for a moment. "You left your Coven?" You asked, trying to understand what he had just said. He nods, still looking up to you. Now that the blood had been washed away, the cut that covered his face became more visible. It trailed from the left of his hairline and across his nose, stopping just at his right cheek bone, nearly missing his eye. It wasn't deep enough to warrant stitches. Thankfully.

"They did one hell of a number on you..." You said softly, continuing to rinse any wounds that were bleeding and carefully washing any blood that had crusted onto his skin. He closed his eyes and let you do whatever to take care of him. "Why?" He looked up to you again before looking away soon after. "It's a lot..." He said softly, sitting up more so you could get to his back and hair. "We've got all the time in the world..." You said, looking at the deeper slashes across his back that would need to be stitched. His hair was matted with blood, mostly at the ends so it didn't take much to wash it out.

He sighed, trying to find where he wants to start. "I've been turned for 60 years already but I hadn't joined a Coven until I was 47. I'm still a fledgling in Vampire terms." You listened to his words as you finished up washing him. "I was so brainwashed and dedicated to the Coven that I let them use me as a scape goat." He paused as you helped him out, sitting him down on the toilet and drying him off. You weren't sure if he could get sick but put a towel over his head to help soak up any leftover water. "Then we met." He paused as you stepped out to grab bandages as things you needed to patch him up.

"And you made me realize that I was just being used. So I did some digging around to find out what they were doing." You started with his legs, bandaging and stitching where it was needed, to which he didn't seem to mind. "And I'm sure you know... Considering you were pitted to hunt me and kill me." He said softly, tone changing a bit. You knew all too well. It was engraved into you. He was accused of committing mass genocide, and to say it was simply killing and drinking their blood was an understatement. You always assumed he had been some sort of all powerful ancient. It makes sense even if part of you didn't believe him. "Holy shit dude." You said, looking up to him. His expression was flicking between emotions. Shifting from anger, to sadness, to regret as he thought about everything that had happened.

You were onto his arms by now, leaving his torso and face til last. "Yeah. I'm sorry... For causing you trouble." He said softly. You shook your head. "Listen. As long as you, yourself, haven't killed anyone... I can't hold anything against you. Putting the facts together... There's no fucking way a towns worth of people could disappear in a night like that... Not without multiple parties." His eyes flicked up to look at you. Your expression held one of anger. You felt like you had been lied to as well. The hunters you were working for had to have known there was no way it was just one vampire doing this. There was definitely something going on. You had your suspicions on it but this confirms it.

He lifted his hand and placed it on your head gently, getting you to look up to him once more. "Thank you." He said softly, a tiny smile crossing his lips. You sighed and shook your head. "I dont really believe in people who are considered your 'allies' trying to kill you." You said, moving to work on his chest which wasn't nearly as bad as his back. His hand falls back to his side as he watches your hands work for a bit. "Just stay here for a while. Stay on the down low. I'll see what I can find out." You said softly, standing up from your kneeling position. "Let's go lay you down so I can do your back." You said softly, helping him stand and taking him into your bedroom. You didn't have a spare room and wasn't going to let him sleep on the couch. "On your stomach. Just be careful." You said, sitting him on the edge before letting him adjust as you went to grab the stuff from the bathroom.

"Are you hungry?" You asked, stepping back in. He was laying like a corpse with his eyes closed, opening them to look at you again for a moment. He looked away with what seemed like shame and didn't answer. "Hello?" You asked, leaning over the side of the bed to get started on his back. "I dont want to say yes..." He said softly. You nodded even though he couldn't see it. "Let me finish your back and I'll get you something." You said softly, phrasing it as if you weren't going to let him feed off of you.

Some time had passed as you carefully stitched his wounds. Neither of you spoke much and before too long, you had finished up and grabbed him some loose shorts to wear for the time so he wasn't buck naked. "Go easy for a while. Don't even think about ripping one of those stitches." You said, with a lighter tone as you left again to pack away the supplies you had brought out as well as dispose of the bloodied rags he had walked in with and clean the trail that had been left from your door. Thankfully no one really questioned when you came home covered in blood or took out soiled clothes as they were fully aware if what you did. It also helps it was the middle of the night.

Once you came back in, you make your way back to the bedroom to see him sitting up and looking at some of the decor that lined the walls. You grabbed a knife off of your night stand and sat on the bed next to him. He looked over to you as you held your palm up, slicing it open in front of him. His eyes widened as he grabbed your wrist. "The hells did you do that for?!" He asked, putting pressure so it didn't bleed much. "You said you were hungry. So eat." He shook his head and grabbed the role of bandages you left behind, trying to patch it up but you pushed it away. "I'll get you something tomorrow. Just for now."

He stared at you with wide eyes, looking from your hand back to your serious expression. "Eat, Abel." You said, using his true name. Abel went by several aliases and had no clue you even knew his real name. With great hesitance, he drank the blood that flowed from your palm. Albeit unintentionally, he hummed at the taste, enjoying the flavour. "Good to know I'm tasty." You teased lightly, a small smile crossing your lips. He looked up to you for a moment before looking away bashfully. "I didn't mean-" "I was teasing." You cut him off and pulled your hand back. "You can feed from me if needed but I'd be more than happy to find something when I go out tomorrow."

Abel looked back to you with a sweet gaze. "Thank you." He said softly. You nodded your head and stood up. "Keep a low profile. I could get in trouble if they knew I was housing you here. You are a wanted fugitive after all. By both human, and vampire terms." Abel smiled again and grabbed your hand, wrapping it up to make sure it didn't bleed anymore than it already had. "Rest well." He bid you as you walked back out.

Part 2

#male monster x reader #monster male #monster x male reader #exophilia #m4m #male reader #x male reader #x monster male #male x male reader

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 7 months

Text

Love Song for a Vampire Pt.37

Pairing(s):Edward Cullen x Wolf!Reader, Jacob Black x Witch!OC

Warnings: none

Words: 3029

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 38 Part 39

Kate's scream could be heard past the tall trees that surrounded the Denali coven's home. Reaching the ears of Tanya and Eleazar who had been out hunting to replenish their stock of blood that would last them the rest of the month. Briefly exchanging a troubled look, they drop their equipment and dash off back to the house where they found Kate on her knees in the living room. She was begging Carmen to wake up. The large bay window of their living room was smashed, glass looking like snow against their hardwood floors. Eleazar collapsed onto his knees beside Kate.

"I walked away only for a second to answer a phone call. . ." Kate tells the other two. Slowly, Carmen was coming to as her pale eyelids flutter with life. "Irina must have taken that opportunity to get out. I'm sorry."

Tanya helps her sister up and maneuvers her to the couch while Carmen's mate helps her rouse to consciousness. "It's not your fault." Hastily thinking, Tanya calculates the amount of time Kate had been away and up to when she came upon Carmen. She didn't want to acknowledge out loud that Irina was probably far away now. Mentally she curses knowing that they were now in deep shit with Irina's escape. In a flash she has her phone in her hands and taps Edward's phone number. They had to get this situation under control as soon as possible.

Supporting his mate, Eleazar has Carmen in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder as her black eyes struggle to focus. "Irina?"

"Sshhh, it's okay." He hushes her, gently rocking the both of them to and fro. "We'll get her back."

Her hand goes up to her head and she lets out a groan. "I can't believe this. . . how humiliating."

Unable to sit still, Kate stands up. "I'm going to start tracking her."

Over her shoulder, Tanya reminds her to keep her phone on her in case she comes across anything. Not bothering to use the front door, Kate hops out of the gaping hole in the window that Irina had made and becomes but a golden flash as her legs run at the speed of light. Finally the dial tone is cut off and Tanya hears Edward's voice in a greeting. No time for that. "We have a problem, Ed. Irina's gotten out."

She could hear his sharp inhale. "When? Kate called me just a few minutes ago."

"It happened within that time frame. Irina overpowered Carmen and knocked her out. Kate went after her right now but I don't think Irina is in the area anymore." If her heart was still functioning like a usual human, it would be frantically beating behind her breastbone. This was not good. There were two places that Irina could be heading toward: the Volturi or Forks. Maybe she planned to take matters into her own hands and find where the wolves were. "Send an alarm to the wolves that they need to be on the lookout for her just in case. I don't know what she's thinking anymore but if she so happens to go into your territory, you might be able to detect her before anyone else and warn the others."

"Got it. . . is Carmen okay?" He needed to get out to warn the wolves, but he was also concerned for Carmen.

From where she'd wandered off, Tanya looks back to the living room where Eleazar had situated Carmen on the couch before he too was zipping out of the window. "She's okay. Might have a headache, but it'll pass as will the guilt."

They say curt goodbyes. Tanya shoves her phone back into her pocket as her loud strides clacking back to the rest of her family. "Alright. You guys can stay here if you want to, but I'm gonna join Kate and see if we can find any tracks to where Irina may have gone."

Carmen is already staggering to her feet and giving her head a shake to clear her brain. "I'm fine. Lets go." Her mate is skeptical but has never been one to protest his wife when she has her mind made up. He simply follows her lead, his hands ready if she was still feeling lightheaded and fainted.

Alone, Tanya takes this moment to let out a distressed sigh and rub her hand against her forehead. They were given one job: to keep a sharp eye on Irina. Disappointment is not the strongest emotion she felt then and there. Shame floods her as she was unable to make Edward proud of her and her coven. Acknowledging that it would take a while for her romantic feelings for Edward to go away, she still didn't like letting down the Denali's one true ally.

She believed in no gods or deities but she found herself praying to whoever was willing to listen to her. Praying that Irina made a stop to Forks first before heading to Italy. Maybe then she could be apprehended and contained. Hopefully with (y/n) among the wolves, she could stop them from mistreating Irina. Even though Irina threatened the peace, she was still her sister and Tanya was loathe to lose another family member.

Free at last.

A massive weight lifted off your shoulders, along with your backpack as you open your bedroom window and toss it inside. Closing it once more, you waste no time in joining Embry in the jog to Sam's. Both of you nothing but smiles as the both of you cheered and laugh now that your academic life would not hinder the more entertaining aspect of the pack. Now you could hang out with the witches and watch them.

The summer sun that streamed through the massive branches of trees was kind and heightened the carefree feeling that you and Embry were drunk off of. Sunlight makes a kaleidoscope of shapes on the ground. They moved with the swaying of leaves and limbs.

But the massive figure of Sam's black wolf emerges from the brush and seemingly scaring off all light. You and Embry halt. You couldn't read his mind yet his pinned back ears and raised hackles told you that something was wrong.

To make the travel go faster, the two of you hoist onto Sam's back and he darts to his home. The backyard still has the two tents sitting silently. Void of occupants. Leaping off his back, Sam quickly shifts back to his human skin and you avert your eyes as he shimmies into his shorts. Questions aren't asked. Not yet. His silence told you enough as he leads you through the kitchen and into the once again crowded living room. This time Edward was at the center along with the three witches and Bella seated on the couch, her nervous gaze flitting around the room until they land on you and relief leaks from her.

"Where's Leah?" Sam curtly asks Seth who shrinks.

"She's not feeling well. . ." An obvious lie. Anyone could tell from the manner which Seth's gaze is focused on his feet. Sam doesn't press it though, there are more important issues to take care of and Leah was at the bottom of his list.

Sam shares a nod with Edward, the vampire taking it as a sign to proceed. "Irina from the Denali coven has escaped."

Ice freezes the blood in your veins and robs you of breath.

"What this means is that she could potentially be either on her way to the Volturi or here." His eyes no longer hold that charming honey-gold, instead they're darkened. When was the last time he'd had any animal blood, you wonder to yourself in concern. You feel your packmates stiffen around you at the potential threat of another vampire trespassing on their territory. "The other members of her coven have already been out to look for her around their home but its clear she's long gone."

Nadege closes her eyes and whispers something in her native creole. Next to her, Evita holds her hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Dieufel listens with dark, sharp eyes.

"Can't Alice use her power to see where Irina is going?" Colin's voice was timid as he spoke up. One of the youngest members of the pack, they rarely spoke up during meetings like this as they were aware of their status as a young pup. But it was a good question posed to Edward.

"She's not here at the moment." replies Edward which causes Bella to shift uncomfortably in her seat and even Embry and Quil glance at one another. Everyone pinned so much on Alice's special ability. She was what could make or break any subsequent plans.

"I can find her." Dieufel's voice breaks through the concern in the room. But Nadege and Evita only look up at him with worry. Evita and Dieufel had been working so hard to make the wards and it showed on their features. Tired eyes and weary creases above their brows. This would drain Dieufel even more.

Reading his mind, Edward gets all the answers faster than if Dieufel were to have verbally said them out loud. "As fast as you can."

The male witch nods. "It will be done." His eyes rove over to Nadege and Bella. His lips press firmly together before nodding toward his cousin. She could read his mind easily, just not in the same way Edward had. From the expression in the depths of his eyes that she knew so well, Nadege was aware of the responsibility that was now placed on not just her, but the novice Bella as well.

You observe Bella's face. Quil had one time said that Bella had a very neutral face, almost void of any emotion. But that was not true. Her expressions were subtle. The biting of her bottom lip. A slight twitch of her brow. You could tell she was nervous. Having only been learning magic for three days, it surely wasn't enough for her to dive right into making wards. You feel for her.

Dieufel leaves the living room and heads to his tent to begin gathering his materials. Time could not be wasted.

Sam sends out Jared along with Embry, Seth, and Brady. Ideally it would have been nice to have another wolf added to their security. There were still no news of Leah and Sam still was wary of welcoming Jacob back so soon. Though the imprinting hormones flooding through Jacob could possibly now be utilized as a good thing. The innate instinct to protect his imprintee would make him all too vigilant and ready to defend. Quietly while plans are being devised, you bring this up to Sam, pulling him away from the main room.

He regards your words but there's a storm of conflict behind his dark eyes. Edward keeps his attention partly on you and Sam as he speaks with Evita. Nadege has to shoo them out of the center of the room so that she could start making a fourth ward. Bella lingers behind her hesitantly, trying to pretend Edward's presence didn't bother her. Colin and Quil brush past them as their part of the close guard along with Paul. Those who would keep close in case Irina slipped through. "Theoretically, it's a good idea. But. . . you know how unpredictable imprinting can make you in the early weeks."

You nod. "I know. But we could really use everyone we have."

Exhausted, Sam rubs the back of his neck while he ponders. "Okay. Okay. I'll give him a call. I'll try Leah again too."

His small brick of a phone is clutched tightly in his hands already. He'd broken several others, this one lasting him the longest still possessed a cracked screen and a missing button. He goes down a small hallway where you knew his shared bedroom with Emily was. You catch her poking her head out as Sam whispers something to her. They close the door behind them, leaving everyone else to get to their own individual work.

Emily must be scared at this new threat to her and Sam's life. Now she was the lone, normal human among everyone. You'd caught her once listening in on Bella's lessons. She seemed a little embarrassed that she'd been caught.

"You okay?" Edward spooks you from the abruptness of his voice. His hand was reaching toward you as if he'd been about to place a hand on your arm. It hangs in the air between the two of you. You relax and move your body so that his hand firmly presses against your shoulder. Tentatively you touch his wrist. His lips twitch into a shy smile. Were you moving too fast? You didn't know if wrist touching was alright or too. . . intimate.

"Yeah. I'm okay. Sam is going to call Jacob and ask him to come. We could really use the extra help."

"Mr. Cullen?"

Dieufel stands in the doorway of the kitchen, hesitant to interrupt both of you.

Curious, Edward only takes a second to read his mind and understand what he was going to ask of him. "Of course I'll help. Just tell me what to do." He turns back to you, his smile returned as he basks in your touch for a moment more before peeling himself away. Dieufel doesn't move though as his gaze turns to you and Evita.

"Why don't the two of you come along with us. Evita, you need to work on your tracking spells right?" Dieufel reminds her. "This will be good practice for you." He doesn't wait for either of you to say anything as he walks back to his tent where most of his personal supplies are being kept. Off in the distance you could hear your packmates moving through the trees to sniff out any kind of vampire scent that didn't belong to the Cullens.

The sound their pounding paws made could be likened to thunder. That wolf part of you is pulled toward them, wanting to join the hunt. But your alpha told you to stay put, keep watch here. After all, Emily was still inside the house. Unable to protect herself. She needed whatever protection was left to offer her.

On the wooden picnic table that had white painting chipping off in flakes were the tools of Dieufel's trade. A shallow bowl made out of a purple crystal (possibly amethyst). Around the lip of it are etchings, similar to those you've seen already while hanging around Evita. With his back turned to them, Dieufel takes a vial from around his throat and unplugs the stopper. You wonder what it is but he gives no name to whatever silver liquid he pours into the gemstone vessel. Around it are four stumpy little candles supported by small holders. One brown, one red, one blue and one white.

"The time of day isn't ideal." Dieufel admits and glances up at the sky. "But we'll have to make do."

He beckons everyone closer, particularly Evita and Edward so that they could be of more use. Moving Edward so that he was now in front of the bowl, Dieufel explains that only Edward will be able to see the location of where Irina might be since he knows what she looks like and has been around her in the past few days. Her impression will be fresh upon him.

"Evita, my grimoire." It was on the edge she was closest to, a great leather bound book. Weather worn and near bursting. Evita lifts it up and before she could hand it to him, Dieufel flicks his wrist and the book opens in her hands. She suppresses a surprised yelp, watching as the pages fan open to the correct one that had the tracking spell. He hisses out another word that you don't quite catch but the stubby candles suddenly burst to life with little beacons of flames. Edward's eyes are wide as he has a front row seat.

Their magic was always amazing to witness.

"And what do we do next?" He probably knows this spell from memory, but he's also training Evita too.

She tries at first to recall it from memory, but in a second her eyes flick down to the yellow page. "Mugwort. Sprinkle mugwort on the surface." Already on it, Dieufel's dark hand pops open a plastic container with what looked like moss. You'd heard about the herb before, commonly used even on the reservation. Especially among the elders. He grabs a fistful and skillfully sprinkles it producing ripples on the liquid's surface. Each ripple starts to bleed a cosmic swirl of blue and purple as Dieufel murmurs something under his breath. "Next we'll need. . ." Evita looks to Edward "a piece of your hair."

Edward's brows quizzically raise but he's not one to ask questions of a witch and easily lifts his hand to his head, plucking a single strand. Offering it to Dieufel between pinched forefinger and thumb.

"Conjure up her image the best you can. Every facial detail, make it crystal clear in your mind. Focus. Don't lose it." He instructs once he has Edward's hair. Rubbing it between his fingers. "Ankhom tenebris vinculum"

Closing his eyes, you focus on Edward's face. Every twitch and movement behind his eyelids.

His hair is gently placed into the cosmic waters, stilling them and producing a soft, shimmering light. "If you have her in sight, slowly open your eyes and look into the bowl." Carefully with his hand on the nape of Edward's neck, Dieufel moves him so that his face is leaning directly over the surface.

Fluttering his eyelids lazily open, Edward takes a sharp inhale once they're fully open. "Wow. . ."

You try to see around them, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever it was Edward was seeing. All you could make out was light dancing around the rim of the bowl. The runes glowing as Edward's eyes widen even more.

Apparently it doesn't take too long before Edward's found where Irina is for he hisses and nearly flings himself away from the picnic table with wild eyes. "Jacob. She's heading towards Jacob's."

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#reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #twilight fandom #twilight fanfiction #the twilight saga #twilight saga #twilight #edward cullen x you #edward cullen x reader #edward cullen fanfiction #edward cullen fanfic #edward cullen

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pxrplebxtterfly · 1 year

Text

Feeling Warmer? (Sam)

18+

Pairing: Sam Winchester x fem reader

Warnings: blood, nudity, oral sex, penetrative sex, nothing too dark bc this is my first fic ever.

Summary: Sam shows up at your door freezing and bleeding.

Word count: 3k

Notes: This is my first fic!! I’ve never written anything like this before so if anyone has any advice, please let me know! Also, this fic is in first person but does not use any particular name for the reader. Also, this same fic but for Dean, will be posted on my account. Thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoy! (all gifs belong to me)

❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀

I've known him for two years now. Within these two years, I’ve found myself attracted to him more than I’d like to be; especially because he’s a friend. But there’s something about his character that stirs something in me.

As a self proclaimed “good” witch, I focus my craft on helping others. That's how I met Sam and his brother Dean.

Both hunters, they kill monsters like me; except I'm not a monster. I met him when he came to town on a case, hunting another witch. Locals talked to them about me and they confronted me at my home. Before killing me, the other witch appeared, to watch them kill me and then to kill them.

Either way, before they could hurt me too badly, I was able to recite a spell and trigger the hex bag the other witch stood under. She sparked into flames and burnt to ash in my doorway.

Realizing I had helped them, they decided to hear me out and let me explain myself. I told them how I was raised by a coven, that was devoted to nature and the ways it can be harnessed to do good.

They let me live, noting I was still mortal. Since then I've been helping them occasionally, when they need it.

I hadn't heard from them in a while until one of them, the one I've always liked more, shows up at my door.

“Oh my god, are you okay? What happened?” I ask.

Sam's standing on my doorstep, the cold, dim light from the porch lamp creating deep shadows over his tall form. Snow is piling up outside, coating my lawn and the fields around my house.

He’s covered in snow, soaking wet, and almost frozen, making him shiver intensely. There’s dried blood from small cuts on his face.

“Demon” he pants.

Bruises are starting to form on his eye and jaw. I grab his wrist to pull him inside and feel that his skin is like ice.

“Jesus, come in, I’ll start a bath for you, you’re freezing” I say, feeling his large hands between my own. I walk to the bathroom and kneel next to the bathtub. I turn on the hot water and the water starts to fill the basin.

“What happened?” I ask.

“I was a quarter way to the city and my car ran out of gas. I knew it was something else when the gas meter was still on half a tank. A demon pulled me out of the car and roughed me up a bit but I've got the knife so I was able to… get away” he hesitates and adjusts his words appropriately but I know what he means. “Out here, you’re the closest to where I was” he explains, teeth chattering and pain in his eyes.

“How long did it take you to get here?”

“Forty-five minutes maybe” he says, hugging himself and still shivering.

“Where’s Dean? I didn’t know the both of you were in town,” I ask, getting up from my knees to face him.

“He’s with Bobby in Tulsa working on a case. I was on my way down there, and was hoping to make it by morning.”

“Why weren’t you with them?”

“Since when did you become so inquisitive?”

I roll my eyes and say “Nevermind, I was just wondering”

Steam begins to rise off the water's surface and that’s when I say, “Okay, cmon get this stuff off.”

He begins to pull off his jacket but has trouble with his cold, stiff muscles and frozen clothes so I reach over to help. I pry his jacket off and then lift his shirt. He shivers when I peel his shirt off his back.

I can't help but admire his tanned, muscular torso, chest, and arms. I sometimes forget just how enjoyable his body is to look at.

“This is so pathetic” he says, and looks so shy about needing help.

“No it’s not, your clothes are frozen to your skin, just let me help you” I say.

Without thought, I sit on the edge of the bathtub and begin to unbuckle his belt. I look up at him and shrink when I see the way he’s looking at me. A look of shock and desperation is painted on his face.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think-” I apologize and remove my hands from his hips.

He pauses, collecting his thoughts. I stand up, the most embarrassed I've ever been, and wait for him to move so I can leave.

Instead, he says, “It’s okay” softly and cautiously, looking at me. He pulls his belt off timidly and tosses it on the floor next to me. He continues undressing, unbuttoning his pants. I look away from him and let him peel his jeans down and off his legs.

He stands upright, just in his underwear now, and looks down at me with coyness. Trying hard not to glance down I say, “I don’t want to intrude”

“It’s alright” he nods and slides his boxers off. I don't look, but hear them hit the tile floor.

I cannot begin to process the fact he’s bare in front of me. I'm so flustered at his lack of privacy that I can't move my feet. So instead, he takes a step past me to get into the bath.

I turn around and watch, hypnotized, as he lowers himself in, big hands, clutching the sides of the tub. I hold my breath watching his muscles work to ease him in.

“Nice and warm,” he says and looks at me.

He’s so big he barely fits in the tub; thighs pressed against the sides, arms draped over the edge.

Trying to distract myself from his naked glory, I turn the faucet off.

“Okay, um, I’m just gonna go read a book or something” I say, trying to brush off the awkward sexual tension.

There is no friendly explanation for the occurrence that has just happened between us, and I need a moment to myself, to freak out alone.

“Actually, will you stay?” he asks, puppy eyes and pretty eyelashes blinking at me.

“You want me to stay?” I can't understand what’s happening between us right now.

“Yeah, I… I don’t want to be alone right now” he almost begs.

“Oh-okay” I nod and say gently.

I notice the washcloth on the counter so I grab it, and sit next to the bath. The side of the tub cuts off part of my view of him so I'm able to relax a little bit more.

The swarming heat in my body, due to him, makes me confident enough to ask him something I'd never ask anyone else.

“Do you want me to?” I gesture at his cuts on his face with the washcloth.

“Sure,” he says and sits up.

I soak the washcloth in the water and then bring it up, dripping wet, to his face. I tenderly pat at one of the wounds, dabbing at the blood. I hold his face gently with my other hand to steady my movements. He seethes slightly under my touch and the heat and longing in me increases. His eyes are shut in uncomfortability.

When I finish cleaning up the cuts on his face, I dip the rag back into the water and then bring it to his shoulder. I rub his shoulder with the cloth and then squeeze it so the hot water can run down his back. As I rub him, I watch his skin and the way the water trickles over him.

“Thank you” he says, his head hung, hair floppy, and the back of his neck on full display. There's something so tantalizing about it.

“Of course, you looked like you had hypothermia,” I say.

“Nah, I’ll be okay” he looks over his shoulder at me, as if to say that he’s okay because of me.

I bite my lip in an attempt not to smile but it doesn’t work and I blush. I push myself to my knees and loom over him, trying to get a better angle for my arms. I don't look at what I want to look at, I stay focused on the rag. Even though my core is aching, I'm putting his comfort first.

I dip the cloth back into the water and this time bring it up to his chest. I run it over his collarbones and feel his heart beating fast. We stare at each other while I drag the washcloth over his tattoo and down his sternum.

He looks up at me, so nervous, yet so bewitched.

Once again I bring my hand back down into the water but this time, my fingers brush something hard. I look down to see what I touched and see his erection.

“Oh, I didn't mean to-“ I stutter and look at him. He's looking right back at me with intense shame.

“I’m sorry,” he pants, “You’re just touching me so gently and you’re being so kind, I- I can’t help but-“

I shake my head, an apologetic look on my face and say, “Oh god, really it’s fine! I’m the one who should apologize, it’s my fault, I should have known, it wasn’t my intention”

He looks away, “I should leave,” he starts to say, but I can hear in his voice it’s only because he’s embarrassed.

“And go where? You don’t have a car, outside’s a blizzard by now, and I'm not driving you into town at this hour, no place will be open" I say, trying not to sound desperate.

While I completely am, if he’s not okay with this, then neither am I. However, that doesn’t mean I don't want to try to seize the opportunity.

“You’re right but this is really embarrassing and I don't want to make you uncomfortable” he says, almost restless.

“You’re not,” I say, “I- I’m willing to- I just want to take care of you. Will you let me help?”

This is the moment. The moment I've been waiting for since I met him.

He hesitates, “What do you mean by help?” he asks and looks so infatuated.

“I mean this” I say and go in slowly to kiss him. After I kiss him he stares at my lips for a second, but then kisses me back deeply. He brings his wet hand up to my face, tangling my hair. He caresses my face with his other hand as I timidly slide my tongue into his mouth. Our kissing is passionate and aches with years of unspoken lust.

I place my hands on his shoulders to steady myself, and then run them up his neck to hold his face and then back down again.

I decide to get bold, so I submerge my hand in the water and wrap it around him.

He moans into me, surprised by my boldness. He whispers out “Fuck” as we part and searches my eyes, as if trying to figure out if I’m insane or not. He leans back letting me continue. I begin to pump and he closes his eyes in pleasure.

His chest is heaving and he’s biting down on his fist to try and keep himself at bay.

“God,” he hisses, “you’re so good at that”

His hips start to raise and thrust into my fist and that’s when I decide he’s done bathing.

My arms and knees are sore and I need to sit down on something comfortable. I let go of his cock and he groans.

“Can we go to the living room?” I ask, standing up.

He doesn’t answer, just scrambles to drain the tub and get out.

He follows me down the hallway, damp feet padding behind me. When we get to the living room, the fire in the fireplace is burning bright and I sit on the couch in front of it.

He has the towel wrapped low around his waist, hardly covering anything.

Before I'm even able to invite him to sit next to me, he’s kneeling in front of me, face hovering in front of my knees.

“What are you doing?” I giggle.

“I just want to look at you” he breathes out, unable to hold back a grin.

“Okay” I whisper and smile.

He peppers kisses on my knees and my thighs, slowly working his way to my core. Before he goes too far he asks, “Can I?” referring to the pajama shorts I'm wearing and I nod.

He reaches up and tugs my shorts off leaving me in just my panties.

He spreads my legs apart and says, “Fuck, you’re so wet,” noticing the damp spot on my underwear.

He brings the knuckle of his finger to my cunt and brushes the wet patch. I whimper, wanting him to touch me more. He looks up at me and scoffs through a smile. He doesn’t break eye contact as he begins to kiss and suck all over the insides of my thighs.

Naturally, my legs try to close but he keeps me spread with his huge hands, so that he can tease me a bit.

He pulls back and slips his hands in the band of my panties and pulls them off me.

“Fuuuck, look at you” he drawls when he’s eye level with my throbbing pussy. “Can I taste you?”

I nod enthusiastically, and watch as he kisses my clit. I feel his finger run through my entrance collecting my arousal. He brings his finger to my clit and rubs it gently.

I moan at his touch, and the way he cares to make sure I’m wet all over. Then he wraps his arms around my legs, enabling him to stay nuzzled close to me.

He slides his tongue over my hole. I lean back into the couch. He begins to make out with my cunt and I almost faint from how sexy he is and how good he’s making me feel.

“Jesus” I stutter. His mouth feels so nice on me that I sit back up and hold his head while his nose is burying into my clit. I squeal as he tongue-fucks me and grind up into his face. I run my hands through his hair pulling at it and he moans into me.

I can’t help but groan from the waves of heat I’m experiencing. I’m almost at my climax but I want this to be drawn out as long as it can, so I decide to stop him.

I push at his head and he looks up at me, the lower half of his face shiny.

“God,” I whisper and shake my head slightly, in disbelief at his perfection.

“What?” he asks.

“You’re just so…” I can’t finish my thought with my head swimming the way it is.

He laughs at me but stretches up to kiss me. I taste myself on him and it only makes me feel hotter. I pull his body flush against mine and can feel his dick through the towel on my lower stomach. Evidently he feels it too and begins to rut against me.

He pulls the towel off and now his cock is poking at the hem of my shirt. I once again wrap my palm around him and massage his pre-cum into his dick. I rub my thumb underneath the head of his cock and he moans.

“Oh, do you like that?” I ask sultrily.

“Fuck yeah I do” he replies against my neck. His hands are digging into the cushions of the couch beside my legs.

I take my other hand and alternate between fondling his balls and pumping along with my right hand.

“You’re so good to me” he says breathlessly, his head buried into my shoulder. He keeps trying to kiss my shoulder and collarbone but fails due to the overwhelming pleasure.

“I know baby” I say into his ear and kiss it.

He’s moaning and thrusting into my hands, but pulls away so he can look at me. I become even more wet as I watch him get off in my hands.

“Hold on,” I say and slow my movements.

He grunts as I slow down and says, “You’re killing me”

It’s because I’ve edged him twice now and I chuckle.

“I want you to fuck me”

“I can do that” he nods, drunk off his denial.

“Oh good” I reply and kiss him.

I reach over to the little end table next to the couch and pull out a condom.

He raises an eyebrow at me, intrigued that I keep them close. I hand it to him and let him put it on while I lay back on the couch.

Condom on, he climbs on top of me kissing my stomach up to my breasts, neck, and then mouth. He rubs my clit with one hand and I rock my hips into his palm.

He’s breathing fast when he pulls away and looks down at my entrance. He swipes his dick through my folds and prods at my weeping hole.

“Please” I whine, begging him to fill me.

He pushes into me and instantly seethes and moans when my tightness tries to push him out.

“Jesus” he stutters as he begins to fuck me.

I’m whimpering under him, completely helpless to his massive frame. He’s looking into my eyes while I run my hands up into his hair and hold his body against mine. I can’t stop muttering curse words and babbling nonsense as he hits that deep spot inside of me.

He’s panting and groaning in my ear and I feel myself clenching around him, and building up to my climax.

I reach my hand in between our bodies to help further myself along, when he whispers “I’m so close”

Instantly I’m reaching the edge and so is he. In a tremendous peak, we both come. He continues to fuck into me while we ride our orgasms. I think I’ve gone both blind and deaf with the surge of pleasure I felt.

As we come down from our highs, he slows his thrusts and kisses me over and over, everywhere on my face. He eventually pulls out and we both sigh, at the feeling.

He pulls the condom off and flings it in the wastebasket under the end table.

Then, he lays next to me on the couch and holds me against him. He kisses my forehead again and again while he rubs my arm gently. I bury into his side and drape my arm over his torso.

“Feeling warmer?” I tease.

“Absolutely,” he laughs.

#supernatural #sam winchester #sam winchester smut #smut

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rebelliousstories · 3 months

Text

Lost To The Sea

Relationship: Sean Renard x Reader, Nick Burkhardt x Reader(Platonic)

Fandom: Grimm

Request: No

Warnings: Brief Strong Language, Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 2,633

Main Masterlist: Here

Grimm Masterlist: Here

Part 1: Tidal Wave // Part 2: Hearts of Sea Stone

Summary: It all comes to an end: Blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb.

“Now he is certainly sailing above, he on whom my wishes hang, and in whose hand I should like to lay my life's happiness. I will dare everything to win him and an immortal soul.”

Nick shot Hank a confused look as their captain raced out of the office. They had never seen him look in such a panic before.

“That does not look like a phone call I want to be on right now.” Hank joked, but Nick could just feel something was wrong.

“Yeah. No doubt.” He responded, his mind halfway elsewhere. Feeling something hit his shoulder, Burkhardt turned around and saw his partner looking at him with a weird expression.

“You okay man?” Griffin questioned, feeling the laughter leave his body. Nick pursed his lips and looked around to make sure they would not be over heard.

“Come with me.” He led his partner into the captain’s office and shut the doors behind him. Turning the shades down, Burkhardt let out a deep long sigh and placed his hands on his hips.

“Look, I found a wesen that used to know the captain. She makes these, crystals, in her tears. I don’t think she’s the one committing the murders, but she is definitely connected somehow.” He explained, watching as Henry took in this information.

“Okay. So what does that have to do with the captain now?” Henry inquired.

“I’ve got a feeling that this phone call was related to her.” Nick conceded. His gut was going off, and he did not like it.

Renard pulled up to the outside of the club that he had been at earlier that day. Trying the door, he found that it’s was unlocked. Already on high alert and anxious to see what he would find, he drew his weapon and marched back into the building. Clearing the doorway, he could see the light still on in her dressing room. Sean cleared the hallway, and quickly opened the door.

Inside, it caused him to drop his gun in shock. The inside of her dressing room was a mess. Clear evidence of a struggle, but the basin of water that had been knocked over caught his attention quickly. He recognized that this is what she had been collecting the crystals in while she was on land. Water was spilled all over the place, and several crystals were strewn about the room. The bowl was shattered, and he suspected that a good chunk of crystals were taken.

There was no way to call this in without explaining everything to his precinct. Sean felt conflicted. He did not even know where the mystery man had taken his lover. Pacing the room, he tried to look at this scene like a detective, like a police captain, but could only see it as a concerned partner. He realized he needed help, so Renard grabbed the phone out of his coat pocket, and kept his gun out just in case. Turning it on with his left hand, he raised it to the corresponding ear.

“Nick,” he started, “I’m sending you an address. I need some help.”

“Well, she put up a hell of a fight. That’s for sure.” Detective Burkhardt commented, looking the scene over with his partner and captain beside him.

“I can’t see anything past that. She was definitely talking to a male voice who was in the room with her. I had only left her alone for thirty minutes or so. How could he have gotten to her so fast and without me noticing?” Sean lamented, seating himself on one of her stools set up throughout the room. His toned was stressed to say the least, yet no one commented on it.

“Did you recognize the voice?” Hank questioned, but Renard shook his head.

“i don’t think she knew who it was either. Her tone didn’t sound-” he cut himself off with a sigh, “she didn’t sound like she knew him but I could hear the panic in her voice. She was so scared and was waiting for me to save her. I was just down the road.” He began again, and could not get the sound out of his ears.

“Is there anything about Tödlicheslied that would lend themselves to being kidnapped?” Nick asked, this time as a Grimm.

“Other than the obvious, not that I know of. They’re a secretive people. Only allowed to mate with other water wesen or risk ostrichization, that sort of thing. They don’t allow outsiders to learn about their species.” Sean explained, shaking his head as to how this could have happened.

“Only allowed to be with other water wesen? Could we be looking at a male naiad? You said that he knew who was on the phone, and who she was with last night. Is it possible that we’re looking for a naiad that wants to bring her back into the fold?” Nick offered. He watched his captain think about it for a moment, and all of the sudden, it was like a light bulb went off in his head.

“Tödlicheslied especially, but naiads as a whole have a tradition. A mating tradition during the full moon. They implement blood magic to bind them together. To separate or kill one, would harm or kill the other. If he’s a naiad looking to bring her back to their world, that could be what he’s planning.” Sean explained.

“Let me guess, the full moon is tonight?” Nick asked. Renard nodded.

“Looks like it’s gonna be a long night for us.” Henry replied, not feeling good about the night ahead.

“You don’t need to do this, you know? I can give you money if that’s what you want. You didn’t have to take me.” She begged as her hands were bound behind her to the chair she was placed in. The young man who was tying her up only chuckled as she struggled.

“I can’t take that chance Sirena. Besides,” he faced her once more, “I don’t want your money. I want you.” The crazed look in his eyes sent the woman shivering.

“What- w-what do you mean you want me?” Her question made the man stare at her.

“You left the clan. Maybe your family turned their backs on you, but I haven’t. And ever since learning how alike we are, I have realized that we were meant to be. Even if you think you like that zauberbiest.” He growled that last sentence, but it made her stomach drop.

“Have you been stalking me?” Yelled the frightened woman. Bad went to worst.

“Never mind that. And forget about him. After tonight, nothing else will matter.” He began to walk away, but stopped to hang up something shiny. A gorgeous multifaceted deep sea blue gown hung from a hanger on a metal pole. If she focused hard enough, she could hear the sound of water from wherever they were.

“What’s happening tonight?” A fearful question was asked. The man simply smiled, and stroked his fingers over the gown, seemingly in a daze. But when he turned to face her, she saw that he was completely present and in the moment.

“Our wedding, of course.” And with that, the man turned and left the Tödlicheslied, tied up, struggling, and afraid.

Hours had passed, and the members of the police force of Portland were no closer to finding the missing woman than when they started. They were all sat at their desks, chugging coffee, and stressing themselves to the max. There was only thirty minutes to nightfall, and the sun casted a beautiful glow inside the precinct.

“This just doesn’t make any sense. She didn’t have any enemies. We sorted through the fan mail she received, none of it was even close to this level of creepy. She’s just not here.” Nick struggled to find the words to respond to Hank’s observation. The Grimm cast his eyes towards his captain’s office to see the blinds still closed. He had no doubt that the man was sitting inside and beating himself up for something bad happening to her.

Nick suddenly stood up and walked into the office that was shut tight to the outside world. Inside, he found Sean sitting at his desk, a worried expression and fiddling with the locket that was placed back around his neck.

“You first found her on the Willamette, right?” He questioned, hearing Hank follow in behind him. Renard was pulled from his thoughts by the voice.

“That’s right.” He answered, sitting up to rest his elbows on the desk instead. His fingers still messed with the locket.

“Do you remember exactly where you first found her? If this guy knows that you mean something to her, he could know her from before she left the water.” Nick finished. Sean did not have to think long before remembering exactly where he first saw her.

“Of course I do.” He responded.

“Well, let’s go for a drive.” Nick ushered the other two men out of the office and into the detective’s car. The group of men made their way down town right as night fell, and each was immediately on edge as they watched the moon brighten with each passing second. Driving along the river, Sean looked out towards the water and surrounding area,just waiting to see something familiar.

“Stop the car.” Said he, suddenly. Griffin made the car jolt with how quickly he threw on the breaks, and let the captain race out to look around while he put the car in park. The two detectives got out and watched the man pace around with an affirmative look on his face.

“This is where I first met her. She had washed up on shore and, this is where I gave her my coat once she fully transformed into a more human like form.” Sean retraced his steps like he was reliving memories long since past.

“So, if he knows who you are, then he’d want to do this somewhere special. We need to find out if these building are inhabited.” Nick commented, however his plans were cut short by the sound of arguing and a woman’s scream.

It was her scream. In an instant, Sean had drawn his firearm and began to move towards the direction of the scream. His two detectives had followed after him shortly, also with their firearm’s drawn and down at their sides. They ran in a triangle formation and were prepared for the worst when they found out who that was screaming.

Rounding a corner, they were met with nothing. However, the slightest noise for behind them caused three guns and three flashlights to be pointed to a man and a woman on the edge near the river. That was definitely her, Sean’s lover. But the men still had no clue who the man was. He had grasped her tightly in front of his chest, and held a blade to her throat.

“Don’t come any closer!” The man yelled, but the police chief moved swiftly towards them.

“Put the woman down, and get on your knees. Hands behind your head.” Sean growled, watching the lady try and escape his grasp.

“You don’t understand. We’re going to be together forever. She shouldn’t be with you!” He screamed at the man, and he stopped.

“And why is that?” Renard never once lowered his gun.

“You’re a zauberbiest. You just manipulate everyone else to do your bidding and yet reap all the rewards. You don’t know a thing about us! Our people, our culture, our way of life.” He did not stop his speech.

“You know nothing and yet you wanna take her away from her people? I was there for her. Twenty-four lunar cycles she wailed for you. And I thought that if she had a friend, she could get over the stupid surface life she had. But she didn’t.” As if the words coming out of his mouth suddenly lit a spark underneath her, the Tödlicheslied’s eyes went wide, and she spoke for the first time.

“Ardalion? That’s you?” Her bafflement was clear in her voice as she stopped struggling for a moment. He smiled and looked proud of himself.

“Finally, you stop pretending not to know my name or who I am. Why don’t you tell your boyfriend how we met.” Ardalion’s voice growled on the word ‘boyfriend’ and he did not hide the look of disdain either. She struggled mentally for a moment before responding.

“You kept leaving me presents at my stage door. You-you followed me into my dressing room one evening to give me a bouquet of water lily’s.” She cried, starting to physically struggle once more. The man’s smile dropped.

“No. No, that’s not right at all. I came to visit you when your family kept you locked away. I was always to afraid to open the door and speak. But you and I were there, together, in that moment.” He lamented as she clearly did not remember the same instance that he did.

“Ardalion, let her go.” Nick spoke up, all the sudden. Said man was starting to chuckle, but it died in his throat as he saw the deep dark look on the man’s face.

“A Grimm.” Ardalion breathed out shakily. With a Grimm to his right, detective to his left, and a police captain that happened to be the woman’s boyfriend in front of him, the naiad felt he had no other option left. He tossed the bound woman into the water and followed her in. What he did not expect to happen was Sean tossing aside his gun and phone, and diving in after the two.

Nick and Hank kept their guns trained on the water and waited. Even with surrounding street lights and the moon, their visibility was not the best. Renard reached his lover who had fully transformed into her Tödlicheslieden form now that she was submerged in water, and hauled her away from the man. Leaving him alone for the time, Sean focused on getting her out of the water where he could tend to her bindings.

Coughing and sputtering, the couple landed on the shore line, where the two detectives had jumped in to help immediately. There was rummaging around on behalf of Sean as he dug into his coat. He procured a small glass vial, and dribbled the contents into his lover’s mouth. Her coughing slowed as her skin cleared from glorious and luminescent scales, to a normal flushed pink human tone. As her organs rearranged themselves, no one was watching the water. Renard was grabbed from behind and nearly rejoined the river below with Ardalion again had it not been for Hank grabbing his captain at the last second.

Hauling them both back up, Hank separated the two and allowed Nick to step in to work on the young man. Ardalion swung blindly at the Grimm, which he was able to doge with ease. Burkhardt wrapped around the back of him and dropped him to the ground, reached for his handcuffs, and grabbed his phone. The sound of Nick calling it in was white noise to Sean as he calmed down his lover.

“It’s okay. I’m here. Calm, and slow breathes. You’re alright.” She tried to follow his breathing, and ran her hands up and down his arms to try and ground herself. Now that she was free, and away, her brain could calm and right itself.

“Sean? You’re here.” She cried, throwing herself into her lover’s arms. They wrapped around her just as tightly as she did him.

“I’ll always come back for you.” He replied. Petting her soaking wet hair, Sean sent a grateful look towards his detectives, and just allowed himself to relish in his lover being safe and sound in his arms. Unharmed, and truly there.

#rebelliousstories #writing #grimm imagine #sean renard imagine #sean renard #sean renard x reader #nick burkhardt x reader #nick burkhardt imagine #nick burkhardt #hank griffin #grimm

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ceyx-of-the-shore · 4 months

Text

When The Music Stops

PAIRING: Emile-A239 x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You were the only one who Emile would listen to in times like these. You didn't know he valued you as much as you did him.

WARNINGS: Angst in the beginning, mentions of blood, mentions of injury/fighting, eventual fluff, growing feelings, Emile is heavily sarcastic and comes off as blunt, no set timeline - just a drabble, etc.

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

You rush into the room, the door sliding quickly to the side beside you as a rush of chilled air slaps your face. The facilities on Reach were always cold—freezing, actually. Like a damn meat locker. The Medical branch more so than anywhere else, but this time you could deal with it.

At the very least, it could steady out your heated annoyance.

“Emile!” You call, locking instantly onto the heavily armored man standing in his Mark V[B] at the center of the small room, hands clenched so hard you hear his gloves squeal as his knuckles crack inside of them. But the Spartan had already turned his helmeted face to you long before you opened that door, hearing your footsteps down the hall, the pattern of which he’d memorized months ago. That carved skeleton jeers in the overhead light, every little cut a funeral service for Covenant troops scored like paint across a canvas.

To you, it was a far too familiar sight, and you liked it far more when it was out of your Ward.

“Jesus,” you comment, slapping the pad on the wall to make the door shut behind you as you walk through with a serious face, waving your hands in anger. “What the hell happened out there?! I have half of the staff running around trying to gather enough supplies to stabilize a damn skull fracture, Emile!”

There’s blood on the ground of the examination room—your examination room. But it wasn’t Emile’s. It drips from his fingers and his MJOLNIR like a red river of dark deeds. The Spartan doesn’t even seem to mind it, and, you know, he doesn’t. If you had to guess, you would say he enjoyed it.

“Nothing,” that monotone voice slowly drips out, the SPARTAN-III nonchalantly shaking out his left wrist and fixing his stance, even though that casual rigidity remains. Animalistic calm. “Just cleaned up a few loose ends, Doc.”

“There are three ODSTs that went in for combat training today and are spending the night in here because of you,” you hiss, stalking up to the gigantic man and pointing a finger into his chest plate. He has to physically look down at you at this angle, and you think you’ll never get used to his unnatural height—both in and out of the MJOLNIR. “Carter warned you about another fight with non-Spartans, Emile—this can’t keep happening! I can’t keep trying to cover for you when you lose your temper!”

For once you’re shocked that the man in front of you lets you spew your words; it wasn’t often the hothead had nothing to say for himself, certainly about his own actions when his gung-ho attitude came out.

Your glare softens, tirade stalled for but a moment as the minutes lengthen after your scolding.

A silence falls, your own eyes blinking down at you from the reflection of the scarred visor, those etched marks that make up the image of death unwavering. Not a sliver of the Spartan’s visage is to be seen—it rarely is. Emile breathed slightly heavily, and his arms shook with leftover anger from not half-an-hour earlier when he’d sent his fist into those ODSTs. You can hear the scrape of his esophagus as clear as day, and if you strain your ears harder, you can image his fire-like pulse as well.

Where a deep disappointment had bred, now only concern takes its place.

You blink, raising a hand from your side hesitantly; pausing.

“Emile?” At the small touch on his elbow, the Spartan tenses, but you easily speak in a soft tone, dipping your voice. You can’t recall seeing Emile so…statue-still. “Hey,” you utter, brows creasing as the Spartan’s visor refuses to move an inch from staring you down. As if trying to calm himself by only your presence alone. “Hey, Big Guy. Okay, let’s…let’s take a breath, alright?”

You steady your own, but you know the rapid beat of your heart gives you away.

Emile grunts, turning his head from you to glare at the side wall; you know his jaw is clenched tight under his helmet. But he does as you ask, and you feel his chest bump your form as he inhales deeply.

It was a good thing you found him—of all the staff here, you seemed to be the only one he actually listened to. Even now, it brings a small feeling of pride with it, and you know it shouldn't.

It’s a quiet moment that once more settles, and you feel his tension seep out while you still hold onto his elbow, occasionally caressing your thumb up and down. You know the man best; you’re prideful because you’re the only medic on Reach equipped to handle his snark and aggression—the best at it. And the simple fact is that Emile only comes to you anyway.

“Good,” you nod softly. Taking a step back, you slowly tilt your head and frown at him.

He scoffs before he speaks, but it lacks any venom.

“Came on there pretty hard, Doc.” A nickname for you, only he’s allowed to use it. Emile grumbles and crosses his arms, feet spacing out. But his tone is…off. “Thought I’d be on my ass in a little bit.” “What happened?” You don’t beat around the bush, your eyes deathly serious. “You’re not acting right at all. You haven’t even bragged about how easy they were to bring down.”

“So I need to brag now, is that it?”

Glaring, you set your jaw and level out with him. “Show me your hands, A-239.”

“Woah,” Emile drags out the word, chuckling as you grapple for his hand, moving his head to the side as if studying an ant and saying sarcastically. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Peeling back the armor plating and the thick undersuit, you’re left with slightly inflamed knuckles. With the enhancements of the Spartan's physical forms, even so for the IIIs, these would heal fairly quickly—hours at most. But the sight still rang off alarm bells.

How hard had he been punching those ODSTs to leave a mark on himself? Through armor and muscle?

“Emile,” you urge, firm attention staying on the swelling.

You can feel his eyes on you—digging and heavy. But on this, you would not relent. In your time together, you’d grown fond of him and his horrible attitude. He was off putting, sure, and rough: a bit bad for civilian relations, of course; yet you’d had the privilege to know him as others usually didn’t.

Emile was bluntly honest, and with you…he listened. That was a trust far earned and it had taken months to even get a break in him.

The giant released a low sigh and with a hand motion that equaled ‘fine,’ he shook his head and pushed out through a board tone. “...They were talking ‘bout you. Didn’t like their tones.” A finger touches the back of your skull, brushing across it briefly and disappearing as if never there. You fight back a gasp. “‘Specially when they thought it was smart to say it when I was right there.”

You pause at that, still holding his warm hand as his fingers twitch in your grasp—tiny things compared to the calluses and bulk of muscle. It’s like your heart stops, a foreign heat making the room's chill completely halt.

You stare at his knuckles and feel your eyes blink quickly. Inside of your chest, your heart completely skips beats.

“Took ‘em to the ring,” he says like he’s reading a report. “Threw ‘em down. They lost and I won, and I made them think twice when they’re talking about my favorite Medic like that.” His helmet shifts your way. “You think I’d let them get away with that, Doc?”

“I…” you stutter, for once in your life, lost for words. Emile chuckles to himself, tilting his head mockingly.

“Now isn’t that nice.”

Your face burns even more as the man’s hand shifts out of your hold, tapping your chin up with a finger. His helmet leans into you.

“Thought I’d stop by and have my girl check up on me before someone else managed to get in my way. You didn’t disappoint. Never do.” You’re speechless, heart rapidly pounding and throat bobbing with a swallow. You know he sees it because he chuckles again and his head moves up and down in a sweep of your body.

Emile hums, squeezing your flesh with his thumb and forefinger before letting his hand drop and pulling on his glove.

“You hear anything going ‘round about you, you just let me know, yeah?” There’s a serious edge to that sentence. “Let me take care of it.”

All you do is nod dumbly a blank moment later and feel your face go malleable. You don’t even know how to respond to that—you shouldn’t be encouraging physical fights just because you thought it was an…archaically sweet, if not inherently violent, sentiment.

But was Emile anything but? You knew what you were getting into.

“Good.” Emile moves his head back and stares for a moment longer, his chest rising and falling in a silent sigh of breath, before, soldier-like once more, he walks forward and exits the room with a whoosh of recycled air.

“Be seeing you, Doc.”

You hear the door slap shut and still gape at where he once stood in front of you, fire under your skin and a deep pull in your heart as you stutter under your breath. Clearing your throat minutes later, you blink, flatten out your clothes, and quickly exit into the hallway—hearing every connection of your feet to the floor.

There was something so very wrong about this that made you want to see how it might end. Even if it resulted in your blood-thirsty Spartan standing in your examination room once more, knuckles swollen and his body looming above yours like a silent, skeletal sentinel; some brutish dog ready to tear flesh at a moment's notice.

If only to feel his bare skin again, and the weight of his words on your chest.

"Shit," you breathe, grasping at the bridge of your nose as nurses rush past you. All of your thoughts are about Emile, and you have to internally wonder when that had started happening. "...This isn't good."

#halo x reader #halo #halo reach #emile x reader #emile x female reader #female reader #x female reader #emile a239 #halo game #halo fanfic #halo fanfiction #fem reader

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sea-creature-things · 2 months

Text

Grimwalker things

Chapter 4: Scales, more importantly, shedding

This is my offering to the huntlow shippers. I love those two so much. Writing their crush hell was incredibly fun.

Most people when they see ‘scales of a selkidomus’ they think of boiling water resistance, but I went in a different direction. Have fun lol.

For the next chapter I'm writing about a very popular headcanon about Stonesleepers, its gonna be angsty again :)

Also; TW for blood and description of injury. (It's not graphic but a warning just to be safe)

Read here below the cut or on AO3 with this link:

He remembered thinking it was normal when he was younger. It was just a thing that happened every few months. It was annoying, but not weird, or potentially unsettling to other people.

Until an extremely awkward conversation with Steve.

It was on a mission a few years ago, when he was 14. Hunter was ordered to capture a Snaggleback. The task itself wasn’t hard, but he needed backup for getting it back to the castle. So he’d called in the cavalry, Steve. He was Hunter’s favourite scout, even though he was practically glued to Lilith. Steve was never mean, he never tried to steal credit or gain favours.

On the way back Hunter found out shedding was in fact NOT a normal thing that happened. They were using an airship to easily transport the Snaggleback. His shedding day was very well-timed, he’d been scratching all day and the flight back home was no exception.

“Ugh! I hate it when my scars shed.” Hunter complained as he itched his arm. Steve had been eyeing his scratching for a while, but he hadn’t said anything. Now he turned to him confused.

“What?” The big hollow eyes of Steve’s mask stared directly at Hunter. Who thought he simply hadn’t heard him right.

“The shed. On scars.” Hunter tried to explain, he remembered thinking it was so obvious. “It always feels so weird.”

“Do you mean the scabs?” Steve continued to stare at him, this time Hunter looked at him in confusion. It was suddenly very quiet a thousand feet in the air. Even the Snaggleback had stopped its chittering.

“No?” Afraid that he said something wrong or stupid, Hunter decided to stop talking all together. He even ignored poor Steve when he asked more confused questions.

Since that day, his shedding became something to hide. He tried to find any kind of information about it in books from the healing coven. But that only confirmed that it was unnatural.

At least now he knew why it happened, but he had no idea how it all worked. Maybe the damage to his skin had exposed the Selkidomus scales underneath, or… in between?

He still didn’t fully understand what made him go from lose ingredients, to a fully formed witch-imitation. Maybe the wound had locally deactivated the magic? He didn’t know!

And it didn’t matter, because right now he needed an excuse, not the truth. Since, apparently, he had walked into the kitchen with a bleeding face!

Last night, when he’d gone to bed, the scar on his cheek was itchy. Which probably meant that he ripped his shed while sleeping. He hadn’t even felt the wound, or the blood dripping down his chin. He only noticed after Luz, Camila, Amity and Willow had collectively gasped the moment he walked in.

He was startled and still a little dazed from not being the first one up for a change. Of all the days to start sleeping in. He had actually been sleeping at night recently, for 8 hours even. But this was the first morning that the clock read 6:30 when he woke up. On a week day!

His friends had reassured him time and time again that sleeping in was no big deal. In fact, they wanted him to do it. But he was still nervous when he climbed the stairs that morning. Still, when he reached the top, nobody was impatiently waiting for him. Nobody scolded him or barraged him with an extra long list of demands.

His anxiety seemed to just wash away, and he felt very relaxed walking to the kitchen. He found Luz, Camila, Amity and Willow at the dinner table. They were having a cheerful conversation over breakfast. It was Wednesday so that breakfast consisted of toast and cereal.

He felt completely at ease. They were happy, the room was warm and inviting, the sun shone bright beams through the window. Everything felt just right. But when he walked in, their conversation stopped. They all gasped.

He had stupidly turned to them with a questioning look, like an idiot, a fool!

Amity clasped a hand over her mouth and Camila brought hers to her heart. Willow dropped her spoon in her cereal bowl and Luz pushed away from the table, standing up abruptly.

“What? What’s wrong?” He had asked bewildered. Again, like an idiot. Their looks of pure horror should've been a clue.

“Hunter… you’re bleeding.” Amity was the first to regain her composure. Her voice was laced with fear and her eyes matched it. But she wasn’t making eye-contact, her gaze was locked on his cheek.

“What?” Hunter touched his face in disbelief. Yup, there was definitely warm, sticky blood on his hand. How in the world did he not feel anything? How had he not noticed sooner?

“Oh.”

“OH?!” Luz yelled out mortified, it made him jump a little. Luz’s whole body was rigid with tension, her hands were slammed on the table. She seemed angry, but Hunter knew she was scared by the look in her eyes.

They had no idea what was going on. But… what could he possibly give as explanation?

“This just… happens sometimes.” He said with great difficulty. He hoped his obliviousness of the whole thing helped support his case.

“That doesn’t JUST happen!” Willow shouted even louder than his sister. Her hands gestured wildly above her bowl of cereal. She looked so concerned.

They all looked so worried, he couldn’t stand it.

“It’s fine, I swear!” He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know how to calm them down. They had rarely seen blood like this. He was freaking them out and he didn’t know what to do!

Hunter rushed over to the sink to wash the blood off his face and hands. He stumbled against the counter and gripped the edge. He could fix this. He had to somehow ease their minds.

The moment he saw the deep red smear on his hand he knew what was happening. And he also knew he could not tell them the truth. Shedding?! Normal people don't shed!

His fingers became fidgety and it took him a few tries to turn on the sink. His heartbeat was already going a million miles a second. His eyes darted all over the place, but he couldn't see Camila out of the corners. Was she still at the table? Did she leave? Was she walking over to him?

Was she worried? Was she angry? And what about Luz, Willow and Amity? They looked so scared.

His hands were shaking and refusing to cooperate. He used to have better hand-eye coordination than this, even when he was injured. The repetitive motion of washing became fumbled. Why wouldn’t it come off?

“Hunter, baby, you are not fine.” Camila said, her voice was gentle but stern. Hunter’s shoulders tensed up. She didn’t sound angry, but he still felt like he couldn’t breathe. At least her voice was distant, which meant she was still at the table.

He hadn’t even registered what she said. He wasn’t ignoring her on purpose! But maybe it was better that way. If he could just get that damn blood of his hands, he could fix his face and everything would be okay again.

“Hunter…” Amity spoke softly. She couldn’t believe what was happening.

"It's not a big deal..." He muttered, he was trying to keep them at bay now. If he could just fix this and show them there was nothing wrong, everything would go back to being peaceful.

"There is blood coming out of your face!” Luz yelled again. She was distraught and frustrated with his attitude. Hunter felt his own frustration rise with how little blood was coming off his hands. He was running out of time.

"I know!” He turned around with desperation, he was trying so hard to calm them down. “But- just trust me, I promise it's normal."

All four of them were still at the dinner table. They had joined Luz in standing up and looked ready to jump into action, but it seemed like they were glued to their places. And Hunter was grateful for it. He could use the kitchen island as a kind of barrier between them.

"Hunter!" Willow said his name like it was supposed to mean something. Like the pure protest she put in saying just his name would make him understand. It didn't. It just made him more nervous.

"That's not normal!" Amity explained. She was right, of course it wasn’t normal. That’s how he’s felt ever since that mission years ago. He knew it wasn’t normal, but-

"It is for me!"

Hunter shut his eyes when he yelled back. He didn’t mean to do it, he didn’t want to. He’s never done that before, not here. He just felt so hopeless.

They all fell silent for a bit, catching their breath. Hunter looked at the ground nervously. The words had burst out in distress, as an attempt to comfort them, but he wasn't ready for what they meant.

Should he just tell them? He could explain it better if they knew- no. No no no, sweet Titan no! This could NOT be their first impression of a Grimwalker. He had to pivot this somehow.

His head shot up to watch their reactions, expecting questioning looks or suspicion. But instead he was met with several intensities of anger. Amity's furious expression was laced with somber understanding. Camila and Luz were sporting a very similar look of rage. But Willow's fiery eyes were definitely the highest level.

“Belos is fucking lucky he’s dead.”

Oh.

Right.

Well, at least he didn’t have to pivot this anymore. They already did it themselves. Hunter wasn’t ready for that implication either. He only felt more uneasy. Even though it was… true.

He turned around again very quickly. The energy in the room had changed, at least he could breathe now.

He heard Camila say something about a first aid kit and someone left the room. Hunter was pretty sure it was her, but he didn’t want to turn around a second time. The blood was finally starting to fade, it didn't used to take this long. Or maybe he never noticed because it wasn't urgent.

Nobody said anything until she came back and he heard her walk over. Hunter steeled himself.

“It doesn’t seem like something normal to me, but we won’t keep pressing you for answers.” Camila spoke softly, putting the kit to the side on the counter. Her presence wasn’t as scary as he expected.

"Thank you." Hunter carefully looked in her eyes, they were full of worry. He nervously looked away again.

Camila slowly reached a hand out towards his shoulder. Hunter did an involuntary step back. Her hand staggered in the air and she let it fall down on the counter. He shut his eyes as shame filled his heart. She was just trying to help!

“And if you need help with this…” Camila paused. She gestured to the first aid and sighed. ”… you only have to ask, okay?”

Hunter was shocked. This experience veterinarian and attentive, caring mother was leaving it to him. She was trusting him to know what to do and do it well. She was giving him exactly what he wanted.

“Okay.”

Camila was truly amazing. But why did she look so sad when she turned away? Why did Luz give her mom such a baffled stare? They didn’t need to worry, he wouldn’t need help. He’s done this a million times before.

Hunter breathed a sigh of relief, he finally felt his heart rate slowing down. He put his head back under the sink. The blood was still not coming off easily, but now he actually could fix it. Everything was going to be okay.

“Hey, let me help you.” Willow suddenly appeared next to him. Hunter glanced up in surprise.

He straightened up when he saw Willow’s face. She had the kind of stubborn look in her eyes that he first saw on the flyer derby field. He wasn’t quite sure what she was feeling right now. Things should be going back to normal, why did she still look so alarmed?

For a second he saw over her head. Amity, Luz and her mom stood a few feet away, in front of the fridge. His sister was hugging her stomach, looking very ill at ease. Amity was rubbing her girlfriend’s back, she shared a worried glance with Camila.

Hunter eyed Willow in confusion. She held the cloth she was holding under the sink. Then she held it up as if to show it to him. When he didn’t say anything she took it as the green light and held it against his damaged cheek. Gently wiping off blood.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Her voice so soft and honey-sweet. The motion on the side of his face nearly frictionless. He stared down into her piercing emerald eyes.

Hunter’s brain was silent. It was literally empty up there. Suddenly it exploded back into action and with it his whole face turned hot like fire.

“Uh- YeA- I uhm, I’m okay.” He stammered. He cursed his voice for betraying him.

Willow was unconvinced. She tapped the counter a few times and pouted. The only words that were able to form in Hunter’s mind in that moment were: cute.

The plant witch then decisively tugged a cupboard above her open, taking a big bowl and filling it with water. She put the towel inside and shut the sink off. While holding the bowl in one arm, she took his left hand.

“Come on.” Willow walked passed him and tugged him along. Her grip on his hand wasn’t harsh or demanding, he could slip out easily if he wanted to.

He just didn’t want to.

The feeling was so nice and unexpected. Her soft skin wrapping over his war-torn palm. The determined way she was pulling him along. Before he realised it, she had brought him to the dinner table.

Hunter threw his eyes to the group in front of the fridge, utterly dumbfounded. Luz’s face turned into slight shock before her hand went up to her mouth, failing to hide a smile. Amity followed suit, the corners of her eyes crinkled from her amusement. The fear both girlfriends had was nowhere to be found. Camila also grew a smile, but a much tinier one.

Hunter didn’t feel any less dumbfounded.

“Willow-" Hunter began, his voice didn’t sound nearly as strong as he wanted it to.

“Sit.” She cut him off with a very nice-sounding demand. Pulling out a chair so the back of it was against the table, she pointed at it and looked up at him challengingly.

He turned again to the fridge-group. The girlfriend duo was now sporting full Cheshire Cat smirks. Camila was avoiding eye-contact, her smile slowly growing wider.

Willow set the bowl on the table, wringing the cloth out so it was just damp enough. Then she faced him with one hand on her hip. He searched in her eyes, but saw no way out. So he sat down.

Those forest green eyes, rich and beautiful. They came closer. He felt the heat rise to his face again when she carefully stroked some hair out of the way. His eyes blinked rapidly without permission. She was so close!

Those emerald eyes were brimming with focus. She brought the towel to his cheek again. Incredibly gently she began rubbing the dried blood off. Hunter was almost certain she’d never done this before, but it felt painless.

His heartbeat was accelerating again and his breathing was far from regular. But it was very different from a panic attack. He made slow and tiny breaths, almost like he was scared to breathe. Like expanding his lungs too much would make the moment stop. And his poor excuse of a heart was loud, so loud he was scared she’d hear it, but it wasn’t hysteric. Just loud.

Every time she went away to wash the towel in the bowl, that heart sank to watch her leave. And then it skipped a beat when she put the towel back against his cheek. If that piece of cloth wasn’t there, she would be holding his face in her hand. Hunter’s gulp was unintentional.

Willow’s pretty eyes darted to make contact with his. His heart screamed and begged his brain to come back, but it was gone, turned to mush. He couldn’t look away.

“Sorry if it hurts. I’ll be more careful.” She said and smiled at him. A genuine, sympathetic smile that put dimples in her cheeks.

The boy was too stunned to speak.

He heard giggling from behind him. He hadn’t even noticed that Luz and Amity had moved back to the dinner table. He couldn’t see them anymore, but their presence was palpable. Hunter didn’t know if his face could become any redder. A few shades darker and Willow wouldn’t be able to distinguish his skin from the blood.

A hair strand fell down into her workspace and Willow tucked it behind his ear. Her fingers grazing his temple, creating a tingling feeling on his skin. But the strand fell back down again.

“Can you hold your hair back?” She asked pointing at the now multiple strands clinging to the freshly cleaned side of his face. Willow moved back to the bowl to do the whole rinse again. He still watched her eyes in a trance. When she heard no answer, Willow glanced back up confused and expecting. “Hunter?”

“Huh?” Finally, his brain had returned and his entire body rejoiced. It bursted back to life, or at least back into talking. “Oh! Yes. I can do that.”

Another round of giggling erupted behind him. Hunter’s fiery blush had spread to the tips of his ears. He tried to combat the burning with his much colder hands while smoothing his hair.

“Here Hunter, you can borrow my hair tie.” Luz said. He turned around to find his sister and her girlfriend cuddled against each other. Their chairs pushed close together.

Amity was resting her head against Luz’s collarbone as she hugged her around the waist. Luz had one arm over her shoulders, while waiving the hair tie around with the other. Both of them had that Cheshire smile again. Or rather, still had it.

Hunter glared at them, but he knew there was zero ground to stand on. He just accepted the offer and quickly turned back around. Resulting in another laugh from those two.

His only saving grace right now was knowing Vee and Gus weren’t here to witness this mess. The blood, the panic or… this. Hunter thanked the Titan for that.

Wait, where was Camila? Hunter searched the kitchen and found the Dominican mother in front of the stove. He couldn’t quite see what she was making. Maybe her lunch for work? She seemed relaxed and he was happy she hadn’t left yet.

Okay. Focus. Hair, bun. He could do this.

His jittery fingers complied, Hunter was so glad his brain was back. He popped the hair tie in his mouth as he pulled back his hair. It had gotten pretty long, so the girls taught him how to make a bun.

When he was done he nervously looked at Willow again. She’d been patiently waiting with the rinsed out towel and smiled when they made eye contact. His make-shift heart thundered against his chest.

She got close again and continued wiping his cheek, somehow more gently than before. Now that his brain wasn’t a melted pile of mush, his thoughts were going a million miles per second.

He thought about how close she was. He thought about the complete switch that the morning had made because of her. He thought her cheeks looked more pink than before, but he must’ve imagined it.

Hunter thought she was so gentle and kind. And she cared so much about her friends and family. Hunter knew that he was apart of that too, but now he felt it.

And the feeling was incredibly strong.

Her eyes became too much. He lowered his gaze, focusing on his hands in his lap. There were still some crusted blood smears left on them. He picked at them. Out of sight, Willow hummed as if she was deliberating something important.

"Look up." She instructed, her sugary voice still made demands sound nice. For a second, he thought that she wanted him to look into her eyes, but that was crazy. She was staring very intently at his neck. The blood had probably trailed down on it. He did as he was told without really thinking about it.

Wow, he’s never trusted anyone with his neck before. Wow, that's a weird thought to have.

She went to rinse the cloth out once more, then started cleaning under his jaw and down his neck. Her touch still so soft. Judging from the feeling, Hunter could tell the blood trail reached just above his clavicle.

His heartbeat had quieted just a little bit and Hunter found himself staring at her eyes again. Her gorgeous emerald eyes, they weren’t showing any pity. Just care. And a bit of concern. He had no idea how bad it all looked, he didn’t get a chance to find a mirror in the mayhem.

He could feel her try out a slightly harsher scrub, which he was fine with. His neck didn’t have an open wound. He’d probably do it even harder himself.

He never cared about scraping or scratching his skin, he just wanted the blood gone. Willow wasn’t used to that, and he hoped she never would be.

Just thinking about every time he’d done this alone was making him itchy. Or maybe those were just the other scars that still need to shed. He scratched one on his upper leg, through his sweatpants. Yup, it was definitely the scars. He’ll have to be more careful with the rest, so they wouldn’t bleed.

Titan, he was so weird!

“Alright! Almost done.” Willow beamed at him, dragging him out of his thoughts. She wore a proud smile, giving her those cute dimples.

Hunter’s blush burned hot as he automatically smiled back. A pretty shaky smile at that. Part of him was relieved that Willow didn’t have to take care of him anymore. But a small part of him never wanted this moment to end.

“Just have to wipe this a few more times.” She said as she held the cloth against his face again. Her gentle touch made his heart skip another beat. If it were real, he’d be concerned about how many it had missed.

“I think the wound is pretty shallow.” She wiped once over his scar and stared at it closely. It took him some effort not to shrink away. “And it doesn't look like it’s bleeding very fast."

“Good.” Hunter said, giving in to the reflex for personal space. His poor, fake heart couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up and finally breathed normally. His face had been on scorching hot overdrive for way too long.

Willow took the first aid kit from the table. When had that gotten there? She opened in and searched through the items. He watched her awkwardly. He wanted to thank her, but he wasn’t sure how.

“Uhh I don’t really know how this works though.” She said apologetically. Taking out Azura themed Band-aids and trauma scissors, supporting her claim. Willow chuckled at her items and Hunter couldn’t help but smile.

She put everything back and held the kit out to him. As he took it, his brain screamed at him.

“Thank you!” He blurted out, a little too loud. He clumsily pointed at his face. “F-for everything.”

“You’re welcome!” Willow smiled so brightly she could’ve just as easily been the sun.

Hunter sifted through the first aid kit, laying the things he could use out on the table. Disinfectant wipes, dressing, gauze and tape. Oh yeah, this’ll do nicely. As should be expected in the house of a vet, Camila was very keen on their health.

He’d have to use disinfect it first. Hunter absolutely hated this step, but it was necessary. He wiped down to remove any new blood and as expected it hurt like hell. He hissed through his teeth and balled his fist, trying his best to suppress the reaction.

“Are you sure you’re okay? It looks painful…” Willow said, noticing it anyways. She was about to sit down next to Amity, but paused when she heard him.

“What? Pffft no! I’m fine!” Hunter laughed awkwardly. Her eyes squinted and he knew she didn’t believe him. His wonky smile probably wasn’t helping either. He coughed a few times to get a grip on his voice. “Don’t worry. This is supposed to hurt.”

Willow crossed her arms. Why was she so hard to convince?

“He’s not wrong,” Luz said, forever his saviour. “How are you gonna bandage your head anyways?”

“Are we getting mummy-Hunter today?” Amity laughed. Their amusement seemed to convince Willow to take her seat.

“Ha-ha,” Hunter rolled his eyes, “that’s not necessary.”

He threw the dirty wipe away and turned to Luz. He was eager to actually teach her something. He could give her useful knowledge. Of course, he hoped she’d never have to do it.

“First, you put a 4x4 dressing over the wound.” Hunter opened one of the packets. And draped it over his face, making sure to only touch the edges. He could see Luz’s smile growing and before she could make a joke about sauce, he explained further. “Dressing is a sterile piece of gauze that helps to stop the bleeding.”

Luz closed her mouth in disappointment, but she still seemed intrigued about his process. A tiny feeling of pride filled his heart, which he knew shouldn’t be there, but he couldn’t help it.

“Then, you put a strip of normal gauze on top of it.” Hunter continued, taking said gauze and cutting about 6 inches off. He also took the tape and ripped a few pieces off with his teeth.

“Like this.” He let muscle memory take control as he taped the gauze just below his eye. He pulled it taught and taped the other end on the underside of his jaw. He repeated the process for a second strip, just for good measure. He secured it all with two more pieces of tape on the vertical sides.

“Tada!” Hunter did jazz-hands, which he regretted instantly. He dropped his arms awkwardly and put all the first aid stuff back in the kit.

“Huh, it’s like a makeshift giant band-aid.” Luz said amazed. Amity, who was still cuddling close to her, hummed in agreement.

“Exactly.” He smiling as much as he could with that band-aid so close to his mouth. “Once it’s closed, you can leave it exposed to air. No need to exchange the bandages.”

“Oh cool.” She was impressed, though still a little uncomfortable. He understood his knowledge had… implications. But he’d rather her know how and not need to use it, than not know how when she needed it.

Well, he’d rather just crawl into a hole and never come back out. But it was a little too late for that.

Hunter dared to look at Willow again. She was stirring her bowl of cereal. It had turned into a mushy porridge and judging from her expression, Willow didn’t find it very appetising either.

She suddenly looked up and their eyes met. She smiled and gave him a thumbs up. He could feel heat rise to his cheeks again. He really thought he was over this by now. At least half of his face was hidden.

He knew without looking that Luz and Amity had that stupid smirk again. But screw them! Willow was just being nice, that’s just her thing. And he was just embarrassed about everything. He was just flustered, because…

It doesn’t matter! It’s over now and everything can go back to normal.

“Here, cariño.” Camila said as she put a plate down and motioned for him come closer. “Eat up. You need something better than cereal to replenish the blood you lost.”

The plate had two pieces of toast with a generous amount of scrambled eggs on top. She also put a bowl of fruit and a glass of water down. It looked amazing.

“Wow… thank you.” Hunter said perplexed. He hesitantly walked over, looking a little too surprised for Camila’s liking. He looked up at her, he wanted to say something else, but changed his mind and sat down.

He glanced at the girls on the other side of the table. All three of them were watching him impatiently, Amity even gestured at the food like ‘eat already’. He took a bite out the mountain of egg on toast. It was absolutely delicious. He realised how hungry he was, quickly going in for a second bite.

He hummed in delight and Camila was very happy to hear it. She smiled lively and exchanged thumbs-ups with her daughter. A sudden noise made Hunter stop in the middle of his third bite.

There were thunderous footsteps in the hallway. Gus appeared, grabbing the doorway so his momentum swung him into the kitchen. He screeched to a halt in the middle of the room.

“WHY IS THERE A TRAIL OF BLOOD IN THE HALWAY?!?”

Damn it.

Amity was watching Vee and Gus flock around a very worn-out Hunter. They had barged in one after the other, with the same reaction when they saw his bandages. They gasped and ran to him, inspecting every inch of his face.

Hunter tried his best to assure his buddy he was okay, but Gus wasn’t having it. And when Vee joined in, the conversation started all over again.

Now they bombarded him with barely intelligible questions. Vee even checked him for a fever, practically facepalming Hunter who was beginning to look annoyed.

Amity was sure they weren’t actually worried at this point, but they showed no signs of stopping. Still, she didn’t see a reason to step in. This was payback for scaring them so much.

Judging by the relaxed way Willow and Luz sat beside her, they felt the same.

“If you two are trying to play nurse you’re a little late for that~” Amity said in a sing-song voice. She smirked at her friend. “Isn’t that right Wi-“

“HAHA! Yeah cuz Hunter already patched himself up!” Willow exclaimed nervously. Then she leaned in to whisper threateningly. “You’re so funny Amity~ eat your breakfast.”

Luz tried to stifled her giggles when Willow gave her a menacing look as well.

Amity had no idea why she was so worried. Hunter’s crush on her was so painfully obvious, she didn’t need to hide anything. To be honest, Amity was still a little shocked that Willow liked him back. But this morning was undeniable, her beautiful best friend likes the blonde dork.

Luz swore up and down that she even saw Willow blush when Hunter put his hair in a bun. Amity didn’t see it though.

Gus hugged the older boy tight, yammering as he pushed his cheek against Hunter’s chest. Hunter seemed to resign to his fate, patting Gus’s back with a peeved expression.

“Veeeeeee~” Gus cried out with way too much theatrics. Turning to her while shaking his friend. “Hunter’s dying!”

“I’m not dying!” Hunter yelled irritated. He tried to wriggle out of Gus’s hug. “It’s just a wound, a shallow flesh wound, I’m okay!”

“But what even happened?” Vee whined frantically.

“Nothing- I just… Guys!” He turned to the girls with desperation. “Tell them I’m okay.”

Amity looked from her left to her right, sharing a silent agreement. They weren’t letting the entertainment end just yet.

“Well,” Amity placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin on folded hands. She leered at Hunter. “you never told us what happened.”

Hunter tilted his head and stared at her with a look of pure betrayal. His mouth hung open from disbelief. He kept staring at her while Vee and Gus circled around him, poking and prodding. Willow bursts out laughing, quickly followed by Luz.

"Ugh!” Luz exclaimed after her giggle-fit died down. She was looking at her phone for the time. “I have to get ready for school."

Amity watched her girlfriend get up and walk away. She was surprised to see her eyes so sad. She jumped up to follow Luz while she got ready for the bus. Her girlfriend had literally just laughed her butt off, what was going on?

“That was a pretty weird start of the day, huh?” Amity said as she followed Luz upstairs.

“Ha, definitely.” Luz gave her an exhausted look. They entered her room, which was now just ‘the girls room’.

It was a bit cramped with the extra beds, but they made it work. They tried their best to keep things tidy. Although, Willow’s bed was a constant jumble of blankets that no one could untangle.

Amity’s own bed looked pretty inviting right now. She needed a nap, and it wasn’t even seven-thirty yet!

This morning had really been something. First, her friend was bleeding from his face. It had plunged the room in a state of panic. But then, out of nowhere, Willow had saved the day by playing nurse.

It was kind of impressive how easily Willow got him to sit down and cooperate. After sharing a shocked look with her girlfriend, which quickly turned into giggling, her and Luz sat down to enjoy the moment.

It was such a nice domestic moment. Watching the flustered mess form afar, side by side with her own source of tomato-face. It was almost nostalgic.

She walked over to Luz’s desk, which was a bit of a mess. The books they got from the library, all their drawings, and anything interesting enough to bring home were all be dumped on the desk. Luz’s egg palisman was also there, under a lamp. Nobody knew if keeping it warm like that was necessary, but it couldn’t hurt.

“So… what do you think happened with Hunter’s scar?” Amity picked up her pencil case from the desk, she knew Luz would forget it otherwise.

“I don’t know.” Luz answered quickly. She gathered her books in her schoolbag

“Hehe, maybe he couldn’t see where he was going through that hair and bonked against a wall. I swear his hair is growing faster than mine.” She held her own, now faded-pink hair up from the sides, but Luz wasn’t watching her. She didn’t really react at all. Amity decided to change the subject. “When does the bus get here?”

“I don’t know, soon.” Luz said, starting to feel a little antsy.

“What’s it like in there anyways?” Amity handed her the pencil case before she closed her bag.

“Boring- I don’t know…” She shook her head. Again, her eyes looked so sad. Amity still wanted to cheer her up, but she wasn’t sure how. Maybe she could tell Luz a story about the flying bus back home.

“Ya know, in the Boiling Ilses-“

“Yeah! Um...” Luz interrupted her, she looked a little alarmed. She pointed to the window. “Sorry batata, but I gotta go.”

“Oh. Right, of course.” Amity stepped aside, receiving a kiss on the cheek before her girlfriend practically sprinted away. She stared at the empty doorway.

The room fell silent and cold.

Her heart felt heavy in her chest, as she descended the stairs again. She tried not to feel so dejected, but it just wouldn’t go away.

It had been 6 weeks since her entire life turned upside down. That’s 1 and a half months. Or 42 days. Amity spared herself from calculating the hours. She didn’t need to count those.

Who’s counting anyways? Not her. She’s fine. She’s perfectly fine. She’s strong. She didn’t need to know. She didn’t need to think about it.

She didn’t need to think about her siblings or her dad. Or her home. Or her entire planet. Or how her girlfriend had become a little distant, hadn’t asked how she was doing in a while, hadn’t opened up to her lately.

Hadn’t comforted her about all the things she didn’t need to think about.

It was strange. Even though they had been living together for 6 weeks, and constantly saw each other, they barely had time to talk. Actually talk.

It wasn’t Luz’s fault! She can’t read minds. Amity just missed her bubbly girlfriend.

But it was fine! She is strong. And if Luz couldn’t be optimistic right now, she’d be strong enough for the both of them.

Starting with a portal to the demon realm.

She gathered her friends from the kitchen and they went to work in the clubhouse. They were close, she could feel it. They had a plan for a new portal door, which used palismen magic as substitute for Titan’s blood. They just needed to figure out a good set up.

Which was apparently impossible!

Especially if no one was helping her! Gus was busy teasing Willow, while she made magic flowers in the corner. Something about ‘livening this place up’. As if that mattered right now.

Hunter and Vee were in the other corner talking about a stupid old chair that had probably been there for centuries. She could hear Hunter fussing about ‘fixing it up with a sewing machine’ or something along those lines.

That was not important right now!

Not only were they doing nothing, they were also distracting her. Gus’s endless questions about Amity’s earlier nurse-comment, was making it very hard to focus.

She was trying to draw a schematic for the portal, but she couldn’t hear herself think.

And the scratching!

Oh sweet Titan, the constant itching from Hunter. What on earth was that guy doing? Did he decide to wear a sweater made of Griffin fur? Or whatever the human equivalent of that was!

“GUYS!” Amity yelled to get everyone’s attention. It worked, because 4 very surprised faces turned to her. Good. They better listen up. “Can we please focus on making this portal?!”  “Sure, we just-“

“No! Because we finally have an idea that might actually work, but you guys aren’t doing anything!” Amity watched her friends eye each other.

“Vee, you go back to the house and gather the portal-ingredients we bought yesterday. Willow and Gus, you guys go to the store and buy those metal cables. Hunter, you get over here and help me make a schematic - and stop scratching!"

"Alright! Damn!” Hunter threw his hands in the air. He gave her an incredulous look. “What is with you today?"

"Nothing!” Amity looked around at her friends, all of them seemed bewildered.

Okay, she may have overreacted just a little bit, maybe. She had the tendency to explode when something was annoying her, and then she’d just keep going. Like opening the floodgates.

“Good luck bro.” Vee slapped Hunter on the back. She slithered to the door faster than Amity had ever seen her slither before. She transformed in her human disguise and disappeared.

“Quick, let’s get outta here.” Willow elbowed Gus in the side and they also made a break for it.

Amity looked down, feeling her face warm up with embarrassment. She had definitely overreacted.

“Okay…” Hunter walked over to join her at the round table. He sat down carefully on the mini-cooler and breathed out loudly. “I’ll help you.”

“Thank you.” Amity said exasperated. He slowly reached out for the pen she was holding, giving her a look like she’d bite his head off. She slapped it down in his hand.

For a few minutes, they sat in silence. Hunter drew possible idea’s on how they would generate palisman magic. Amity monitored closely.

“Soooo…” Hunter began, clearly testing the waters. The death glare she gave him didn’t stop him though. “What is with you today?”

“Nothing.” She said again, knowing he wouldn’t buy it. She looked at his encouraging smile, which was lopsided thanks to the bandages. She sighed. “I wanna go home.”  

“Of course.” Hunter said with sore understanding. He waited for her to continue.

  “And I can’t do that unless this works.” She tapped her schematic repeatedly with her index finger. Those half-scientific drawings, held together with hopes and dreams.

“Yeah, but… those have kind of always been the stakes right?” Hunter said cautiously. He was on guard for any signs of Amity getting mad again. She was only surprised. He was seeing right through her. “Did something else happen?”

Amity looked at her hands, picking at her finger nails. For some reason, the way Hunter asked felt familiar. Sometimes he had weird instincts about these things.

“Have you noticed that Luz seems more sad lately?” She said, trying her hardest to not sound completely heartbroken.

Hunter took a deep breath. He averted his eyes and hummed in a way that showed how big a deal it was. For both of them.

“I don’t think she expected it to take this long.” He fumbled with the edges of the schematics.

“I wanna talk with her, help her. Cheer her up, you know?” Amity asked and he nodded. “I just don’t know how.”

“Why don’t you go on a date again?” Hunter suggested. “You can talk with her privately, but also cheer her up.”

Amity stared at him. It was so simple, he’d come up with it so easily.

“That’s perfect.” She was shocked.

“Well it’s not portal science.” Hunter laughed and she rolled her eyes. Then she remembered something and her face grew an evil smile.

“Maybe you should take your own advice.” She kept her voice sweet and innocent. She was plotting a perfect comeback, the poor boy had no idea. He only turned to her puzzled. “With a certain plant witch?”

Her scheme worked exactly as she wanted. Hunter’s confusion turned into wide-eyed recognition for a split second. Then his whole face lit up with a blush just as bright as that morning.

“D-Didn’t you wanna focus on the schematics?” He stammered. Amity cackled, happy with how her plan came together. Hunter hid his face in his hands until he calmed down.

They eventually went back to work. The idea flowed more easily. Funny how such a simple idea could mean everything. Amity felt a lot lighter now that she had a plan. Her brain was already busy designing a perfect date. She bumped Hunter’s shoulder.

“Thanks by the way.”

Hunter was sitting in the basement, sewing a pink armchair cover with the machine. Vee had helped him sneak it out of the clubhouse.

He really wanted to fix it and this seemed like the perfect time to use the sewing machine Camila had given him. She was delighted to find out he like sewing and taught him how to use the machine. It was very fun, she was a nice teacher.

Flapjack was snoozing nearby on the table. He had made a tiny nest of fabric scraps. Every now and then, he’d wake up to check Hunter’s progress. He’d compliment him when he did a good job. Or when he did a bad job. Flap still didn’t really understand sewing.

Like when Hunter accidentally stitched his sleeve onto the fabric. After telling Flapjack that, no that really wasn’t a good thing, he flew upstairs to grab a pair of scissors. He also suggested to wear something with short sleeves for the time being.

Hunter was a little paranoid that someone would come downstairs and see his scars. Which usually wasn’t bad, but some of them were still… shedding. Flapjack, being the hypocrite that he was, told him it was fine and went back to sleep.

He might be cute now, but Flap wasn’t as peaceful earlier. The little bird had gotten the shock of his life when he saw Hunter with those bandages. His ears still hurt from the loud chirping.

But explaining what happened to his own palisman was a lot easier. He already knew all his secrets.

Selkidomus scales, of all things.

He had read a lot about them when he’d lived at Hexside. The Selkidomus was an strange creature, an amazing representative of the Boiling Ilses’ standards. But they were difficult to study, thanks to them slowly going extinct.

As much as they still didn't know, the bestiary was quite extensive on the demon. There was a lot more information than there was about Grimwalkers. Hunter had felt a strange comfort reading about their traits and life history. It was easier to latch onto something he could actually learn.

He also felt a familiar pang of guilt whenever he thought of the creatures. He knew he was to blame as well, even if he technically never killed one. For days he had been hiring pirates, casting tracking spells and sailing the ocean.

He was hunting his own kind... in a way.

Was it normal for him to feel connected to those creatures? Is that why Belos told him to capture one? Did Belos make every Golden Guard hunt a Selkidomus? Were they all just collecting the ingredients for their successors?

Hunter shivered, half involuntarily and half in an attempt to shake those awful thoughts. Such a barrage of questions was painfully common nowadays. He tried to not fall into a spiral. Again.

“Hey bro,” Luz’s voice startled him. She was halfway down the stairs and hung over the railing. “Watcha doing?”

“Oh hey,” Hunter relaxed when he saw she was alone. “I’m fixing that old chair from the clubhouse.”

Luz jumped over the railing and landed on the couch. She sat down beside him and came way too close to the sewing machine, blocking his view on purpose.

“Ooooh cool!” She laughed.

“It is cool.” Hunter said as he shoved her head out of the way. Flapjack woke up from the commotion and went to greet Luz, who gave him all the head scratches he wanted.

While she was busy with Flap, her expression seemed to fade a little. Her smile was still there but her eyes looked somber. Hunter was reminded of what Amity said earlier in the day.

“Are you okay?” He asked worried. Her head shot back to face him.

“I’m fine! H-how are you?” Hunter raised an eyebrow. Luz grimaced, she heard it too. She just hoped he wouldn’t-

“Rough day at school?” There it was. His kind expression was nothing but a trap! He’d be all understanding and nice, and then she’d tell him all her problems.

“Yup!” She admitted just to move on quickly. She was here to check on him, not the other way around. “Anyways, I was thinking about this morning.”

This time it was Hunter’s turn to feel uncomfortable. They both had something they didn’t want to talk about. But he had literally been bleeding this morning, so his thing would have to go first. He sighed and checked the stairs to see if the coast was clear.

“Is it a Grimwalker thing?” Luz whispered after following his gaze.

He nodded, but didn’t explain anything just yet. A big part of him wanted to explain it to her. To ease Luz’s concerns and have her mediate with the others. Another part of him felt guilty that she was constantly the only one he wasn’t lying to. It seemed like they were always sharing secrets in the basement.

He also just didn’t want to admit it. The demon realm is weird, witches are weird, Luz herself is weird, but Grimwalkers are on a whole different level. It was embarrassing.

“My scars… shed.” He finally managed to spit it out. He looked back over at Luz. Their eyes locked for a solid minute of silence.

“I’m sorry, what?” She finally said after blinking a few times.

Hunter groaned and he let his head fall on the table next to the sewing machine. It was nice and cushioned from all the fabric scraps. Flapjack flew from Luz’s hands onto the back of his head.

“There, there kid.” He chirped and rubbed his beak over Hunter’s hair in way of patting him. Luz did the same thing on his shoulder.

“I’m gonna need a bit more information, bud.” She was trying to be supportive but that was hard when she was utterly confused.

Hunter sighed and moved so that he was laying on his chin. He checked the stairs one last time. Flap climbed up to nestle on the top of his head. He chirped a few encouraging words and Hunter sat up. He just wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.

“So, I’m made from Selkidomus scales. And the Selkidomus goes through a shedding phase every now and then. So…” He made a motion with his hands to put two and two together. Luz seemed to get it. “When a shed isn’t ready to come off yet and it gets ripped or whatever, it damages the skin underneath. That’s happened a few times before. So I’m guessing I ripped my shed in my sleep and that’s why I was, uh… bleeding.”

“Huh.” Luz stared at him blankly and the basement entered another uncomfortable silence. It was definitely not the weirdest thing she had seen in the Boiling Ilses, but this was also definitely not what she expected. “So it really is just something that happens sometimes?”

“Yeah.”

“You shed.”

“Yeah.” He showed his upper left arm, where the scar was a little flaky. Luz had a befuddled expression. “But only on my scars.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know!” He threw his arms up with sudden misery. He dropped his hands on Luz’s shoulders and held tight as he looked her directly in the eyes.

“I don’t know! There is zero information about grimwalkers. Nothing! The only thing all the books can agree on are the ‘ingredients’. I don’t know anything about me!” He whisper-yelled the avalanche of his feelings. The sudden misery turned into hopelessness and a tiny hint of crazy.

“Oh right, that-”

“You know what I do know Luz? I know that the locals on The Arm collect the scales, because they believe it brings luck. But I don’t feel lucky!” Hunter shook her back and forth. He was being dramatic for the bit, while also meaning every word he said. “I don’t feel lucky at all Luz!”

“Okay, okay, calm down!” Luz laughed as she grabbed his arms to stop the shaking. Her brother slumped over his sewing machine, fumbling the loose threads with a grumpy expression.

He had forgotten Flapjack, who slowly slid off his head. The cardinal made an undignified chirp before remembering he could fly. He landed on the table in front of his witch and whistled anxiously.

Hunter patted him to let him know it was okay. He was dead serious, but he wasn’t seriously upset.

“It’s really not that bad.” Luz said. Hunter glared at her, thinking she was lying to make him feel better. “No really. I’m just glad you’re okay. This morning was a lot.”

“I’m sorry.” Hunter’s guilt was having a field day with this entire situation.

“No,” Luz playfully chopped his head. “it wasn’t your fault.”

Even if that wasn’t what she meant, it was true. He's gone too soft, too relaxed. How could he just forget about his shedding? How could he ignore the signs? Just because he was tired?

“I just-“ Luz continued. “I’ve been thinking about this all day. I couldn’t focus!”

“Is that why you had a bad day at school?” He saw an opportunity to change the subject and took it. He wanted to move on before they even started talking, but now he was really eager for a new topic.

“Ah, I see what you did there.” Luz grimaced again. There had to be a way to avoid this. Apart from making Hunter feel guilty. More than he already did, at least. “Yes, but also no! There was something else this morning…”

He waited for her to continue, looking at her expectantly. He had told her about his thing after all. Now it was her turn.

“Everything in due time.” Flapjack chirped at his witch.

“He says you gotta say it.” Hunter translated falsely. Flap looked at him bewildered and Luz smiled at it.

“Did he now?” She asked as she propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. Flapjack chirped indignant. He tugged hard on Hunter’s hair-noodle.

“Well it’s only fair!” Hunter defended as he tried to escape his bird.

Luz laughed at their antics. Hunter seemed to feel better after telling her. She knew the same would probably be true for her, but she was ashamed.

“I was mean to Amity this morning.” She admitted after contemplating for a while. She knew he was the last person who’d judge her.  “Mean?” Hunter’s face scrunched in doubt. That’s not what Amity had told him.

“She was just trying to be nice and I was being blunt and rude.” She hugged herself around the middle, looking at her brother for any hints of disappointment. But suspicion was still written on his face. “It’s true!”

“Okay, okay.” He sat back upright and put on a more serious expression. Flapjack made a soft trilling sound, making Hunter look from him to Luz. The tiny cardinal nodded encouragingly and the witch turned to his sister a little unsure. “Why were you being rude?”

“I don’t know.” Luz responded in surprise. She hadn’t expected that question, but it was definitely the right one to ask. Flap really was a wise old man in the shape of tiny bird. “Stress?”

“Why?” Hunter was glad Flapjack’s suggestion worked. His own instincts were to just comfort Luz, tell her that she couldn’t have been that horrible. Now he realised that wouldn’t make her feel better.

“Because!” Luz yelled, but more words wouldn’t come. Why was she stressed? She groaned. “Everything?!”

Flapjack flew onto her shoulder and chirped faintly. She couldn’t understand them but it sounded comforting.

“Again, not your fault, but this morning was a rollercoaster. And then I was scared I was gonna miss the school bus. But I also just didn’t want to go at all.” Luz became more anguished as the truth spilled out. “It’s already been 6 weeks! I have to go to school now. I’m wasting almost the entire day, while I should be making a portal! I should be getting you guys home!”

Luz’s feelings-avalanche was just as miserable as his own. Hunter wasn’t sure what to do know, so he resulted to following Flap’s lead. His palisman was still on Luz’s shoulder, gently rubbing his beak against her face. Hunter patted her head awkwardly. Luz laughed weakly.

“School is not a waste.” He tried jokingly, still coming up with something better to say.

“Human school is.” Luz pouted. She knew it was important, but it definitely didn’t feel like it. Hunter shrugged.

“I know it’s taken longer than we wanted, but you can’t lose hope.” He ruffled her hair and Luz ducked away. Flap jumped down to the table again, chirping his support for those words.

“I know and I’m not.” Luz said honestly, then she sighed. ”But I gotta get that portal working before I lose my girlfriend.”  “Calm down drama queen.” He laughed. “You and Amity are fine. The Boiling Sea would freeze over before you two break up.”

“But I don’t know how to apologise.” Luz whined. This was a big deal to her. She hated disappointing Amity like this. “I’ve been avoiding her since I got home.”

“Well that’s not smart.” He admitted, Luz gave him a grumpy look. He tried to ruffle her hair again, as he thought of a solution. A plan hatched in his brain. “You could take her on a date, to make it up to her.”

Luz lit up. His idea was absolutely perfect. The first time she’d taken Amity on a date in the human world, they both loved it. It was exactly the mundane, slice of life date she promised her. And it was awesome.

“That’s genius!” She looked at him excited. She would make this the most perfect date ever.

“I know, right?” Hunter said with a cocky smile and his palisman rolled his eyes.

She jumped up and sprinted back up the stairs, on all fours of course. She refused to use that thing like it was intended.

“Alright, bye!” He called after her. He laughed and shook his head as he went back to his sewing. Flapjack flapped his wings happily.

After just about 40 minutes, the armchair cover was done. He went upstairs to find Vee, so they could go to the shack and fix the chair for real. He found her in the living room. She was watching tv with Willow and Gus, all sprawled out on the couch with some snacks.

Their mission to go into town alone and buy those wires had apparently been intense. Gus had told him about something called a ‘plastic bag fee’ they didn’t know about. Which meant they didn’t have enough money. They had been scared to death about going to jail.

The poor cashier had tried to talk with Willow, but she insisted that they’d take the bags back. Gus had carried all the wires himself while Willow frantically pushed the money in the cashier’s hands. Then they escaped at breakneck speeds.

Hunter could only imagine the breakdown he’d have if he was in that situation. They had acclimated pretty well, but sometimes it was clear how foreign they really were. Luz was dearly missed on those missions.

“Hunter!” Gus greeted after hearing him approach. Willow and Vee turned around too and waved at him. “Welcome back to the upstairs world.”

“Hey guys.” He greeted back. He held up the fabrics he’d been working on for the past hours. “I’m done with the armchair thing.”

“Woah you already fixed it?” Vee slithered off the couch and over to examine his handiwork. She showcased it, so that the others could see it better.

  “It looks great!” Willow commented and Gus nodded impressed.  

“Thanks” He said sheepishly. He knew he still had a lot to learn, but it was nice to get compliments. Especially from her.

“Can you help me put it back on the chair?” He said to Vee. He was eager to complete his task and didn’t want to hang around for too long.

“Sure.” She agreed and they moved towards the hallway.  

“Hey wait,” Gus stopped them in their tracks. “How’s the… uh- cheek situation?”

“It’s fine.” Hunter told him. All three of his friends looked at him with utter disbelief. “No really, I’ll probably take the bandages off soon.”

“If you need help, you know where to find me.” Willow said with a caring look in her eyes. Hunter could feel his ears catch fire just thinking about it, or just remembering this morning.

He was saved from having to form a response by Amity and Luz walking into the room, hand in hand. Hunter was happy to see it. Although, it seemed like he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

“Looks like the lovebirds are back to normal.” Willow said as she propped her arms over the back of the couch for a more comfortable talk.

Amity and Luz looked a little flustered, surprised that their friends had noticed. But they were also very happy to have overcome their brief awkwardness.

“I have a sneaking suspicion that Hunter had something to do with that.” Vee pointed finger guns at him. It was hard not to notice that both girls felt better after a conversation with him. The boy had a gift.

“Yeah, you might call me a relationships expert.” Hunter said sarcastically. Many people rightfully scoffed.

“You told a couple to go on a date.” Gus pointed out with a deadpan expression.

“Exactly, who could’ve thought of that?” He responded jokingly, grinning from ear to ear. Or ear to bandages in his case. It earned him a few laughs, but Luz saw her own opportunities.

“Fangs.” She pointed at his mouth, evil smirk and all.

“Stop!” Hunter covered it on instinct. His fear was short-lived, turning into annoyance as he glared at her. “This joke is getting old!”

“It’s not a joke, Hunter, it’s the truth!” Luz yelled passionately. Vee nodded in agreement. She used Hunter’s shoulder to jump up and ruffle his hair.

“Embrace your fangs!” The basilisk yelled with the same enthusiasm as their sister.

“They are teeth!” Hunter escaped her claws and made a break for the hallway. He was going to fix that armchair with or without her help. Vee decided it was with her help, changed into her human disguise, and went after him.

The girlfriends joined Gus and Willow on the couch. Cuddling as they settled, like the cuties they were. Gus was very glad they were back to normal as well. Besides, it reminded him of something. He turned to his bestie.

“If you need help, you know where to find me~” Gus repeated her words with an over-the-top sweet voice. Holding his hand elegantly under his chin and smirking.

Willow’s cheeks went pink. Her eyes dashed from the tv to her friend, completely caught off guard. She pushed Gus away as she tried to cool off her face.

He just couldn't pass up an opportunity to tease those two.

Willow had told him everything about this morning. She had been very flustered and he practically had to drag it out of her, but it worked. Gus knew all. And he was extremely salty that he had missed it.

18 notes · View notes

rere-the-writer · 2 years

Note

Elijah Angst please 🥺 you can do whatever plot you want I just want Elijah angst

Yes and yes time for some angst

Warnings: Angst like a lot of angst, Elijah being an ass, Soft!Klaus, Jealous!Hayley

Elijah cough up blood, he was jolted awake seeing that his arms were chanting up above his head and his shirt tore open. Elijah was surprised to see he was cut and bruised. Elijah felt weak when he heard heels clacking against the stone floor when he looked seeing a beautiful young woman dressed in jeans and tanktop eyes glaring at Elijah.

"Good to see you wake Elijah." The young woman said sipping on a glass of blood making Elijah's eyes darken feeling the hunger flooded him.

"Who....are you?" Elijah asked weaken and starving watching the young woman.

"Not surprised that you don't know me. But you know my mother intimately. Y/N L/N and my name is Elora L/N." Elora says smirking seeing the familiarity reached his eyes remembering. Elijah looked over Elora seeing how she xould be his daughter, Elora was beautiful loose chocolate curls and had her mother's eyes.

"It was 1807 when she told you that she was with child. You didn't believe her and left her after an argument yet you were quick to believe the witches about Hope? I guess the noble honorable Elijah isn't so honorable."

"Listen....Elora, I apologize please let me go. I am sure your mother wouldn't want this." Elijah says before flinching when Elora pressed a knife against his thoat her eyes flashing

"Don't. You. Dare. Speak like you know her. My mother is still alive, weak but alive. No thanks to you." Elora said pulling away. Elijah out a shuttering breath watching his daughter.

"Weak?"

"Mum is suffering because of you and I will make you pay." Elora said smirking darkly at her father making Elijah shiver. She reminded him of Klaus when she smirked like that. Elora walked over to a tray of tools picking up a knife before looking at Elijah.

Klaus paced while Freya was trying to locate Elijah after the Original was taken. Elijah and Finn were checking up on Hope since Hayley moved out to the bayou after she had a fight with Elijah. Finn had his neck snapped and still hadn't woke which worried the siblings and Hayley hurried to get to the Abattoir hearing that Elijah was missing.

"Uncle Kol...is uncle 'Lijah okay?" A six year Hope asked as Kol smiled gently took her small hand in his. Elijah was close to Hope other than Klaus, Hope would always seek out her favorite uncle but now it felt weird that her uncle wasn't there.

"Yes little one. Uncle 'Lijah is in a bit of trouble but don't your father will save him." Kol says smiling with Hope nodding hoping that her uncle was okay.

"You know, mum really loved you. I mean she was disowned by her coven, she gave up everything for you yet you broke her." Elora said sitting a chair hearing Elijah groaned when he felt a pain in his chest. Elora would stop his heart before letting it beat again.

"I apologize. I wasn't thinking back then." Elijah panted with Elora rolling her eyes looking at her father.

"So what about Hope? Why believe the witches so easily? I think you just needed an excuse to leave mum, you must have been bored with her." Elora said making Elijah growl eyes flashing pulling at the chains before falling back to his knees unable to breathe.

"Nice to know my so call father has some fight left. But do not get angry with me after all, you are fucking that wolf. So quick to forget about mum, now look at you." Elora said before hearing a knock and someone moving upstairs. Elora did a silencing spell and both listening to what was happening.

You shivered pulling your shawl tighter around your shoulders answering the door pausing seeing Klaus. You hadn't seen him in centuries and Klaus was surprised to see you. The hybrid frowned seeing how pale you looked and how weak your magic felt.

"Y/N, love it has been a long time." Klaus says while both Hayley and Freya was surprised to see how soft Klaus was with you.

"You know her?"

"Yes, Y/N L/N. Elijah's soulmate, he left behind." Klaus says surprising Hayley Hayley. Klaus had been angry with Elijah when he left you. Klaus had been helping you and Elora secretly behind Elijah's back.

"What brings you by Nik? I apologize you just missed Elora. She went out with friends." You tell Klaus your voice soft. Klaus frowned helping you sit down frowned with how weak you were.

"That is fine love. How are you?" Klaus asked while Hayley looked around your home with Freya.

"Our soul bond has been healing but weaken. Don't worry about me Nik." You rasped out seeing Klaus frown and kneeling down beside you worried for you. Hayley bit her lip feeling a little guilty while Freya felt Elijah but felt magic push back.

"I apologize for bringing her here then." Klaus says seeing your eyes settle on Hayley with a tear escaping your eye. Of course Hayley was beautiful, it made your heart ache since you were pale and no longer held the beauty Elijah once adored.

"It is okay Nik. As long as Elijah is happy." You whispered flinching hearing Klaus growl angry. Klaus had been angry with Elijah but they had to find Elijah. You let Klaus take a look in your basement with Hayley and Freya following after.

"Elora, color impressed." Klaus says stopping Hayley and Freya from just rushing towards Elijah. Elora smirked holding a sliver dagger while Elijah's eyes fell on you. Elijah's heart ache seeing how weak and tired you looked while he felt no back lash from the soulmate bond, you felt everything.

"Hello uncle came for Elijah? As you can see we have been bonding." Elora said smirking at her uncle.

"Elora....let him go." You tell your daughter watching her frown stepping forward her magic sparking.

"After everything he had done! You want me to let him go?!" Elora shouted angry making you frown.

"Listen kid, we...." Hayley began taken back by the glare Elora gave her, it was nothing but pure hate.

"Shut your dirty mouth wolf. Elijah abandoned us, tell me how does it feel knowing you are the reason my mother is dieing?" Elora questioned glaring at Hayley. Elijah looked at you guilt climbing up his back. Hayley took a step back eyes looking to Klaus for help.

"Little witch, I understand you are upset but please." Klaus says watching Elora closely.

"Fine have him. We don't need him." Elora says heading upstairs, the chains let Elijah go. You watched Hayley catch Elijah, pain settled in your heart.

"Come I still have his old suits."

The air was thick with tension, Elora was glaring at her father and Hayley. Klaus made sure Elora didn't attack while Freya was help you get tea.

Elijah didn't know if he should be glad Klaus helped take care of you and Elora or be angry with hisself. Elora may have looked like him but she clearly had the Mikaelson temper and clearly wanted him to pay.

"Here we are some tea." You say turning away coughing knees buckling and Klaus quick to help you. Jealously surged though Elijah unaware the link in the soul bond repair its self. Klaus helped you sit down holding your hand rubbing it with his thumb.

"So you were Elijah's soulmate?" Hayley asked while Elora scoffed arms crossed while you smiled sadly. The one thing your daughter hated was how you forgave and still loved her father. As you waited years for Elijah to return to you while you called it love, Elora called it weakness since she believed Elijah deserved nothing.

"Why do you care? My mother is no threat to your so call relationship." Elora said glaring harshly at Hayley while Klaus sighed. While Klaus loved his niece much like you, he worried about Elora and wished she'll let go of her anger.

"Elora, please. I apologize I didn't....." Elijah was cut off when Elora stood up glaring at her father.

"I don't want to hear it." Elora said walking out of the house and Klaus followed after the young woman. You gave Elijah apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry about her."

"Don't apologize, this is my fault." Elijah tells you gently taking your hand making Hayley narrow her eyes at the scene. You flushed at the familiarity of Elijah holding your hand.

A week after what happened Elijah came around your home to help out and to get to know Elora. Elora on the other hand wouldn't give Elijah a chance but could see that you were getting better.

"How are you and that wolf?" Elora asked when Elijah had came over for dinner. Elijah had been trying to have a relationship with his daughter, to get to know her.

"We are in a middle of what Hayley calls a break.... it seems that I have not been there enough for her." Elijah tells Elora handing her a box.

"A break? What did you do?" Elora couldn't help but ask taking the box looking at her father. You paused at the doorframe of the kitchen watching the two.

"I wanted to find your mother or any descendants just to try and fix what I broke." Elijah tells Elora and she saw the hurt in his eyes. You had told Elora stories of Elijah and how the Original always did everything for his family.

"Mum always said you do everything for family." Elora said softly getting a smile from Elijah.

"Yes, well I failed you." Elijah said watching his daughter stand up looking at her seeing the anger flash in her eyes.

"Yeah you did. Enjoy dinner with mum." Elora said walking up to her room making Elijah sighed. You walked up rubbing Elijah's shoulders feeling him reach up and hold your hand.

"She hates me."

"She is angry my dear. Elora needs time and you need to let her come to you." You tell Elijah smiling gently and felt him kiss your hand. Elijah agreed with you and enjoyed dinner with you.

"Do we have to be here?" Elora asked feeling flustered you smiled at your daughter. Klaus had invited you and Elora to an gala to get you out of the cabin.

"Yes. We promised your uncle also you get to see family." You say using a cane to help you walk even though you had been getting better due to Elijah's visits, you still find it hard to walk some times.

Elijah spotted you and Elora, he felt his heart skip a beat. You were gorgeous and had an urge to be by your side. Elijah and Hayley had been having a rough patch because Hayley believe that Elijah was still in love with you. Which was a little truthful after all you were Elijah's soulmate and of course he would always love you.

"Y/N and Elora. It has been centuries."

"Hello Finn." You say smiling hugging the vampire feeling a spark of jealousy though what you thought was a broken soul bond. You looked up at Elijah smiling softly at him watching him look away both of you felt warmth flood the broken bond.

"I'm going to go find uncle Kol." Elora said walking off to find Kol leaving you with Finn.

"She has became a beautiful young woman." Finn says walking with you making you smile.

"She has. Sadly Elora has been tough on Elijah." You tell Finn who nodded understanding how Elora felt. No one in the family pushed Elora to forgive Elijah or be nicer to her father, everyone believed she needed time.

"May I have this dance?" Elijah asked you making you smile nodding while Finn watched smiling softly.

"Elijah sure has spending time with mum. I'm sure that wolf hates it." Elora said glaring while Kol smirked looking at you and Elijah.

"Oh Hayley does. She left Elijah." Kol answers his niece surprising the young witch. Kol remembered the night Elijah came home after trying to spend time with Elora.

Hayley had accused Elijah of cheating on her and still being in love with you. Elijah told Hayley that he wasn't and that he wanted to know his daughter. Which lead to a bigger fight of Hayley making Elijah choose between his daughter and the hybrid. Elijah picked Elora over Hayley, claiming he couldn't fail the young witch again.

"He picked me over her?" Elora asked looking at Elijah in a different light genuinely surprised that Elijah picked her.

"Yep. Hayley was pissed." Kol answered Elora watching the witch relax a bit watching her parents dance.

"I guess he ain't too bad."

Elijah sighed relaxed in bed reading softly to you and Elora. Elora was knocked out cold while you were drifting in and out of sleep listening to Elijah's low baritone voice.

"She is sweet when asleep." Elijah commented softly making you giggle nodding.

"I am glad you two are starting to get along." You whispered pressing closer to Elijah. Elora had finally let Elijah be around her while you and Elijah was repairing your relationship.

"As am I." Elijah says softly kissing Elora's head smiling when she nuzzled closer and from there Elijah knew he could spend an forever to make it up to you both.

"I love you both Always and Forever." Elijah says softly smiling hearing your soft snores before settling down just listening to you and Elora sleep.

#rere's stories #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson fluff #elijah x reader #the originals x reader #the originals imagines #elijah mikaelson angst

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yuniex07 · 4 months

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The Magnificent Century

Ok i've been rewatching this tv drama, and as a sucker for historical stories along with middle east aesthetics and culture...I had an urge to make a sort of adaptation/mix with my current obsession: BG3.

So this is an AU, where the ottoman empire will be represented by the vampire coven belonged to Cazador, ruling and conquering all the regions around Baldur's Gate.

Warning: I'm nowhere near to be a decent writer plus, english is not my mother language soo, I'm sorry in advance. Other from that, this is the draft or prelude chapter so nothing to warn unless you count the inplications of a boylove interaction triggers you somehow ?

In future chapters, if i dont get dissapointed in my ugly writting abilities theres going to be harem/noncon/pansexual/domsub/a little bit of Stockholm syndrome? who knows...

Words: 2151 ( honestly how people can write more than this? i was suffering!)

Pairing: for now Pansexual Astarion/Sebastian later Astarion x F!Tav(Lyanna/Love)

Read under the cut

Chapter 1: A new dynasty

In the year 1492 DR, amidst the intricate streets of Baldur's Gate's upper city, the Szarr Palace loomed ominously. Its gothic spires cast long shadows in the fading light of the sunset, forming an imposing silhouette against the darkening horizon. The palace pulsed with unsettling energy; guards and servants weaved through its corridors, torches and candles flickered along the grand halls, casting dancing shadows on opulent walls adorned with tapestries and gilded frames. The air held a palpable tension, thick with anticipation.

Outside the formidable structure, a figure clad in black leather carried a scroll sealed with crimson wax, imprinted with the family crest—a set of two groups of five rats and five mice intertwined by their tails in an inner and outer circle. The contents of this scroll would set into motion a series of events with far-reaching consequences. Approaching a similarly outfitted man mounted upon a steed that seemed to emerge from the depths of the netherworld, the messenger wasted no time. With unearthly speed, the horse thundered through the palace gates, its hooves echoing against cobblestones as it raced into the night. As the horse and rider vanished into the shadows, the wheels of fate began to turn.

Meanwhile, on a distant battlefield illuminated by the moon's pale glow, a bloody clash unfolded. An elven warrior, his red eyes ablaze with the thrill of battle, charged toward his next target with unparalleled speed. His pale skin was adorned with the blood of foes, much like the white locks that peeked out from beneath his war helm. With a swift swing of his short blade, he unbalanced an opponent, creating an opening to plunge a dagger into the enemy's eye, extinguishing its life in an instant. The elven warrior reveled in his prowess; his pale skin glowed in contrast to his black and red armor. The Szarr sigil on his chest delivered a silver gleam under the dim light. Behind him, figures clad in similar armor finished off the remnants of the enemy's army, their triumphant cheers echoing through the battlefield—a declaration of the Szarrs' indomitable might.

The Dragon Coast now lay under their control, a strategic stronghold for dominating trading routes and, inevitably, the region of Cormyr.

The elven warrior walked toward his tent, three figures following close behind. “Master Astarion,” a young human man said. He had fair skin, ash-blonde hair ending at his shoulders, brown eyes, and a middle-muscle frame. “We are so close to reclaiming the whole region under the crimson’s dynasty. Lord Cazador will be delighted,” the pale elf stood still at the mention of his master and progenitor.

Hearing his name ignited discomfort and fury in him. “To be honest, I could care less about what the old wretch thinks, Sebastian. Remember, we are just mere pawns to dispose of for his great conquests,” the elf said, concealing his annoyance.

“Be careful with your words, Astarion,” another man responded. His right eye was of white stone, scars adorned his face, and he had a rich, deep skin tone. But his more prominent feature was a couple of horns adorning his head. “Or what, Wyll? Are you going to tell the old bastard? Warlocks like you are a pain in the ass, always loyal to their masters,” Astarion said with venom in his voice.

“Just trying to save your sorry ass from another year locked in a tomb,” Wyll replied mockingly. Astarion’s eyes opened, and rage invaded his features. “You come and say that again!” he said dangerously approaching Wyll.

The third figure finally intervened, placing herself in the middle of them. “Enough, you two!” she commanded. The woman had a strong build, clearly a warrior with expertise, crimson skin, one horn on her head, and a fiery gold gaze.

“We've had enough blood and fights for a day. Can’t we just rest and clean up all the gore? You two do look like shit.”

“Say that to him, Karlach!” Astarion replied. “If you weren’t one of the master’s spawns I would’ve kicked your ass long time ago” – Wyll answered.

“That is also inappropriate commander Ravengard; our Lord’s spawns are like an extension of himself. You need to show him some respect” -Sebastian said

“Tsk”- Wyll, let out. “Unfortunately, Leon was the most suited for this crusade, and now I have to be stuck with the sharp-tongued one.”

“Too bad my little brother disobeyed Cazador and had to run away with that kid. Now he is been chased to face something worst to dead if he gets caught” - Astarion says in fake mockery, hiding emotions he dared to not show. Deep down he felt sorry for his “bother”.

“There’s time before the sunrise, everyone go get cleaned while the brigade returns with our war loot, then we will able to discuss our next moves.”- Astarion commanded, as the other three figures nod and turn around to leave him in his tend. Astarion takes off his helmet, unleashing rebellious white curls falling down his forehead, placing the helmet on the war table he begins to unlock the strands holding his black armor.

“I thought I said to go clean up, Sebastian”-Astarion says as he feels the presence behind him. The top side of his armor falls heavily on the floor.

“I know…I just wondered if the master needed help with his bath” -Sebastian replied. Astarion turned around to face him, revealing his chiseled torso uncovered and shimmering by the sweat mixed with a bit of blood, “Is that so?”- He said while raising an eyebrow and a smirk on his face, “Then by all means, help me out with my boots”. Sebastian nodded and kneeled in front of him to begin untying Astarion’s boots.

Once he finished, while still kneeling Astarion took Sebastian’s hair and pulled in a way to make him face him. “Good boy, now…work on my pants, then, you can help me with my bath”. Sebastian just grinned and nodded, “As my master commands”.

Far away from the war camp, the vampiric forces continued to loot the nearby villages, burning houses and reuniting the survivors that could serve as military or slaves. A small group of six people were running from the riot, within them two silhouettes leading them trying to get away by blending with the shadows of the buildings.

The smaller figure among them was sobbing and shaking, “Shh…Hayleen, you need to be quiet or they will find us”, -The bigger figure whispered, trying to soothe the little child. – “I’m scared, sister” – the child sobbed. – “They…they killed adar and naneth”.

The oldest on the pair frowned with a pained expression, she couldn’t help their parents, they gave their life to allow them to run, protecting her little sister was all she can do to honor their sacrifice. “I know! but you have to be strong for them.” - The child nodded and dried her tears with the inside of her sleeve.

The bigger sister peeked around a corner, no one in sight, “Alright, lets go and don’t look back”, they were so close to reach the woods, there was a hidden cabin by the lake deep in the woods, with a bit of luck, a boat might still be there. They could row until they reach Cormyr. “Just a little more, Hayleen” -Lathander have mercy on them, she thought. Suddenly three arrows landed in front of them, stopping their advance, no, was all she could think, “Everyone run!”- she said, while several dark horses and their riders approached them. There was no time, they were going to capture them both if she doesn’t do anything, “Take Hayleen, everyone get closer!”.

“NOO! Lyanna! Don’t leave me!” – Hayleen screamed to her sister as she was hold by another woman. Lyanna enveloped her sister and the other escapees with a sacret light, she never tried this conjure before, but it was her only choice. Her eyes glowed with divine light “Morning lord! lend me your strength! Word of recall!” a light orb surrounded all the survivors but herself, the conjure could only carry five people to safety.

The crying face of her sister was the last thing she remembered, what happened next was too fast, the riders reached to her a whip hold onto her ankle before she could have time to react and give in a fight, the movement of the horse rider made her fall and she was violently pulled a few meters before they stopped, her head hit the ground hard enough to leave her stunned. Her eyesight blurred as she as falling unconscious, the rest she remembers from that night was only darkness.

Astarion was comfortable lying in the tub, eyes closed as the warm water soothed him. “You seem more relaxed now” – Sebastian said as he delicately scrubbed Astarion’s torso with a sponge as he settles in, leaning his head on the pale elf shoulder. Astarion chuckles – “I might be…thanks to the good company”

“And some pampering, as much as the bloody semblance suits you, that helmet did outrageous things to your hair. Now you look back to normal” – Sebastian remarked as he tucked a lock of silver hair behind the elf's pointed ears. “Darling, you wound me! You know I would look fabulous even covered in mud and dirt” – the elf replied moving his hand with disdain.

Both men were enjoying a little peace until they hear a commotion outside the tent, looking at each other they hurried to put on some clothes to investigate the noises.

The night hung heavy over the war camp, shrouded in darkness and punctuated by the distant sounds of looting and chaos. Astarion and Sebastian hastily dressed up with comfortable clothes, knives and swords in hand, the commotion outside growing louder. They exited the tent, senses heightened, ready to face whatever disturbance awaited them.

As they stepped out into the night air, a rider emerged from the shadows, mounted on a horse that seemed to meld with the darkness itself. The steed's eyes glowed an eerie crimson, mirroring the seal on the scroll the rider held in his hand. Astarion recognized the rider as one of Cazador's palace messengers.

The rider dismounted gracefully, approaching Astarion with a deep bow. "My master Astarion, I bring grave tidings from the palace," the messenger said, his voice low and respectful. Astarion's eyes narrowed, a flicker of anticipation in his gaze.

"What news?" Astarion demanded, his tone betraying a mix of curiosity and suspicion. Sebastian stood by his side, observing the unfolding scene with a vigilant gaze.

The messenger handed the sealed scroll to Astarion. The crimson wax bore the imprint of Cazador's family crest—the two groups of five rats and five mice intertwined in an intricate pattern. Astarion broke the seal, unfurling the parchment.

The words inscribed on the scroll revealed the fate that had befallen Cazador Szarr. Astarion's eyes scanned the lines, absorbing the news of his master's demise. The air around him seemed to grow heavier, a moment of silence hanging in the balance.

Astarion's expression remained stoic, but a storm brewed beneath the surface. The messenger spoke cautiously, "Lord Cazador met his end in the pursuit of greater power. The Ritual of Profane Ascension has claimed him. He sought to transcend the limitations of vampirism but succumbed to it. All his spawns are to come back to the palace with ease as a new successor must be selected”

Astarion's grip on the scroll tightened, his jaw clenched. Sebastian placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, silently acknowledging the weight of the news. The rest of the camp, unaware of the unfolding drama, continued with its nocturnal activities.

"My master, by the decree of the coven, you or any of the other male spawns, are eligible to ascend and become the new ruler of the coven" the messenger continued, sensing the shift in power dynamics.

Astarion's eyes flickered with a mix of emotions—grief? No, far from it, it was a thirst for the newfound opportunity, and the power that could be in the palm of its hands.

"Thank you for delivering this news. Return to the palace; tell them I will make my way there immediately," Astarion commanded, dismissing the messenger. The rider bowed once more, mounted his shadowy steed, and disappeared into the night, leaving the camp in the wake of Cazador's demise and Astarion's road for ascension.

Sebastian turned to Astarion, his expression a mix of concern and loyalty. "What will you do now, my Lord?"

Astarion gazed into the distance, the campfires flickering like distant stars. "Prepare for a new era, Sebastian. The throne is mine for the taking, and the coven will bow to its new master."

As the words hung in the air, the vampire spawn contemplated the path ahead—the challenges, the opportunities, and the uncharted territories of leadership that awaited him under the moonlit sky.

#ascended astarion #bg3 #astarion x mc #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 tav #astarion ancunin #lord astarion #astarion x sebastian #cazador szarr #bg3 cazador

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wholoveseggs · 7 months

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Moonlight - Chapter One

A woman's life is turned completely upside-down when she encounters some demons in the woods.

I will be putting specific warnings for each chapter as they come out, there is smut and violence in some but I'll put warnings for those chapters accordingly.

If you rather read this on Ao3- Link is here

650 Words - Warnings: Just a tiny bit of violence.

{Masterlist} - Chapter list - Chapter One - Chapter Two

Morning

She set out at sunrise, taking the long path to the forest, enjoying the crisp air and the way the sun shone through the trees in the morning. She made her way behind the tavern, savoring the stillness of the village at the early hour.

Dipping onto a path that only she knew, she cut close to the old hall deep in the woods. She was told by the coven not to venture close to the place, for demons had taken up residence there. Despite their warnings, she kept visiting the place, hoping to catch a glimpse of them. To her disappointment, the place was quiet as usual, so she set off for her destination deep in the woods.

Upon her arrival in the clearing, she began her daily task of gathering herbs for the coven, sorting verbena, monkshood, sage, and lilacs; tying them with rope into neat piles.

She laid her blanket out next to her favorite tree, sitting down upon it and taking out her lunch of bread, hard cheese, and fruit. The sun was now high in the sky; the marvelous shadows of the morning had long since faded. She closed her eyes and let the sun warm her face as she hummed a pleasant melody.

The sound of twigs snapping startled her, and she looked up to see a man standing on the outskirts of the clearing. He had blood on his lips and the collar of his shirt.

"Good afternoon," she said, greeting the man.

He stepped forward, the sun highlighting his curly blonde hair and blue eyes. She knew he was one of the demons.

"You do not fear me?" he asked, stepping closer to her.

"We have a deal with your kind," she said politely as she began packing away the remains of her lunch, "My husband is Tomas."

"Ahh yes, simple Tomas!" he responded mockingly. "Your husband has worked hard to protect his own."

He wouldn't hurt her, but she was fearful nonetheless. For if Tomas found out she had spoken to one of the demons, he would punish her.

"We shouldn't speak to one another; please continue on, for I have work to do," she stood and picked up her blanket, brushing the grass off it.

"What's your name, wife of Tomas?" he asked.

She met his gaze, giving him a polite smile. With a playful glimmer in her eyes, she extended her index finger to her lips. He grinned back at her, his teeth bloody. She wondered whose blood it was.

"Niklaus!" said another man as he stepped into the clearing, grabbing him by the shoulder. He was handsome just like the blonde one, his hair and eyes dark as soil.

"Come now, brother, she's such a beauty, like pure sunlight," said the one called Niklaus as he watched her with hungry eyes.

"You harm her, you violate the peace between us and the coven," said the dark one, pulling him back into the forest.

She watched them go, resisting the desire to follow them and see where they went. So deeply fascinating were the beautiful creatures that looked like men, blood on their lips and darkness in their hearts.

She returned to the village as the sun set, dropping off the herbs at the market before heading down the old path. She hoped Tomas would be drinking at the tavern and was disappointed to see him home. He was sitting on their porch, drinking from his flask; she could see the simmering rage in his posture.

"You are late," he spat, his hands balled into fists.

She knew better than to speak. Instead, she sat down next to him, her head bowed low. He laid his hand forcefully on the back of her neck and stood up, pulling her up by the hair. He dragged her into the house and slammed the door behind them. The sounds of her screams dying in the darkness.

{Masterlist} - Chapter list - Chapter One - Chapter Two

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misslavenderlady · 8 months

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Love at First Bite pt. 3💞

David/Female!OC & Male!OC/Female!OC

Summary: Months have gone by and the bond between Oliver and Sis has grown quite a lot. So much to a point where romance is in the air between them. When he proves how much he truly cares about her, the vampire king decides it's ready for the next step in bringing Oliver and his bride closer~

This was inspired by @ghoulgeousimmaculate and her characters from the series Party the Pain Away and the various fics that take place afterwards. Ghoulie and I discussed the possibility of having another boy join the coven after so many girls were brought in. Please read the previous parts if you haven't yet!

WARNINGS: Fic contains mentions of animal death, trauma, PTSD emotional manipulation, power dynamics, toxic relationship dynamics, threats, attempted mugging, knife, cut wound, mentions of blood/murder, sex and alcohol, bribery/blackmail. This has references to Ghoulie's stuff, and takes place in the modern world, not 1987.

5 Months Ago

Sis could never be alone with her thoughts for too long. She always had to keep herself distracted by something during the night. No matter what she was doing – spending time with her babies, going on dates, or hunting for food – she had to keep her mind from wandering..

When that happened, terrible memories crept into her brain. Horrifying visions of the nightmares she had experienced while wide awake began to play back. Her mother's murder by her own hand. The first time she witnessed the boys feed. Hunters stealing her child and making an escape into the daylight.

Those were the memories that she would be forced to relive again and again and AGAIN the day she left this world for good. No beastly monster could ever hope to see the light of a peaceful realm after death. She had to make the most of her time alive.

After all, she almost didn't make it the night that Cyrus the terrible tore her head from her pregnant body. It was truly hell for her. For them all.

The times when she struggled with those memories were the ones that she found herself longing for something from her human life. Something that was not corrupted by vampires and bloodshed. She had something long ago, which was taken by that very thing.

Queen. Her beloved kitty cat.

Though spoiled beyond belief and incredibly sassy in nature, Queen was a wonderful pet to Sis. Her fur was always soft and fluffy, making it extra pleasant to stroke. Sis loved the way she perched on her stomach to act as a heating pad whenever she dealt with monthly cramps. Her soft purrs and head rubs made Sis' feel safe and loved.

They were loyal companions until the very end…..when David snapped poor Queen's neck.

Sis rarely thought about that terrible night. Thinking about holding the body of her fur baby after the horrid crunch of broken bones filled her ears never failed to bring tears to Sis' eyes. The only reason she began to think about her cat again after years of being a vampire was because she had found an old belonging of Queens.

It had been an uneventful night. Some spring cleaning to occupy her mind. Sis was simply looking for some old antiques to either pawn or decorate the nest with. A velvet jewelry box had caught her eye, sparking an old memory of what she had put inside long ago.

Queen's collar. The last thing she had to remember the kitty by. It even had the tag with Sis's old address on it. Now it was a faded memory of what was once home for the two.

Any work that had captured Sis's focus was forgotten by her. She was completely stuck. Just staring at the trinket and letting tears slip down her cheeks as she grieved in silence.

"My sweet," a raspy voice called to Sis, pulling her attention away. "What're you up to tonight?"

David. Of course, he would pick the worst possible time to try to cause some mischief. Her grip tightened around the woven fabric of the old collar. Her hand trembled terribly, collecting all of her anxiety and anger into one tiny part of her body.

How dare he show his face now? The murderer who took the innocent pet from this world too soon. Even with love and happiness and a beautiful family, Sis would never forget what a monster her husband was. He struck pure terror in her heart when he took her kitty away.

He knew how much she loved her baby, and he still killed the cat without an iota of guilt in his blackened heart.

"Nothing," Sis said, putting the collar back in the jewelry box before shoving it away. "Where's that bottle of absinthe we have?"

David raised an eyebrow at her question. When Sis needed a powerful drink, she usually went for vodka. She had to be in a really bad mental state if she wanted something even harder.

Still, he knew exactly why she wanted it. He could hear all the mournful thoughts of the pet he destroyed long ago. Her lingering trauma from the incident with Cyrus made him realize she needed something to help her feel better.

"Bottom center cupboard on our drink shelf in the study," he told her. "It's tucked away in the very back."

Sis nodded, immediately taking leave. She kept her eyes focused on the ground she moved on, not meeting David's gaze. Though it wasn't exactly subtle, David excused that, as he knew her negative feelings were caused by him.

The darkness in him did not feel remorse for what he did long ago. In his corrupted mind, it was a necessary step in the training to bring the little lady into his life. The queen of the undead needed to be aware that actions had consequences.

Still, David and his boys had grown softer since Sis had come into their lives. She brought out warmth and love they had once assumed was gone when their humanity was destroyed. The past few years had been nothing but sacrifice from her.

She deserved so much for all that she had given for this family. Perhaps the least he could do was provide a new companion as a replacement for Queen. Something protective and loyal, yet kind and gentle with her. Something to keep her safe.

Something…..or someone.

Current Day

Oliver wasn't sure what he did to deserve someone as fantastic as Sis, but he wasn't going to take it for granted.

Ever since the girls night out she had with her lady friends, Oliver has gotten the opportunity to spend more and more time with her. It became a special bonding experience for the two of them.

A few times a week, Sis would stroll into the restaurant on the arm of a gorgeous date or two. Sometimes it was her husbands, other times it was one of her girlfriends, and sometimes it was a fresh face that ended up disappearing before the date even ended. Oliver didn't know what their problem was ditching her like that, but that just motivated him into making her night extra special.

Every time the closing hour came, Sis stuck around a little longer. She always saved some wine for the two of them to share, invited him to take a seat, and spent some time chatting with Oliver.

It was one of his favorite things to look forward to during the week. He endured plenty of chaotic shifts just to get his moments alone with her.

He was pleasantly surprised to find out how much they had in common. They both had a parent who lost their spouse, but still persisted in life, they both valued hard work, and they both adored children. It was just so easy to talk to her about the ups and downs of life.

"I gotta say, you're really lucky having such a big family," Oliver complimented her over their drinks. "I wanted brothers and sisters so bad when I was a kid."

"I'm sure you would have been the best big brother to them," Sis assured him. It brings me joy to have my family by my side, but I do get what it's like to be lonely. To want some companionship."

That was certainly something Oliver could understand. His father couldn't bear to find love again when his mother passed. He didn't blame the guy, as he talked so highly of her when recounting stories of her life. Even if he could barely remember her, Oliver could tell his mother was the light of his father's life.

He had always wanted to find that kind of love too.

"I'm just grateful for all the after school stuff. Playing basketball with my friends and coaching the younger kids was always a highlight after my day."

"I think it's sweet how devoted you were to them," Sis cooed. "A good man who cares about little ones is hard to come by."

Oliver's cheeks flushed and his smile widened from his feelings of bashfulness. No matter how many nights he sat across from Sis and talked about life, he always found himself overwhelmed with positivity from her words. She was just so full of warmth and kindness. He treasured that quality in her more than she probably realized.

"It's the least I could do. And even so, I think you're even more admirable. Being a parent to three babies and helping take care of several others is no small task."

"You mean that?"

"Of course I do!" Oliver assured her. "I'm sure you're an amazing mom to them."

Sis smiled back at the redheaded boy. Oliver had such a natural gift for making her happy. For far too long now she had heard the despicable thoughts of humans around her. Ones that saw her as a piece of meat to stick their dick into, or only told her pretty lies to get on her good side for their personal benefit.

But whenever she gazed into his mind, she only saw kindness. Someone who genuinely wanted to listen and be her friend. Sure, he found her to be quite attractive, but his desire to be respectful outweighed everything else. He supported her other relationships and felt happy just getting the chance to spend time with her.

The more she got to know him, the more Sis found herself growing attached to the human. So much to a point where the fear of going out into the cold, dark world was no longer as strong as it once was.

"Ollie," she spoke, reaching outward to stroke her painted nails across his fingertips. "It's a beautiful night out. You wanna go for a walk along the beach?"

Green eyes widened and his freckled cheeks stretched to accommodate his big smile.

"I'd love to!"

It had been ages since Sis felt comfortable enough to go out without her mates acting as security. Though she was well aware of their presence lurking in the shadows not too far from where she went, progress was still being made.

Sis loved the open space of the Santa Carla Beach. Having a slower time in the year allowed her to enjoy the long miles of sand and water. Just the sounds of the breeze and the rocking waves to act as background.

It was all so perfectly peaceful, and Oliver helped make it even more special.

He truly was a gentleman, holding out his arm for her to hold onto. All she had to do was stay by his side and nuzzle close as she talked about whatever she wanted.

All the while, Oliver's heart was racing like a jackrabbit. It made the vampire queen delighted to know he was so head over heels for her. Even without the physical reactions, she could still hear a massive collection of wild thoughts in his head. They all spun around like a tornado.

She's so amazing. I feel like such a dork compared to her. Am I walking too fast? Too slow? Her perfume smells incredible. She's so beautiful. Don't fuck this up, Oliver. You're so lucky to be with her.

I really want to kiss her.

Sis sighed peacefully and relaxed against her tall companion. Such frantic thoughts made for the perfect lullaby to soothe a stressed vampire.

"I'm sorry, am I being too quiet?" Oliver asked out loud. Little did he know he was being far from it in his head.

"Not at all, darling~" Sis assured him.

Boy, did that get his heart fluttering even faster.

Sis enjoyed the sound of it all throughout their stroll. Even as they moved out of the sandy stretch of land and back onto the concrete sidewalks that connected into the city area, Sis was only focused on her companion.

So much to a point where she almost wasn't paying attention when a new presence made itself known.

"FREEZE!"

The sudden shout made the two of them jolt in surprise. Both their sets of eyes locked on a figure that had jumped out from behind a random street corner. A black ski mask covered the man's entire face while dark clothes and gloves covered the rest of his body.

In his hand was a switchblade knife. Long and shining under the moonlight. Oliver's heart nearly stopped at the sight of the weapon.

"Don't do anything stupid," the man hissed. "You're both gonna do exactly as I say. Got it?"

Sis was not at all impressed by this idiotic robber. Too many times she'd dealt with his kind. They all wave around some weapon that can't actually do permanent damage on a creature like herself, make empty threats in exchange for money or jewelry, and yet scream like babies as she tore their throats out. They never learned their lesson.

But Oliver didn't know that. In his mind, she was just as human as he was, and the first instinct he had was to protect her from getting hurt by this stranger.

To Sis' surprise, Oliver gently tugged her behind his back. He put both his hands up in defense while keeping her blocked from any attacks he feared the robber would pull.

"Okay okay," he said, trying his best to sound calm and collected. "I'll do whatever you want, just don't hurt her."

The robber gripped his switchblade tighter, waving it in the redhead's face.

"I won't hurt her so long as she hands over all the jewelry she's got on. Starting with that fancy looking choker."

If her heart still could beat, it would have skipped at that moment. Sis' eyes widened in fear and her hand fell to the base of her necklace out of instinct.

Besides her wedding ring, that particular piece of jewelry meant the world to her. David had gifted it to her as a way to cover up the nasty scar that Cyrus left the night he took her head off. She couldn't stand the sight of it without the haunting memories, so David made sure she had the beautiful piece to cover it and take her mind off of that traumatizing experience.

Not only that, but having a collar style brought her memories of when Queen was still alive. Though it wasn't like the collar her kitty had, such a style of jewelry had familiar aspects that gave Sis comfort. Like she would always have a piece of her companion with her.

She couldn't bear the idea of getting her choker taken away. Oliver could sense the fear in her heart as she cowered behind him, gripping his arm tightly.

He wouldn't let her get hurt in any way.

"Look, man," Oliver said. "I've got over a hundred and fifty dollars from the tips I made tonight in my wallet. I've also got my debit card. They're all yours if you want, just please don't take her stuff."

"Oliver…" Sis whispered. She couldn't believe how even in the face of danger he was willing to sacrifice his own belongings so hers wouldn't be taken away.

That answer didn't fly with the robber though.

"Fuck you, asshole! I said EVERYTHING," the robber snapped, getting angrier by the moment. He wasn't fucking around, and he made certain the two understood him loud and clear.

With a flick of his wrist, the robber swiped the switchblade outward, slicing towards Oliver. Though he jumped backward, the sharp edge nicked his skin, causing him to yipe out in pain.

Sis was ready to start breaking bones and tearing limbs. How dare this piece of shit hurt Oliver? It was like kicking a puppy. Even so, he must have had the same thing in mind, because he acted faster than she did.

Even with his new wound, Oliver moved swiftly, using a fist to knock the handle out of the robber's fingers. Merely half a second after that, he threw himself shoulder-first into the upper torso of his attacker, knocking him off balance and sending him down on his ass. It was truly a "blink and you'll miss it" moment.

"Leave us alone, creep!" Oliver scolded at him, kicking the discarded switchblade across the pavement and into a nearby storm drain. It clanged against metal bars before disappearing from sight.

Even with a disarmed and injured attacker, Oliver and Sis didn't wait around to see what he planned next. Hand-in-hand, they ran in the opposite direction, putting plenty of distance in between themselves and him. With a good pace, they were able to make it out of the area and back to the entrance of his apartment building. Even something small and dingy was better than dealing with a mugging.

"Ollie, you crazy boy!" Sis said in shock, ushering him inside. She couldn't believe the amount of bravery the human had shown. "You could have gotten hurt worse. You could have gotten killed!"

Even with her frightened expression, Oliver returned one with a soft look in his eyes.

"So could you," he pointed out. "I was scared to death he was gonna do something bad to you. I couldn't let that happen!" He tried to fish his apartment keys out, but was too distracted by the blood dripping and pain shooting in his hand.

Though the bright red painted his pale skin beautifully, Sis was surprisingly not in the mood to feed. Her undead heart was aching over how Oliver put himself in danger like that. He had no idea how unnecessary it was to do something courageous for a vampire.

"Let's get you patched up, Hun," she cooed, taking the keys from his grasp in order to unlock the door.

Though Oliver didn't have much since moving to Santa Carla, he at least had preparations for emergencies. A hefty first aid kit was packed away under the kitchen sink, completely stocked with enough gauze, disinfectant, and wound cleaning supplies for a whole army.

Even with his competency in caring for the cut, Sis still helped as much as she could. She tenderly held his injured hand while he used the good one to finish cleaning and bandaging. Her soft fingers caressed his skin to help soothe him more.

"There! Good as new!" Oliver stated proudly. His hand would heal in no time.

"Well, at least let me help a little bit more," Sis offered. She lifted Oliver's hand to her lips, gently kissing over his bandages. Whenever one of her babies got a boo boo, she did the same thing. It made the redhead smile.

"That does help me feel better, thank you.*

The two of them fell silent for a moment. It made Sis ponder about what this boy had done for her. For months now he had taken care of her as a go-to server. He loved to wait on her hand and foot. The nights they spent drinking wine and talking about life made her feel like her heart could start beating again. He was just so genuine and sweet.

And now he had proven he'd put his life on the line for her. Though she was more than capable of protecting herself, Cyrus had taken away a piece of her bravery. Her dignity. Her power.

Oliver returned it to her. He wouldn't ever let anything hurt her when she was out enjoying the night she was reborn into. That was something she couldn't possibly repay him for in thanks.

But it couldn't hurt to try anyway.

"Maybe this will help even more," she whispered. With her eyes fluttering shut and her body moving forward, Sis brought herself in nice and close so she could kiss him.

The hammering of Oliver's heart was like a sympathy in her ears. His lips were red-hot on her chilled skin. Her breathless body enjoyed the sigh of delight he let out. Both his arms wrapped around her as she took hold of his face in her hands.

He was practically putty in her hands now. Warm and cozy and full of joy.

Oh God, I think I love her.

Make that full of love.

Outside the apartment, a familiar figure was watching the dim light flicker in one of the windows. Smoke puffed past his lips as he took another lungful of his cigarette. He had gone through the whole smoke, and yet he didn't once take his eyes off of the silhouette before him.

His wife was kissing the human waiter. A passionate kiss. One that radiated with gratitude and warmth. He would have been overwhelmed by the little green monster called jealousy if he knew Sis would push her luck with Oliver. But she didn't. Their kiss ended with the two holding each other. A hug of great tenderness to share their gratitude in one anothers safety.

He knew Sis was falling for Oliver. She would have drained him ages ago if she wasn't. Though he preferred to see his fellow coven members touch his bride rather than some lowly human, he knew this was what was best for her. She needed a new love. A companion to make her feel safe.

"Everything go alright, my king?"

David turned his head away from the window to look at the guest he now had. Hidden in the shadows was a figure clothed from head to toe in black. A ski mask shielded his face.

"It did," he answered, flicking the butt of his cigarette onto the ground. "You can take the mask off. Nobody will see you."

The figure nodded before peeling the mask off his head. A mess of dark curls were freed, revealing the appearance of Matthew, Oliver's coworker. It wasn't long ago that he had offered the redhead advice on playing it safe around David and his wife. To be good and live to see another day.

But even those who looked out for the innocent in Santa Carla still remained trapped under the claws of the vampire king.

"You did good tonight, kid," David complimented him. He slipped a gloved hand into his pocket, revealing a massive envelope stuffed full with five thousand dollars. Much more than what Oliver has offered to spare Sis.

Matthew frowned, hesitating at the reward. It never felt right doing things like this, and it never got better.

"I hope I didn't hurt him too bad. I wish I had used a fake knife instead…"

"Nonsense! It wouldn't have been authentic," David smirked, pushing the cash into Matthew's hand.

"Don't beat yourself up over it. You did your job, and now you can go home to that handsome fiancé of yours. I'm sure that money will be quite helpful for your wedding. Ian's a very lucky guy. Wouldn't want to lose someone special like that, right?"

Matthew gulped, hands trembling and growing clammy from the king mentioning his husband-to-be. He had made threats to stop by for a visit if Matthew didn't agree to this in the first place.

"Yes, my king," he sighed. "So long as you and the queen are happy, then we're happy".

David grinned devilishly to himself. Now that the redheaded boy had passed the test, he knew for certain he was going to make the perfect gift for Sis. With his eyes moving back over the light of the window, his mind danced with devious plans of what was to come next for Oliver.

"Oh believe me, I am ecstatic."

end of part 3

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