#exactly how? is it glamourizing to not kill yourself to try looking anything else than what others want you to look?

[uncanny-tranny]

Is that person truly "glamourizing [bad thing]" or are they just existing and not hating themself in the way society demands them to?

[handy-dandy-monster-candy]

Ruathym, part Three

Rating: NSFW Length: 2272 Pairing: Male Drider x GN Reader

The finale for the romance for @kim-monsterlings!

xxx

Much to your surprise, Ruathym gives you space. There are fewer summons and the spies make themselves ever scarcer, until you could swear there were long stretches of time in which you were truly alone. Even more surprising, you found yourself becoming restless and ill-tempered in these moments, losing your patience with even Tinki. (Of course, you make it up to the little, well-meaning creature; spiders, you learn, are surprisingly good at puppy-dog eyes.)

“You’ve been snapping at the staff left and right,” Ruathym says with no small amount of amusement some days later, braiding your hair down your scalp. It’s gotten longer, you realise, and you contemplate cutting it before your captor speaks. “Have I displeased you in some way?”

Yes, you wish to say, but you’re sure that the King has done nothing wrong. Not truly. “No,” you say instead, though it sounds unconvincing to your own ears.

“Hm,” hums Ruathym, tugging gently at your hair in admonishment. “With the way you’ve been acting, one might get the impression that you dislike being far from my side.” You twitch and he laughs, triumphant. “Is that it, my little bug? Have you come to crave the pull of my silk?”

“I wish you wouldn’t mock me,” you grouse, sighing heavily. “It reminds me why I prefer my own company.”

Ruathym chuckles, fingertips skating along the skin of your back before he picks you up and cradles you against him in his four arms. “I thought humans needed time to mourn their losses,” he says, searching your face with something sharper in his eyes than his usual derision. “I’m no reader of minds, my sweet. You must tell me if you have want of me.”

You scoff. You can’t help it. When has being vulnerable ever served you well? You almost bite his fingers when he turns your face to look into your eyes, sighing once again in your defeat. “And if I do?” you challenge, lifting your proud chin. “What of it?”

“Then you shall become my consort,” says Ruathym, with a simple frankness that flabbergasts you.

“Your—what?” you gasp, distantly aware that your lips are flapping like a fish on the docks.

“Do try not to make me repeat myself,” Ruathym replies in exasperation, pinching your chin. “My consort. My lover. Whatever you humans call those of our stations in courtship.”

“But I’m human!” you splutter, struggling to sit up straighter in his arms.

“I’m aware,” drawls Ruathym, helping you get your bearings—at least physically. “Did you think I was sleeping with you because you disgusted me?”

“I…” You don’t have the words. You don’t know what you thought, but it definitely wasn’t this. “You think I’m attractive?”

“What did I just say about making me repeat myself?”

You huff, scowling up into his handsome, angular face. “You wouldn’t be. I want answers, not riddles.”

Ruathym snorts indelicately, one of his few habits that doesn’t come with some modicum of damnable grace. “Yes, I find you attractive. No one else has the audacity to speak to me the way that you do. I find it thrilling.”

“You mean you like it when I’m cruel.” You frown. “That’s not what I’m after. I don’t want to be cruel to my lover. If you want to court me, you do it right.”

Ruathym carefully sets you down on the bed, curling his legs up under himself and draping his humanoid torso across plump, velvety pillows. “Teach me what humans do ‘right’, then,” he commands, gesturing for you to speak.

You flounder for a moment; this was not how you expected your evening to go. “We… We court,” you say dumbly, gesticulating helplessly. “We exchange gifts of trinkets and flowers, we write one another letters, we—well, usually there’s pining involved, I suppose.”

“How dull,” sighs the King, watching you beneath his thick, silvery lashes. “Driders kill for their lovers.”

The weight of his words isn’t lost on you. You think of your brother and his knights—of the entirety of the kingdom laid to waste at your feet. You feel lightheaded, blood creeping up your neck and up into your face. You have to resist the urge to hide from the slow, smug smirk of satisfaction that melts onto the Drider King’s face. Damn the man. Had he been courting you in his own way this entire time? Damn him!

“What about the Queen?” you ask, hedging around the obvious revelation and latching onto one of your more prominent doubts.

Ruathym blinks hard, clearly startled. “What about her?”

“You’re married,” you say, “and she hates me. Won’t she want me dead once she realises her lover’s attention has strayed?”

The King laughs, hard and loud, throwing his head back with his mirth and revealing his fangs. “She’s never loved me a day in her life,” he manages to gurgle after several seconds of laughter, “and the feeling is mutual. We married for politics and to spawn strong children. That’s all. If she so much as schemes to harm a hair on your head, I will kill her or die trying.”

“Ruathym!”

“What? Does it shock you? I protect what is mine, little bug, and you are what I wish to possess in your entirety.”

You bristle at this, though you curse your stupid heart for fluttering in your chest like a tizzied moth. “I’m not a thing, Ruathym. You can’t possess me. Either you love me, or our arrangement remains the same.”

Ruathym shrugs an elegant shoulder, expression shifting into something bordering on thoughtful. “What is love to a human may not be love to a drider, little one. I want you, more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. Is that not love? I would kill you before I allowed you to court another. Is that not love? I would lay down my life to protect you. Is that not love, this powerful, ugly thing?”

You don’t know what to say to this. You want to object, but your heart is pounding too loudly, your thoughts are too muddled. Never has someone felt so strongly about you, and while your feelings are conflicted, you can’t deny that there’s something intoxicating about the King and his firm command of you in and out of the bedchambers.

Courtship with Ruathym is… interesting. He sends you poisonous flowers at first for their beauty, unaware that their very touch could kill you. When you correct him, he expresses his disdain for human frailty, but then he sends for roses and takes the care to have their thorns removed so as to avoid any chance of injury. It’s excessive and obnoxious, but it’s endearing in its own way, even if you’ve never been particularly fond of roses. Still, each bouquet is a different colour paired with different complimentary flowers, and you begin to look forward to your weekly deliveries with something like anticipation.

Then there are the letters.

As expected, Ruathym’s lettering is swooping and elegant, more reminiscent of ornamental calligraphy than what one would use for writing to a lover. Still, each letter holds within it a terribly sweet awkwardness that lets you know that he’s never written a letter out of love in the whole of his life. He’s strangely formal at first, addressing you by all of your names in the greetings of his first few letters, but it isn’t long before he’s dropping them all in favour of addressing you as he does in person. It makes your heart flutter oddly in your chest to see ‘little bug’ written in such beautiful, glittering script, shimmering silver on charcoal grey parchment.

Soon, they become less letters and more little notes delivered on scraps here and there. Tiny doodles of advisors dying terrible deaths done in the throes of boredom, or tidbits of trivia from the kingdom at large. Did you know we had 5,363 cattle in the region of the L’Surba Caverns? Neither did I know nor care, one says, and you snort into your tea at the thought of the King sitting proudly while some poor sod with an abacus counted out their livestock from the sum of several reports. While you missed the weight of your crown, you did not exactly miss all of the bureaucracy attached to it.

He takes you on little outings, here and there. At first it’s a simple stroll through the gardens, sharing meals and speaking about your days. Then, as you both grow bolder, outings to meet—or, in his case, intimidate—the people. Finally, with glamours and enchantments, you take to the countryside for days at a time, disguised as a couple or adventurers on a quest. It’s during these outings that you get to know him best, away from the bustle of the castle, where his impetuous charm and rakish smiles lure you to him like a moth to flame, and you crash and burn in his heated embrace.

One evening many months later, you are summoned to a part of the palace that you rarely frequent, for it is usually crawling with servants and vassals of every kind. Now, however, the halls are quiet and still, and the servant who leads you to the chamber where Ruathym awaits disappears like a whisper in the dark. There, in the centre of the room, is a set of robes unlike any you’ve ever seen, woven in shimmering silk dyed the colour of rubies. You approach as if in a dream, running your fingers along embroidery in the shape of tiny silver spiderlings along the shoulders and hems—you nearly jump out of your skin when the King drapes himself across your back.

“What is this?” you whisper, looking over your shoulder at his soft, searching face.

“Your wedding attire,” he says, and he seems unperturbed when you draw away, stunned.

“My what? Your wife!”

“Is dead,” Ruathym simply replies, shaking his head at your unasked question. “We had a clutch of eggs. She went the natural way. The children feed on her yet.”

You grimace at this, though you can’t deny the relief you feel at her passing. “You’re a father now?”

“I am. You will also be their parent, when we wed.”

“‘When’? You’re assuming I’ll accept!”

“Would you deny me?” he asks sharply, eyes narrowing into gleaming slits.

Your stomach flips. “Well,” you say, flustered and at a loss. “This is all so sudden, Ruathym!”

“Is it really?” he asks, reeling you in against him again. “We’ve posed as newlyweds before. Why is it so different now?”

“Because it’s real now! We wouldn’t be pretending!”

“Who says that I was pretending before?” he demands, trapping you between his body and the robe on the mannequin. “It was practise.”

You feel your face burning, and you’re sure you might blend into the robe at your back if given just a little more provocation. “You despicable little—“

“Yes, yes, call me names,” he says, waving away your insults. “Later. Give me your answer now.”

“You know my answer,” you grumble, pushing ineffectively at his chest.

“I know it,” he confirms, smugness in every syllable. “I wish to hear it.”

You kiss him instead, drawing him into a passionate embrace and climbing up into his arms when he lifts you off your feet. You hadn’t seen the bed in the corner of the room, but that’s where he takes you a moment later, tossing your “irritating human clothing” over the edge of it and onto the floor. You expect him to bend you over the pillows. You expect him to claw at your skin, to bite at your shoulders, to whisper filth into your ears.

He kisses you instead.

He kisses you like neither of you have ever borne a crown—as if he could find the answers in the hazing of your eyes when he steals your breath with his tongue, hands in your hair and burning along your spine. He teases you open with his fingers until you’re reduced to begging for release, and then he presses into you with soft, shuddering breaths spilling from his lips, eyes on your face as you toss your head back into the sheets and writhe.

He sighs your name like a psalm when you come around him, and then he pushes into you again and again, his cool fingers threading between yours and holding you firmly against the bed as you shake apart beneath him. You feel something in your chest unbreak when he bites you without fang, staying present for every moment that his lips brush against yours and your name falls into the pool of heat between you.

This time, when he comes, he shatters like a shower of glass and sparks, cresting against you like a wave and pushing you over the edge all over again, throat trapped desperately—willingly—between his teeth. When your eyes focus again, you find him looking down at you with a tenderness you’d never thought him capable of, and it makes you want to hide. “What?” you whisper up at him, trying and failing to tug a bit of the sheets over your body.

“I love you, little bug,” Ruathym whispers back, tracing your lips with his thumb. “I have done and will do so until this heart in my chest stops beating.”

“That’s so dark,” you say, “for a declaration of love.”

“It is my declaration, and I am not a man of light. Would you deny me?”

“No,” you breathe, shyly reaching up to touch his face. “I love you, too.”

Ruathym smiles, and despite his words, it lights up the room. “I know.”

You snort. “Bastard.”

“I know that, too.”

[highdramas]

bandit like me | criminal!bucky

warnings: language, violence, references to criminal behavior, allusions to sexy shit, bucky being a cocky asshole

word count: 2197

summary: if you and bucky are doomed, you want to see the glorious fallout.

note: this is the start of a bucky au series which will eventually be based on the heist from oceans 8! this is just an intro to bucky’s history with the reader, and their dynamic, but i’m so excited to continue!

enjoy! <3

god, you love vegas.

there’s a certain sort of dirty glamour that you can’t find anywhere else, you think-- and while you spend the majority of your time in new york these days, you find that your heart always has a certain tug to las vegas. after all, it is where you got your start as one of the finest pickpockets and swindlers on either side of the mississippi.

among other things.

it’s where you met james buchanan barnes for the first time.

you’d heard his name like a whisper in the wind for years before you met him in person. james “bucky” barnes, criminal extraordinaire. of course, you were young, and you had stars in your eyes and you had not yet been hardened by the world. you had not yet had to kill your way out of a shady job, had not yet conned a man of everything he was worth.

that was your favorite part, you think.

taking from men what they had earned unfairly.

if justice wasn’t coming for them, you would bring it upon them yourself. you would take it all and you would feel no remorse. their wealth, their assets, their connections.

sometimes, even their wives.

but those were petty games that you had played when you were young. you like to believe that you are more mature now; both in your swindling and in your personality.

sometimes, you miss those days. you miss running with natasha and chewing up men and spitting them back out. you miss the high of pulling off a real good job. you miss watching a man crumble beneath you, begging for mercy. of course, you would never give it. but you would make a show of thinking about it, and natasha would laugh, and she would say, “stop playing with your food, honey.”

that’s another thing.

you rarely reveal your real name.

not even to your closest confidants. not even to natasha.

no, you find that there are two ways that you introduce yourself. you either stare straight with a narrow gaze, murmuring something along the lines of, “your worst nightmare.” or, you smile sweetly with an outstretched hand and your head gracefully tilted. “call me honey.”

there’s only one person that you’ve worked with who knows your real name.

and he’s sitting at the hotel bar.

already, you can feel your annoyance begin to bubble. you can do one of two things-- you can saunter over there and properly ignore him, knowing that he will notice you instantly. or, you can go up to your room.

you decide you need a drink more than you need your sanity.

somehow, you’re sure that he already knows you’re here. you approach the bar and tap on it, smiling at the bartender. “cosmopolitan.” you turn your head to the right and he’s already looking at you.

“i thought you’d never show, doll.”

a smirk begins to play on your lips, and you thank the bartender as you slide your drink to yourself. “i should get a restraining order,” you muse as you lift your glass to your lips, taking a lengthy sip. “you creep.”

bucky laughs and he takes a sip of his own drink, and you don’t even have to look to know what it is-- whiskey coke. god, you always gave him shit for it. told him he should at least drink his whiskey neat. he would always give you that same stupid smirk and he would say, “what, i can’t have a little sweet, honey?”

“that’d be no fun,” he says and god you know that he’s right, but you hate to admit it. “who you here for?”

all the attempts of not looking at him are futile, and you throw a glance in his direction. he looks as glorious and handsome as ever. the man drips with luxury. from his suit to his hair to his beard which has grown out slightly since the last time that you saw him-- everything about him tells you that he is expensive. “you think i’d tell you?”

“i’m here for pleasure, darling. i’m not going to infiltrate on your job.”

you scoff. “i have a hard time believing that. when are you ever not thinking about work?”

bucky’s desire to work is the cause of all of his success, as well as all of his problems, you think.

part of you feels sorry for him, knowing how much stress he places upon himself. another part of you can’t help but resent it, knowing it is the reason that you two would never, ever, ever possibly work as something more than easy flirtation and a good night between the sheets.

“i’m a changed man, honey.” bucky gestures to the barstool beside him. “you gonna stand and drink that all night?”

a pointed look is thrown in his direction and you finally take a seat. “you knew i would be here, didn’t you?”

“heard from nat,” bucky takes a sip from his drink. “i’ve got some intel on your hit.”

your hit isn’t your normal vegas regular. no, your hit is alexander pierce, one of the highest ranking government officials you could sink your claws into. you’d met him networking at an event in dc and he had been quite interested in you, which you always liked to use to your advantage. luring him out to las vegas took little effort and much amusement, buying you time to do your research.

you’d clear his room of all his belongings and sell off the paperwork to your government contacts who would purchase them for a steep price, and you would be on your way.

without a trace.

you were good at that part. going off the grid. no social media footprint, nothing to track you by-- you were living in the world partially invisible. you like to keep it that way.

though, sometimes it gets lonely.

no one knows that better than the man who sits beside you now.

“spit it out, then.”

bucky smiles and for a moment, you think he might say something else, but he begins to divulge quickly. information about his security detail, shift rotations. information you could’ve found out easily, but don’t mind having handed to you. but you’re less interested in that. your brows furrow as you look at him. “how far out of your way did you go to get this intel?”

he gives a nonchalant shrug. “far enough.” he smiles. “gotta help out my girl.”

“i’m not your girl,” you say with a smirk. “if anything, you’re my bitch. getting me intel, following me around to tell me.”

this gets a laugh out of him and you look forward again, finishing off your drink. “now that’s my girl.” he throws a hundred dollar bill onto the bartop and follows suit, tipping his head back to empty his cup of its contents. “walk with me?”

you stare and watch as he outstretches his hand to you. despite your better judgement, you take it. the pair of you walk side by side until you’re stepping out into the still warm air, but the breeze offers enough of a chill that the hairs on your arms stand up. bucky looks over at you and begins to shuck off his jacket, making you immediately protest. “bucky, no--”

but he’s already draping it over your shoulders, and you are tugging it just a bit closer to you, and you note that it smells like him. like that stupid ysl cologne you bought him all those years ago.

well, you didn’t buy it. you’d stolen it.

no words are exchanged as you move along on the sidewalk, watching on at people busking and performing on the street, ignoring the elsa’s and spiderman’s who try to pull you in for photo ops. one of them gets particularly aggressive and bucky pulls you into him, as if you’re not a woman who has driven a dagger into the gut of a man for far less, saying, “move along, pal.”

“so touchy tonight,” you purr, leaning into him slightly when he doesn’t remove his arm from your waist. “like the good ‘ole days.”

“oh, you remember?” bucky jokes, and it already has you laughing. “you were acting so coy back there in the bar, i thought that you might’ve forgotten me altogether.”

you shake your head and you stop in the street. you wear his jacket and he straightens his tie and he smiles down at you. “of course i didn’t.” you jut your chin up. “doesn’t change anything, though.”

what doesn’t it change, exactly?

it doesn’t change that the last time you saw james buchanan barnes, you had told him that you loved him. and he had told you that he loved you in return. and you had both agreed that it needed to end now before either of you caused irreversible damage to the other.

criminals being with criminals never ends well.

“not a thing,” he agrees with you. he pushes a piece of hair back and it’s getting harder to remember why you were so stubborn when it came to him. why, exactly, you felt the need to push your feelings away so desperately. “wish it would, though.”

“yeah.” a small, almost shy, smile works its way onto your lips. “me too.”

bucky’s jaw slacks and his fingers trail your cheek, and you can feel the cool metal of his rings against your flesh. “it’s not like this with other people, is it, honey?”

“of course not,” you nearly hiss. “is it like this with other people for you?”

bucky has a knowing sort of smirk. “no.” he wets his lips, his eyes settling on your lips for just a beat too long. “it never will be.”

the tension surrounds the both of you, and you’re the one to break it. you press your hand to bucky’s chest and push on it slightly, pushing him away, pushing away all of the feelings and confusion that comes with him. “we’re not doing this tonight. i’ve got a job to do in the morning.”

you begin to walk, and bucky is on your heels. “so our pillowtalk can be about work,” he says, and you can practically hear the cocky and sly charm in his words. “i made sure to get a king bed. and a bottle of moet.”

again, you stop, and you turn to him. you’ve nearly walked a circle around the block, and you can see the hotel not far off. “you really got info from nat about my job, got me intel to butter me up, and then want to take me to bed?” you huff and even you can’t help but laugh. “nothing’s changed, barnes.”

you set off again and he groans, following after you. “you know it’s not like that.” he catches your wrist and he spins you, getting you to face him. “it’s never that that… simple with you.”

you rip your wrist from his hand and make your way into the hotel lobby, making sure your hips swing just a bit more than usual. you remember bucky laughing and gripping those hips on a late winter night in new york city, nearly three years ago now-- “such a tease,” he had said into your ear.

“bucky,” you say as you both approach the elevators. “it’s not happening.”

he sighs and he hangs his head. “yeah.” he looks up at you. “i do miss you, doll.”

“yeah, i know.” the elevator doors open and you step into them. bucky tries to follow after you, but you hold your hand up. “i’ll be seeing you, james.”

“see you, honey.”

the doors click shut and you practically collapse. the effort of pretending to not love bucky is exhausting.

in a blur, you go to your room and unpack your things. you take off your makeup and your expensive jewelry that you plucked off the wrists and necks and fingers of random passing civilians during all of your worldly travels. when you pick your phone up, you notice that you have a text from an unknown number.

floor 45, room 7.

you roll your eyes and toss your phone back onto the bed. you’re a strong woman-- certainly strong enough to resist the temptation of knowing exactly where to find the one person that you want.

one hour passes. you scroll through instagram.

another. you finally crawl into bed.

three hours. it’s nearly three in the morning and you cannot sleep.

by four, your feet are in slippers and you wrap a silky robe around your body.

you don’t move. 4:30am blinks at you on the clock.

at five, bucky is opening the door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and staring at you.

“don’t say a word,” you hiss before you’re grabbing for him, pulling him to you, and pressing your lips to his.

but bucky is a smug asshole. as you move through his suite, his hands are everywhere, and he pushes you back onto the bed. once he’s hovering over you, his lips just a ghost above the shell of your ear, he can’t help but whisper…

“looks like nothing’s changed.”

[the-sound-of-her-wings]

In a Crowd of Thousands

Loki x Gender Neutral!Reader, set in between Thor: The Dark World and Thor: Ragnarok. Loki is currently pretending to be Odin.

Word Count: 1,744

Contains: Reunions, Threats of Violence, Angst?, Fluff?

Inspiration: In a Crowd of Thousands from Anastasia.

As the child of one of Vanaheim’s two senators, you were expected to make appearances with your mother often- or as often as an 8-year-old would allow. People weren’t exactly expecting you to appear at every signing of a bill into law, but they were expecting to see you at fun things. The kind of events that kids dream of taking a part of, or at least look up at in wonder. This was one of those events: a parade celebrating the over thousand-year peace between Asgard and Vanaheim, cemented when Frigga and Odin were married.

You sat high on a carriage, next to your mother. You were dressed in fine Vanheimian silks, enshrouding your body and making a hot summer that much more unbearable. You began to fuss with the sleeves on your outfit when you took notice of something odd. A small child, extremely disheveled and dirty, staring directly at you from the crowd.

As your carriage moved by, you saw him begin to move, trying to catch up with you. The guards spot him, but they can’t catch him. He is able to dodge them and escape from the crowd into the parade. He begins to run towards you, shouting your name the whole time. Your mother realizes this boy is very persistent and elects to stop the carriage so that he doesn’t get run over by it. You smile at him as he bows. The guards finally catch up to him and take him away, and you wave goodbye to him as he is dragged away kicking. The parade starts up again, and you continue on the rest of your day thinking about that day.

You still think about that day now and then- even a thousand years later. Not much has changed since then- your homeworld is still a democracy, run by two main senators. The only real difference is the people in power- now, one of them is you. It’s your first term as a Senator, though you’ve had a lot of experience in the local politics of your homeworld. Unfortunately, that’s not very helpful when it comes to politicking with leaders of the other Nine Realms. The last time you left Vanheim, and subsequently met any kind of leader outside your own world, was that parade. But now, you're going back.

Five years had passed since Frigga was killed by the Dark Elf Algrim. The peace between Asgard and Vanheim was as strong as it ever was, but the people of Vanheim were weary. To appease your people, and to ensure that the peace remained strong, yearly visits to Asgard were implemented. It was more for keeping up appearances than anything, but you had been warned by your predecessor had informed you this usually came with in-depth philosophical discussions.

You knew something was off as soon as you arrived. You were not greeted by Heimdall. Instead, some man named Skurge had welcomed you. You might have been a child when you were last here, but you distinctly remembered the Bifrost Bridge being more colorful, shining more brilliantly, and having less stuff littering it. By the time you make it to the throne room, you are thoroughly convinced some trickery is afoot. The person pretending to be Odin, sitting atop his throne confirms this.

You can tell right away that it’s not Odin. Your people are one of old magic and trickery, and this is an obvious example of a well-crafted, almost perfected glamour. But you can see through the cracks. The puzzle now is figuring out who is pretending to be Odin- without causing the people of Asgard to panic at the fact their ruler is not who he says he is.

“Greetings, Senator Y/N of Vanheim. Welcome to Asgard. I trust your journey here went smoothly.” The false king states.

You bow your head in keeping with tradition. “Greetings, Odin, All-father, Protector of the Nine Realms. My journey was safe and swift, and I am thankful to have the honor to be in your presence once more.”

“You honor me, Senator, with your respect for my right as King. Come now, let us dine together.” You raise your head again and begin following the false Odin into the dining room.

Thankfully, another part of the tradition is for Odin to eat dinner with the Senator of Vanheim alone upon their arrival in Asgard. Which gives you the perfect opportunity to figure out who is masquerading behind the facade of Odin. As soon as you are alone together, you make your first move: Undoing the magic being done to pretend to be Odin. You are unsurprised to see who it is, but something now seems eerily familiar about him that hadn’t before.

“How did you do that?” He asks, puzzled that he looks like himself again.

“What are you doing, Loki?” Your voice is sharp but quiet, careful not to alert anyone who may be trying to listen to the huge secret you’ve just unveiled.

“What does it look like I’m doing? And you haven’t answered my question.”

You take a huge deep breath and let the air flow out slowly through your mouth so you don’t immediately fly into a rage. You are still a Senator, after all. “If you had studied the magics like you had been told too, maybe you would know the answer. Now, where is Odin?” You begin walking towards him, and he walks backward to keep the distance between you.

“I have no idea.” His answer sounds honest, but you know it’s a lie. He has backed himself into a corner, and you stand in front of him, about the block him in when he teleports to the other side of the room.

“Do not test me, Prince,” You begin, conjuring a gigantic ball of flame, “Where is your father? What have you done to him?”

“Senator, please calm down. We wouldn’t want a diplomatic incident, now would we?” Loki is smirking at you, thinking he’s got you in a bind. But he doesn’t realize he’s already lost.

You glare at him and put out the flame. “See, now that wasn’t that-” His speech is interrupted by you transforming into him, and reconjuring the flame.

“Do not trifle with me, Prince. I would be more than happy to kill you and replace you if it meant no one else must suffer at your hand. Now tell me. Where is your father?”

“He’s in a retirement home on Earth.” You transform back into yourself instantly upon this revelation and put out the flame once more.

“What in his name is he doing on Earth in a retirement home?” Your anger is gone, you are just tired now. Tired of the trickery, and games. And you really just want to eat.

“I put him under a spell. Wiped his memories.” You want to cry. Your first visit back to Asgard and it’s a total disaster.

You hesitate before asking, “How long have you been at this?”

“Five years” You look up at the ceiling and bite your lip to prevent yourself from screaming. When you look back at Loki you stop biting your lip and instead smile, and clap.

Through gritted teeth you shout, “Let’s Eat!” He opens his mouth to say something, but you are done with his nonsense. You cast a spell to temporarily prevent him from speaking. He glares at you, but you ignore him. You sit down next to each other at the table and eat the dinner you had been craving since you arrived.

After you finish the meal, you reverse the spell, and tell him, “You are the luckiest Prince in the Nine Realms, Loki.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s luck. I worked pretty hard to get here.”

“Loki. You do realize that had any other Vanheimian Senator, let alone any other ruler of any of the Nine Realms, found out your secret before me, they would have killed you on the spot?”

“Then why haven’t you killed me, Senator?”

“I’d rather not have to deal with the war that will come after that. Even if I am justified, it would destabilize all the Nine Realms. I will not sacrifice millennia of peace because you decided to rule Asgard for five years.” You reply.

“I am grateful.”

“You know,” You start, and you're not sure why you’re telling him this, “I’ve been waiting a millennium to come back here. And this is what I find now that all this time has passed. A Prince playing at being King.”

“A millennium?” There is a shift in his tone as he asked.

“Yes, a millennium. I keep thinking back to the day my mother and I came here. She was a Senator at that time, and we were in a parade. There was a boy-”

“That was you?” The realization hits him first, and his whole demeanor shifts.

“What do you mean that was me?” You are in denial.

“I was that boy. The one who made you smile and got dragged away by guards- that was me.”

“Are you telling me the day I couldn’t stop thinking about for centuries, that the boy I wanted to come back and find- that was you?” You really wish this was one of his tricks, but it’s not. It’s obvious it’s not. The way he’s looking at you like he’s just rediscovered the love of his life, tells you he’s not lying.

“You couldn’t stop thinking about it either?” He asks.

“I wanted to find you again.”

“So did I.” He chuckles, “It seems ridiculous now. I spent a decade looking for you, but my mother said-”

“Don’t worry, child. You will meet again one day when the fates allow?” You finish his sentence.

“Yes, exactly.” Loki smiles at the memory of Frigga.

“So what now?” You ask.

He reaches out for your hand and you give it to him. “We make up for lost time.” He kisses you, and you kiss him back. It is the kiss of a long-lost love, full of passion and relief. Of a spouse returning from war, years after the war has ended, long since presumed to be dead. As the kiss ends, you embrace each other. You saw each other in a crowd a thousand years ago. And a thousand years from now you will be in crowds together, happily married, with the peace between your realms secured for thousands more.

[noladyme]

My Only Sunshine - Chapter 8 FINAL CHAPTER

Liv is as human as they come – faults and all. After a dark experience in her past, she is determined to live life on her own terms, and never let anyone claim her as theirs again. This becomes an issue, when she meets a 1000-yearold vampire, who is dead-set on claiming her as his own.

CHAPTER 7

I had my first shift back at Merlotte’s a few days later; having needed to wind down a bit. I hadn’t called or texted anyone to let them know exactly when I’d be back, so when I arrived at work, my friends rushed over to greet me. I noticed Sam examining my exposed skin for fang-marks , and was happy Eric had helped me rid of them. I couldn’t take a telling off from Sam right now; still too raw from my trip to Dallas. When he was satisfied, I wasn’t hurt, he gave me a warm hug. Sookie was next, and gave me a secret empathetic smile. “I just want to get back to work”, I said. “Back to normal”. “Did something happen to you in Dallas, cher’?”, Sam asked. “You look like you’ve been through it”. “No… nothing like that. Just jet-lagged from vamp-time”, I smiled. He nodded disbelievingly. “Any more… pictures show up here?”. “No. Nothing”, he replied. I sighed in relief. “Good. I’ll just go do, what you pay me to do, now”. I walked off, feeling both his and Sookie’s eyes on my back as I went.

I was happy to be back in flats, as I didn’t have any vamp-blood to heal my blisters. The lack of heels didn’t stop Jason from checking out my ass, as I came over to serve him and his crew their food. “Hey Liv! I hear you’ve been in Dallas. You running away from us permanently?”, he asked. “Nope. I’m in Bon Temps for the long haul”, I smiled. “Good, ‘cuz I’ve been thinking… You and I never did go on that date…”. I patted his cheek. “And we never will, Jason. You’re too much man to handle, big guy”. He leaned back in his seat, and smirked at me flirtatiously. “Nah, I think you can take it”. “Never gonna happen, Stackhouse”, I called over my shoulder, as I walked away.

Just after sundown, Bill showed up. After having kissed Sookie, he took me by surprise, by leaning in to give me a half hug. “I am glad to sae you unharmed”, he said. “We’re you really that worried?”, I asked. “I’ve been fine”. Bill lowered his voice for discretion. “But that phone call. Eric said…”. I felt tears forming in my eyes. “Liv doesn’t want to talk about that, Bill”, Sookie said. “But…”, Bill tried. “Please…”, I croaked. “Sook’, can you take care of my tables for a minute? I need some air…”. Sookie nodded, and patted my back, before I slipped out the back door.

The night was chilly for once; and I felt goosebumps form on my exposed arms and legs. I was feeling ridiculous for crying, but couldn’t help myself. Bill came out to join me. “I am terribly sorry. I didn’t realize I’d cause such pain to you by speaking of…”. “It’s fine, Bill. You couldn’t know”, I said, and accepted the handkerchief he handed me. I took a deep breath, and leaned my back against the wall next to the dumpster; grabbing a cigarette from my fanny pack, and lighting it. “Can I ask you a vampire question?”, I said. “Of course!”, he responded. I chewed my lip nervously. “What does it mean when a vampire wants to make a human theirs?”.

Bill thought for a moment. “Well, when a vampire wants to lay claim to a human, so that no other vampire can; he or she will do so by simply proclaiming it”. “You don’t ask the human?”, I said wonderingly. “Not usually, no”. “But what about what the human wants? What if they don’t want to belong to the vampire?”. Bill shrugged. “After the great reveal, consensual relationships between humans and vampires are much more common… obviously. In Sookie’s and my case, if she wanted to discontinue our relationship…”. He seemed pained at the thought. “Well, I would let her go. But she would still be mine, when it came to other vampires wanting to feed from her, or have… relations with her. I’ve claimed her…”. “Huh…”, I muttered.

“I take it Eric has claimed you…”, Bill said, distaste clear in his voice. “No”, I said. He frowned in confusion. “Why?”. I took a draw from my smoke, and looked at him earnestly. “Because I said no”. Bills jaw literally dropped, and I saw more of the white in his eyes than I ever had before. “And he… accepted that?”. I nodded. “Are you sure we are talking about the same Eric Northman? He is the kind of vampire who takes what he wants”. “Not me… I guess he didn’t want me that bad”, I muttered, and took another draw from my cigarette. I wasn’t sure about the truth of my own words. Eric had asked me, which was apparently out of character for him; but I didn’t dare let myself believe that there was a deeper meaning to his behavior.

Bill seemed unable to come up with a proper reply, and instead decided to pat my shoulder. Suddenly, he froze in place, looking towards the trees. “What’s wrong?”, I asked. “I don’t know…”, he said quietly. “I saw something”. I felt the hair at the back of my neck stand up straight. “What kind of something?”. “I am not sure… It’s probably nothing. No need to worry. Please tell Sookie I will be back to escort her home”. He was gone within a second, only leaving a gush of wind that made the smell of the dumpster hit my nose. I cringed, and went back inside. After relaying Bills words to Sookie, I got back to work.

As late as it was, there were fewer orders for food; as people had turned to alcohol instead. I went back and forth between the bar for a few hours, serving gin & tonics, beers and whiskey sours to the good and less than good people of Bon Temps. After a while, I finally felt able to push my trip to Dallas to the back of my mind; and focus on just being present where I was. Just before last call, Sam came up to me with a tray with two pink drinks. “Watermelon margaritas…”, he shrugged. “Never made one before, but the guy in the corner insisted on it. Wanted you to bring them”.

I spun around, and looked towards the corner booth; where Thomas was seated, smiling at me. My hands began shaking. “Liv? You ok?”, Sam asked. “You know him?”. “He’s… someone I knew back in San Diego”, I breathed. “Do you need me to take care of it?”. I shook my head fervently. I didn’t know why Thomas was here, but whatever his reason was, I didn’t think he remember having attacked me; and I didn’t want to cause a scene. “I got it…”, I said, and took the tray; walking over to the table.

I set down the drinks in front of Thomas. “Nice to see you again”, he said. “Will there be anything else?”, I asked coldly. “Just some company, if you don’t mind…”, Thomas smiled. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m at work”, I replied. “But I got your favorite drink, Liv… And I sent you those pictures, to remind you of the good times we had”. I met his eyes, which were cold and hard. I looked over my shoulder at Sam, who’d returned to serving the patrons at the bar. “Your vampire friend is gone. My vampire friend took care of that. Now sit down, before I have to do something rash”. He lifted his jacket slightly, letting me see the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

My heart beat 1000 miles per second, and I slowly lowered myself to sit across from Thomas. “What do you want?”, I whispered. “I want to talk to you about what happened that night…”, he replied. “You remember”, I said. Thomas nodded. “How?”. “The vampire friend I mentioned… His blood makes me able to do things, you can’t even imagine”. I shook my head, almost in pity of him. “How much is he plying you with?”. “Enough to make it close to impossible to glamour me”, Thomas grinned. “You know how it is. You can’t be glamoured either. That tall vampire saw to that”. “No… that’s different. Thomas, you have an addiction… a sickness!”, I sighed. “You have to know this is crazy!”.

He jolted forwards, and grabbed both my hands over the table; making it look as if we were holding hands, when in reality, he was hurting me. “What’s crazy is you throwing away a perfectly good guy, and letting some vamp feed on you instead”, he hissed. “You were going to rape me”, I whimpered. “You wanted it! You were practically throwing yourself at me for weeks!”. “No, I wasn’t… I said yes to one date, that was it. I was just being friendly…”. He let go of my hands, and sat back again. “You’re such a fucking slut, you know that? You led me on…”. He grabbed the gun from his waistband, cocked the hammer, and moved it under the table. I felt the barrel press at the inside of my knees. “You probably put out to that vampire in Dallas, didn’t you…? How much did he pay you?”. “Don’t do this, please…”, I whimpered.

Sam rang the bell. “That’s it, folks. Drink up!”. Sookie walked towards Thomas and me. “Don’t say anything. I swear I’ll shoot you, and everyone else in this shithole…”, Thomas hissed, and then suddenly smiled brightly at my approaching friend. Once at the table, Sookie looked questioningly at me. “Who’s your friend, Liv?”, she asked. I smiled as brightly as I could at her; willing her to hear my thoughts. “This is Thomas”, I said. Sookie. He’s dangerous. Listen to his thoughts, please!. “We knew each other in San Diego, and reconnected in Dallas”. Sookie’s eyes flickered, and she stuck out her hand to Thomas; who grabbed it with his free left hand. “Hi there, Thomas!”, she smiled. I saw confusion ghost her face, before she looked back at me. “Liv, could you come help us close up? We’re kind of swamped…”. I hoped she was trying to get me away from Thomas. “Actually… I was hoping to take Liv with me, now. You know, catch up…”, he smiled. “I really need to…”, I began. I felt the barrel of his gun bore into my bare skin. “Come on… We didn’t have a chance to really talk in Dallas”, he said, with an edge to his voice.

Sookie looked down towards the tabletop for a nanosecond. “Do you mind doing us a solid here, Sook’?”, I said. Let us go, Sookie. Please let us go. He’ll kill everyone in here. “I’ll do your prep for you tomorrow”. Sookie nodded. “What should I tell Sam?”, she asked. “Just tell him I’m catching up with a friend”, I smiled. I could see Thomas was getting agitated, and sighed deeply. “We should go…”, I said. Eric… I want Eric. Sookie blinked. “I’ll see you tomorrow”, she said. “Uh huh…”, I croaked. “I will!”, she said, and walked away.

After being satisfied Sookie was far enough away, Thomas slipped the gun into the back of his jeans. “We’re going to walk out of here real calm. Don’t even think about trying anything. I got enough V in me to rip you apart in a second”, he hissed through a smile. Once he got up to stand, I followed, and he put his arm around me; holding on to me tightly. I was too afraid to even look at Sookie or Sam, so simply followed where Thomas led me. I prayed that Sookie had understood my thoughts.

Once out of view of the bar Thomas pushed me towards a black chevy of a newer model, and just as I thought he was about to open the door for me to enter; he struck me over the back of my head, and I was out cold.

---

I don’t know how much time had passed when I woke, but it was still dark. I was lying on the backseat of Thomas’ car, which he’d parked down a gravel road somewhere I didn’t recognize immediately. He was leaning against the car, having one of my cigarettes. I tried to crawl for the door on the opposite side of where he was standing, but he noticed me moving, and opened the door; dragging me by the ankle, out of it. I hit the ground outside; the gravel cutting in to my skin.

Thomas fell to his knees next to me. “I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to hurt you just now!”, he smiled, and stroked my cheek. “That’s not how I want this to go”. I raised my hand to the back of my head, and felt a bump there. “You knocked me out”, I rasped. “I just needed you to go with me, without causing trouble”, he said, and raised me into a seated position. “What are you going to do to me?”, I asked. “You know what I’m going to do… You and I are going to finish what we started a year ago”, he said. I felt tears trickling down my cheeks, as I shook my head. “No…”. “Yes”, Thomas said. “You’re mine”. There was no mercy in his voice. I didn’t have anyone to save me this time. I didn’t have Eric. God, I wanted Eric there, to protect me – to hold me. I shook myself from the thought. If I wanted free, I’d have to help myself.

Grabbing a handful of gravel, I flung it at Thomas’ face. He covered his eyes, and cried out; and I managed to get on my feet, and run down the road. With a roar, Thomas got on his feet, and ran after me. “Get back here, you stupid cunt!”, he growled. I turned, and ran away from the road, through the trees; in hopes that I could find somewhere to hide. I was dizzy and heaving for breath, and knew that sheer speed wouldn’t be what got me away from my attacker. Stumbling over some branches, I fell to my knees, and cried out in pain, as a sharp rock cut in to my palm. “Don’t rouse them ‘gaters!”, Thomas yelled after me, with a mock Louisiana drawl. “Don’t want them getting to you before I do”.

I got on my feet again, and got back to running. Soon, I was recognizing the area. I knew I was near the cemetery between Sookies and Bills houses, and headed in the direction I thought might be right to get to the vampire’s house. Once I saw the fence surrounding the cemetery, I almost cried in relief.

I heard a loud pop, and felt a sharp pain in my thigh; before falling to the ground, just at the entrance to the graveyard. Before long Thomas was stood over me, his gun in hand. He’d shot me. “Why do you have to make this so difficult?”, he growled, and kicked me hard in the stomach. I curled up, heaving for breath. “Stop. Please stop…”, I pleaded. Thomas grabbed a hold of my head, and I put my hands around his wrist, so he wouldn’t tear it at the roots. He dragged me into the cemetery, and threw me on the ground in front of an old gravestone. “No…”, I sobbed. “You like fucking dead people so much, I’ll let you die next to them as well”. He pounded his fist into my chest, making all air leave my lungs. “You’re not even worth it, you bitch”. Blow after blow hit my body, as I struggled to get oxygen into my lungs. Every time Thomas’ fist hit me, he followed it with angry slurs and insults. I tried screaming for help, but in the end, the pain was so extreme I couldn’t make a sound anymore. I was beginning to feel cold, and saw that the wound in my leg was bleeding profusely. I was losing a lot of blood, very fast.

I laid on my back, looking up at the stars, as Thomas continuously pounded at me; when I heard a roar, and Eric came out of the darkness – grabbing Thomas by the neck, and tearing him away from me. Thomas was knocked out when his back hit a nearby gravestone, and Eric ran over to me. “Liv…”, he breathed, and put his hand on my bruised cheek. I coughed up some blood, and he turned me gently, to let me spit it out. “Eric?”, I heard Bills voice call out. “She’s here!”, Eric replied. “She’s hurt bad, but I can heal her… I should have come sooner. I’m sorry, Liv”. His eyes were pained, and I tried to reach for his face. “Don’t move. Just let me…”.

He was grabbed from behind, and thrown away from me. Rose had arrived out of nowhere, and was now doing her best to do some damage to Eric, by biting in to his neck. Eric roared in pain, and Bill came running to help Eric. The two male vampires soon had the upper hand in the fight; but apparently, the plan hadn’t been to win the fight – merely to distract them.

I felt myself get lifted from the ground, and was soon looking in to the eyes of Stan. “Stand down, Northman!”, he growled. Eric immediately released the hold he’d had on Rose, and spun around to face Stan. His eyes were wide in rage and what seemed to be fear. “Stan, let her go”, he said. Rose edged away, to go check on Thomas. “I don’t think so”, Stan said. “This gash cost me my sheriff’s position”.

“Your human is alive”, Rose said, from where she was standing over Thomas. “Fuck him. I don’t need him anymore”, Stan said. “You sure? ‘Cuz I could eat”, Rose smirked. “Knock yourself out”, Stan said. Rose was about to lift Thomas, so that she could bite him, when her chest burst open. She turned in to goo within seconds, revealing Godric behind her; still holding on to her heart. Pam was a few paces behind him. “Sorry we’re late”, she smiled. “Godrics plane just landed”.

Godric took a few slow steps towards Stan. “Stay back!”, Stan said; spinning me around, so my back was to his chest. He grabbed my head, and tilted it to the side. I didn’t have the strength to fight him off. “I’ll snap her neck”. “Not before I rip your head off!”, Eric hissed. Stan simply laughed coldly. “Stan. This isn’t the way…”, Godric said. “You will not get back in the good graces of the authority by killing this woman”. “Fuck the authority. Fuck all of you… Kneeling to lesser beings? You should be ashamed!”. “No one is kneeling”, Godric said. Eric, Pam and Bill gave each other a look, and began flanking Stan and I. “We are simply coexisting”.

Stans grip around my chest was so tight, that I began sobbing in pain again. “See that? They’re weak… below us!”, he said. “She was important enough for the magister to want her to stay alive”, Godric said. “And why is that?”, Stan asked. “What is she? She does smell interesting”. He lowered his nose to a cut over my brow. I heard Eric growl, and Stan chuckled in response. “I told you I would have a taste!”. “I’m going to kill you”, Eric roared. Stan knew his time was up. He was outnumbered; and at least two of the vampires present, had hundreds of years on him. “Then I might as well go out a happy vampire”, he said. Stan sunk his fangs into me, and sucked. “Nej!”, I heard Eric cry out in an agonized voice.

Stans bite wasn’t sensual as Erics had been. It was like being torn open, and literally eaten alive. My neck was burning from the bite, and my eyes rolled back in my head in agony. Then suddenly, he dropped my body to the ground. Everything became foggy. I could just make out, as Pam, Bill and Eric attacked Stan. I thought I saw Pam and Bill hold Stan down, as Eric grabbed his head, and tore it clean from his body; before he became the same kind of goo that Rose’s had.

I was hardly breathing – couldn’t even feel any pain anymore – and I knew I was dying. A pair of strong arms cradled me, and I forced myself to focus on Erics face. “I have to heal her”, he said. “It’s too late, Eric… she lost too much blood”, Bill said with a pained voice. “I’m so sorry, Liv…”. Eric met my eyes, looking like he’d never be happy again. “Stay with me”, he breathed, and pressed his lips to mine. “Snälla Liv… mit solsken…”. I wanted nothing but to embrace him. Make him smile again. “Y-yours…”, I rasped. “Yours…”. A bloody tear escaped Erics eye, and a pained smile forced itself to his lips. “Mine…”, he whispered, and stroked my temple; when his expression became determined.

Pam came over, and put a hand on his shoulder. “The sun will be up soon”, she said. “We have to go”. Eric looked at her with hard eyes. “Dig a hole”, he said. “Eric…”, Bill said warily. “Are you sure…?”. “I said, dig a fucking hole!”. Bill and Pam disappeared from sight, and Godric put a hand on the top of Erics head. Their eyes locked for a second, before Godric disappeared in the direction the others had went.

My breathing had become a rattling, and Eric pulled me impossibly closer to him. “No… not yet. You have to drink”. Extracting his fangs, he bit in to his wrist, and put it to my lips. I didn’t have the strength to suck; so simply looked into Erics eyes, as his blood flowed into my mouth, and down my throat. Before long, the wounds closed, and Eric bit into his skin again; repeating the process.

I used my last ounce of energy to lift the corners of my lips into a soft smile; losing myself in Erics blue eyes, before everything went black.

“Min Liv… mit liv”.

---

I couldn’t move. I was held down by some unknown force, and everything was blackness. My face was pressed against something both firm and soft, leaving very little room for me to breathe; which I realized was futile anyway, as there wasn’t any air to be had. Someone was holding on to me firmly but gently, and I knew the embrace. I’d been in it before.

With the tiny bit of air in my lungs still there, I tried to speak. “Eric…”. It came out as a peep; but must have woken him, because I felt him move. Panic began to take me over, and I tried to move myself. I needed air, soon. Eric used all his strength to break through what was holding us down – dirt, I realized. We’d been buried. Just as I was about to pass out from the lack of oxygen, Eric grabbed my wrists and pulled me out of the ground after him.

I took a deep heaving breath, and then coughed. Eric was wiping the dirt out of my face, so I could meet his eyes. “Liv…”, he breathed. He was dirty, just like me; but it didn’t take away from his beauty. The dim light of the moon, made him almost shimmer over me. Eric held me against him, and stroked my cheek smilingly for a few seconds – kissing my forehead – before a confused expression took over. He began running his palm over my exposed skin, his cool hand in sharp contrast to my warmth, as he seemingly examined me. “What happened?”, I croaked. Suddenly Pam was next to us, almost looking happy to see me; before she also frowned – her eyes wary. “Where’s Godric?”, Eric demanded. “In the house”, Pam said. Eric got on his feet, and picked me up in his arms. Without speaking, he carried me out of the graveyard, and towards Bills large house. “Eric, what’s happening?”, I asked quietly. He didn’t respond, but simply carried me over the threshold as Pam opened the door; and in to the living room.

Sookie, Bill and Godric were seated there, and all got up to stand, when Eric entered the room with me. Bill parted his lips and widened his eyes when he saw me; whereas Godric looked like he was looking at something completely normal. “Liv!”, Sookie cried out, and ran towards Eric to greet me. Bill grabbed her arm and held her back. “Careful…”, he said.

Eric set me down on the couch, and put a hand to my chest, seemingly feeling my heart beat. “Why is she alive?”, he asked. Memories from the night before came back to me, and I drew a deep, ragged breath, when I realized what Eric had tried to do. “Because she can’t be turned”, Godric said. “You cannot make her vampire”. “But she was dead…”, Eric began. “I’m here, you know. Please stop talking about me like I’m not!”, I said. Godric smiled warmly at me. “You most certainly are here”, he said. Pam stifled a grin, and I turned my face to look at Eric. He sat down next to me, and looked at me like I was the strangest creature he’d ever met. “You tried to turn me…”, I said. “So, why am I still human?”. Eric looked bewildered. “I… don’t know”, he admitted. “You were dead. I heard your heart stop”. I looked down at my chest, as if I could see the heart in question. Eric turned to look at Godric. “Vad är hon?”.

Godric sat back down, and looked across the faces of the room. “Liv is something no one else in this room, maybe in the world is. Human”. I opened and closed my mouth a few times, trying to find the words to respond to that. “That makes no sense at all”, I finally said. “There are humans everywhere. Are you telling me I’m some kind of weird subspecies?”. “Quite the opposite”, Godric smiled. “You are as human as it is possible to be. Your blood is like human blood was, before they dabbled in magic; and before they interbred with fae-folk and shifters. When they were purely human”. “But vampire blood heals me, just like everyone else”, I said. “The healing components of our blood is merely biology…”, Godric said. “Glamouring; bloodbonds; the visions, strength, and pleasures having our blood can give; and becoming one of us… That’s magic”. “And I am completely magic-less. Magic-resistant, even”, I muttered. Godric nodded. “That’s kind of… sad”, I said. “I think it’s remarkable”.

Bill cleared his throat. “With all due respect, Godric. That does not explain why Liv is alive”. He was still holding Sookie back from coming over to greet me; seemingly worried I’d suddenly sprout fangs, and give in to bloodlust. “As Eric said, she was dead. I also heard her heart stop”. “Erics blood is ancient; and he comes from a strong bloodline, both on his human and vampire side”, Godric said matter-of-factly. “He cannot turn Liv, but he was able to bring her back from death”. Eric smirked smugly; feeling very happy about himself, obviously. I couldn’t help but smile a little at him. “How?”, Bill asked. “I cannot say for sure”, Godric said. “But I suspect that the humanity in Liv fought back against being turned vampire; and as the magic could not take hold in her, she simply rose as a human again”. “That still sounds kind of magical”, Pam said. “Maybe… Or maybe it was just the very strong curative properties in Erics blood that healed and jolted her back to life”. “What if she died again? Could Eric just bring her back human?”, Sookie asked. “Let’s not test that theory. Being buried alive was not fun”, I said, shuddering.

Eric smiled at me, and picked a stray clump of dirt out of my hair. When he saw Bills smirking reaction to his caring gesture, he drew his lips back in a sneer. “Mine!”, he growled. I’d said that, before I died. I had given myself to Eric, and there wasn’t a chance in hell, he was letting go now. Godric smiled affectionately at his child.

My throat was dry, I was tired, and I wanted to wash myself off from dirt and grit. “I want to go home…”, I breathed. Eric nodded. “Pam, fetch the car, so we can go back to Shreveport”, he ordered. “Thank fuck. I’m not spending another day in Bills smelly cubby", Pam said. Grabbing a hold of Erics wrist, before he could whisk me away, I shook my head. “No… I want to go home, to my house”, I said. Eric recoiled at my words. “You said…”. “I’m still my own, even if I did say yes”, I said quietly. “Please, take me home…”. After a moment, he gave me a stoic nod; before looking at Godric, who had gotten on his feet again. “I’ll not leave before we have a chance to say farewell”, Godric smiled. “Pamela can entertain me with tales of your debauchery, in the meanwhile”.

I got on my feet, and took three long strides towards the ancient vampire; wrapping my arms around him. He froze in place, completely taken of guard. “Thank you for everything, Godric”, I said, and kissed his cheek. As I stepped back, he held his fingertips to where my lips had left their mark. Eric, Pam and Bill all stood mouths agape and wide-eyed at my gesture. For a moment, Godric almost looked like a human, just a young man in his late teens; almost blushing. He must have had some of Bills TruBlood. “I’ve not been embraced like that in more than 2000 years”, he smiled. “Thank you”. It was my turn to blush.

Eric put a gentle hand on my shoulder, and after a final smile towards Godric, I let him lead me towards the front door. Sookie ran after us, Bill not holding her back this time; and I let my friend hug me warmly. “You heard me…”, I smiled. “Not clearly”, she said, as she stepped back. “But I knew something was wrong, and when I took that guys hand, his mind was screaming about what he had planned”. She swallowed hard, and I saw her eyes well up. I squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Sookie…”. She wiped her eyes, and smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work, right?”, “I’ll consider letting her go”, Eric said. I rolled my eyes at him. “See you then”, I smiled at Sookie, and walked out the door; Erics hand on my lower back. We walked down the steps of the porch, when Sookie called after me again. “Liv? I did hear one of your thoughts clearly…”. I looked back at her. “What was that?”. She smiled warmly, before looking at Eric, and back at me again. “Why do you think I called him?”, she said. “You take care of her, Eric Northman!”. Eric gave her a curtly nod, and she went back into the house.

Once standing in the driveway, I sighed heavily. “Shit. My car is still at Merlotte’s”, I frowned. Eric brushed his thumb against my jaw. “Come here”, he said quietly; and whisked me into his arms. Before I knew what had happened, we’d lifted off. Looking down at the disappearing ground, I let out a terrified squeal. “Eric! We’re flying”, I said, and clamped my arms around his neck. “I know”, he said. “Why are we flying?”. “Because it’s faster than walking”. He sounded amused at my frightened whimpers, but when he looked at my face, his eyes softened. “I’ve got you, Liv. I’m not letting go”. He brushed his lips to my forehead. My eyes widened, as I saw we were heading towards a group of tall trees. “Eyes on the road…! Or in the air… whatever”. Eric chuckled, and I hid my face in his chest, as we narrowly escaped hitting some branches.

I didn’t open my eyes for the rest of the flight.

---

I felt firm ground under my feet, as Eric set me down on the ground gently. Opening my eyes, I saw that we were stood in front of my small house. “Thank you”, I whispered. “You’re welcome”, Eric replied. “I still don’t understand why you insisted on coming here. You’ll be much more comfortable at my house”. “You have a house?”, I asked, as I grabbed my hide-a-key from under a stone near the mailbox. My key-ring was still in my car, back at Merlotte’s. “You thought I slept at Fangtasia every day?”. He sounded amused again. “I have a house… A few actually. The one in Shreveport isn’t the largest, but it has room for you”. I unlocked my door, and shook my head smilingly. “What…? You’ll make Pam give me one of her shoe-rooms?”, I joked, and turned to face him in the doorway. “Not that she needs both of them; but that won’t be necessary. There’s a spare bedroom, if you want your own… for when you insist on sleeping”. There was a frisky tone to his voice.

Still trying to wrap my head around the need for a room specifically for shoes, I went into the house. Eric followed me inside, and brushed his hand over my bottom. “Dirt”, he smirked, when I gave him a chiding look. “Pack whatever you need, and come with me”. “I can’t do that”, I said. “But I’ll take care of you. You won’t have to live in this… house”. It was clear to me, that Eric would have rather used a word like shack or even sewer. “You don’t have to work for Sam Merlotte and Bill Compton”. “I’ll just be your live-in fangbanger?”, I said. “Liv, no… I…”, Eric began. “I like working, and making my own money. I like Bon Temps”.

I unfastened the dirty fannypack from my waist, and dropped it on the coffee-table, next to the check and note which were still laying there. “If you like making your own money, why haven’t you cashed this?”, Eric asked, and picked up the check. “It didn’t feel right”, I muttered. “I didn’t really do any of the work you hired me to do. Unless you count the sex and the blood; but that wasn’t part of the original deal. Even if you did say…”. Eric looked down at the check, apparently not wanting to meet my eyes. “That’s not what this was for. And you did do your job”. He reached out the check to me. “Please take it”. I took the piece of paper, and put it in the drawer of the dresser my small tv was stood on.

I picked at some of the dirt under my fingernails, from our burial. “You’re fidgeting”, Eric said quietly. “I do that”, I said. “Does it still bug you?”. “No… It never did”, he replied. He took my hand, and merged his fingers with mine. “I hurt you… But you have to know, I didn’t mean what I said. I didn’t bring you to Dallas to get you in bed… I hoped for it, but I didn’t expect it”. “I know”, I muttered, and looked through my lashes at him. He seemed vulnerable; a strange contrast to his usual suave demeanor. I brushed my lips against his knuckles. “And it’s not like I didn’t want it to happen also. I wanted you… want you”. “You have me… And you said you were mine”. “I did. And I meant it. But I’m still…”. “Your own as well”, he smiled softly. “I understand”. “Do you?”, I smirked. “No…”, he admitted. “But I know that if I want you as you are, with everything you are, I’ll have to accept it…”.

“When Thomas had me, all I wanted was to see you…”, I said. Anger ghosted Erics face. “You will never have to see him again!”, he declared. “What happened to him?”, I asked. He shook his head. “You don’t have to worry about that”. I frowned at him. “What did you do to him?”. Eric gave me a reluctant look. “I can’t spend the rest of my life not knowing, whether he’ll pop up in my life again. I won’t feel safe…”. “He won’t”, he said, and put his free hand on my cheek. “Is he dead?”, I asked in a whisper. Eric shook his head with a sour expression. “Godric wouldn’t let me kill him… But when he hit that gravestone, he broke his back. He won’t be walking again”. I gasped, and shuddered. “He broke his back? Really?”. His sour expression turned a bit more content. “Well, Pam might have broken it in a few more places, before she dropped him off at the hospital… He can’t get you again; and he doesn’t have Stans protection anymore, so he won’t talk”.

I sighed, and leaned forwards; letting Eric embrace me. He buried his large hand in my hair, and held me tightly but gently with his other arm. After a while, he moved his hand from my hair to my chin, to tilt my head backwards; and in a fluid movement melded his lips with mine. “You taste like… graveyard dirt”, I said against his lips. “Come on…”.

Taking his hand, I led Eric into my small bathroom. I began removing my clothes, and dirt and grime scattered over the floor from them. Eric pulled of his leather jacket and top, before unlatching my bra for me. I smiled over my shoulder at him, and pulled it down my arms. While I pulled down my panties, Eric removed his pants and underwear; and followed me in to the small shower cubicle. I turned on the water as warm as I could handle, and began rubbing the dirt from my arms. I felt Erics hands stroking my back as he stood behind me, and smelled my apple scented bodywash, as he lathered it across my skin.

Tilting my head back, to get the dirt out of my hair, Eric leaned over my shoulder, and kissed my exposed throat. “I’m happy you’re still human. I prefer you warm and alive”, he breathed. His hands travelled to cup my breasts, and my nipples perked at his fingers’ ministrations of them. “Then why did you try to turn me?”, I asked. “Because I would rather have the ghost of who you were, than losing you completely”. He spun me around to face him, and hunched down to meet my eyes. “Are you angry that I did?”. I put some bodywash in my hands, and began washing his chest. “No… If I was about to lose you, and there was a way to keep even part of you with me, I would”. I looked down to avoid his gaze. Eric put a hand on my cheek. “I’m not going anywhere”. His voice made me feel warm all over. “You make it sound like you’re mine, like I’m yours”, I whispered. I got no response, and the warmth I’d felt a second ago, was switched out with fear. Fear of rejection; fear that Eric didn’t actually feel about me like I did about him. I hesitantly met his eyes, and saw that he was smiling warmly at me. “Are you?”. It came out almost as a peep. “Yes”. There was no reluctance in Erics response; and before I had a chance to react to it, his lips were on mine.

The cascading water washed over us, as our mouths and tongues explored each other. Eric held on to me, as I rose to my toes, to wrap my arms around his shoulders. My feet were slipping, but I was never worried about falling. I was safe in Erics arms; and it seemed like he felt he was safe in mine. When his hardness stroked against my belly, he let out a soft moan. I looked down, and wrapped my hand around him; gently stroking him up and down. One of Erics hands went down to my bottom, sliding between my cheeks; his long fingers finding my folds. Tightening my grasp on his cock, Erics moans became louder, and turned in to grunts of pleasure. He was stroking his fingers back and forth between my folds, but soon had to focus his attention on remaining standing; and put his hands against the wall instead. With one arm around his shoulders, I held myself standing on my toes, and plunged my tongue into Erics mouth; muffling his sounds as I pleasured him. I wanted to use both my hands on my lover, so got down on my soles again, and took a hold of his testicles. They immediately tightened in my cradling hand. “Liv… I’ll…”, Eric groaned. “I know. But I’m pretty sure you can go more than once”, I said, and dove in to rake my teeth over his nipple. Eric growled, and grabbed the back of my head, hungrily devouring my mouth in a kiss. While I massaged his balls, Eric began thrusting in to my hand. “Come on…”, I breathed and tightened my hold on his cock. “Min…”, he croaked, and thrusted harder. I stared deep into his eyes. “Yours”, I said; and at my words, Eric came with a roar.

I gently washed both our bellies from Erics juices, while he looked on with bemused eyes. His hand stroked against my hip, as I stepped out of the shower after having turned off the water. Snaking an arm around my waist, he bent down to give me a slight kiss; before a wicked expression came across his face. Before I knew it, I was across the hall, on my bed. Standing over me was a 6’4 blonde Viking-prince; who looked like he’d just stepped out of the ocean. I let out a noise, that sounded like something in between a giggle and a moan, as he stood there in all his glory. “You’re kind of magnificent…”, I said. “Yes”, Eric agreed, smug as ever. He knelt down on the bed, and crawled over me; kissing his way up my torso, until he reached my lips. “And you are… glänsande”. “I don’t know what that means, but I’ll… Oh, fuck!”.

Eric had plunged two fingers into me, and was thrusting them upwards; pressing against my g-spot. With a suckle of my lower lip, Eric took his leave from my mouth, and ducked down, to suck my clit into his mouth. Flicking his tongue over my pebble, it only took him minutes to have me unfurl. My legs were shaking, and I was whimpering in extasy. I arched my back, and came.

It took me a few moments to come down to earth; moments which Eric used to kiss his way up my convulsing body, while tracing the curves of my hips, belly and breasts with his fingertips. He was sporting a self-satisfied smile. “What are you so smug about, sheriff Northman?”, I chuckled. “You’ve had 1000 years to perfect that. Making me come is a walk in the park for you; not a battle you’ve won”. “I’ve won many battles. Making you scream out in pleasure is the one I’m most proud of”, he smirked. “I wasn’t screaming…”, I said, and stroked my fingers over his shoulders, and down his back. Eric pushed my legs further apart, and placed himself between them. “I’ll have to return to the battleground, then”, he said, and pushed into me.

We found our rhythm immediately, rolling our hips against each other. When I took a hold of Erics now beautifully tousled hair and pulled at it, he growled; and thrusted harder in to me. I sucked and nibbled at his neck, and when he threw his head back in pleasure, I kissed his adam’s apple; feeling it bob up and down under my lips, as he swallowed to wet his mouth. “Bite me…”, I breathed. “No… You lost too much blood last night”, he said. I frowned in disappointment. “Don’t worry, you’re still going to scream”, he smiled.

Leaning down to suck my nipple into his mouth, Eric then grabbed my thighs, and got up on his knees. As my butt was resting on his thighs, and my back was still on the mattress; my hips where tilted in just the right angle to feel every inch of his hardness moving in and out of me. Eric began moving with ferocious thrusts, hitting my front wall perfectly. He held on firmly to my hips, and looked down at himself disappearing and reappearing from my warmth; clearly enjoying the view, from the look of his face. I grabbed on to Erics wrists to ground myself, and not suddenly fly off the bed, both metaphorically and literally. Sounds of groans; moans; and skin slamming against skin, from Erics hips hitting my backside, filled the room – sounds that were almost hypnotizing to me, and drew me closer to my undoing.

I squeezed my eyes together to keep my composure from Erics delicious assault on me; trying to keep some kind of control of myself. “No, look at me”, Eric demanded. “Let it happen. Just let go, sunshine”. I opened my eyes, and looked up at him; and as he pulled almost all the way out, and slammed back in to me, Eric got exactly what he’d aimed for. I screamed out my orgasm. Eric was laughing warmly, and moved backwards on his knees; pulling out of me as he did. He leaned down, and kissed me passionately. “Another battle won”, he smiled. “Uh huh…”, I croaked; still panting.

I was still laying with my legs spread. My thighs were quivering, and I grabbed on to the sheets below, feeling aftershocks go through my core. Eric looked down at my clenching warmth, and stroked a hand up the inside of my leg. His index finger went in between my folds, making me jolt from overstimulation; and then down over my taint, before stopping at the tight ring of muscle at the bottom of it. “You know, I’d really like to…”, Eric began. I crawled backwards on the bed, and held up a finger to stop him. “Nope... no. I don’t think I’m quite there yet”, I said. “Believe me, it can be quite pleasurable”, he said matter-of-factly; and traced the puffy skin there. “Yeah, I’m sure you love it… But I haven’t tried it before”.

Eric removed his finger, and took my hand to pull me up to sit; giving me an earnest look. “I would never want hurt you. Not in any way that you wouldn’t want me to, at least. You seem to like it when I get a little rough”, he said smilingly, and stroked my cheek. “If you don’t want that, I won’t do it. I want you to trust me”. “I do…”, I said quietly. “And I do want to… yield to you”. I bit my lip, and blushed. Eric searched my eyes for something undefinable. “Turn around. All fours”, he said. A shiver ran down my spine. “Eric…”, I croaked. He raised his brows at me, and smiled calmingly. “I haven’t finished yet. I want to do that inside you”, he said. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. You can ask me to stop at any time. Please trust me”.

I turned around, and got on all fours in front of Eric. He stroked my cheeks, before grabbing himself, to stroke against my folds for a few moments. When he entered me, I let out a pleased sigh. He felt so good from any angle; and I’d always enjoyed a good doggy-fuck. Erics movements were softer than they’d been before, and he was careful not to thrust too hard. One of his hands travelled down in front of me, stroking circles on my clit, while the other massaged my butt. As I was losing myself in sexual bliss, and fire began building inside me again, Eric moved his hand from my cheeks; and he let his thumb travel down between them. He found my ring again, and stroked it as he did my clit. The sensation was heaven. It wasn’t that no one had ever pleasured me by stroking that spot before; but the way Eric was doing it was simply masterful. He began pushing at my hole, never entering me, but still making my muscle work. It spread a tingle across my lower back, to go with the one streaming from my clit. Topping that of, was his hardness excavating me deliciously. It was so wrong that it was right.

“Fuck it… Do it!”, I rasped, earning a soft chuckle from Eric; before he pushed his thumb into my anus. I whimpered in pleasure, and fell down to my chest, unable to hold myself up. Eric fucked me with both his cock and his finger, and stroked my bundle of nerves; and the sensation of fullness inside me, made me begin to clench around him. I had tears in my eyes, and moved my butt back and forth to meet his thrusts. “So warm and tight. You feel so good”, Eric groaned. “Take me with you…”. Heat exploded from my core, and I pulled Eric along with me into extasy. I heard him cry out behind me, and spill himself inside my clenching heat. Gently pulling both his penis and his finger out of me, Eric lowered my hips to the bed. I was a whimpering mess, when he pulled me in to his arms. “You did so good, my sunshine… so good”, he breathed against my lips, as he kissed me.

I laid cradled against his body, our legs tangled and arms holding on to each other. “Eric…?”, I whispered. “Uh hmm…?”, he said, his eyes closed, and a pleased smile on his handsome face. “I’m hungry… I haven’t eaten since before I died”. He turned his head and looked at me. “I was going to let that photographer be your first meal”, he said. “Thanks… I guess”, I chuckled. “But I need human food”. He raised his brows and sighed. “Well, there’s been a cat wailing at your back door for the last 30 minutes. I could throw it in the microwave for you”.

I sat up abruptly. “Shit! It’s Thursday!”. I flew out of bed, and quickly put on a clean tank top, and a pair of pajama-shorts. Eric stared at me in confusion, as I ran out of the room. I grabbed a bowl, and a can of tuna; and went out the back door, to greet Mr. Whiskers. “I’m so sorry, honey! I completely forgot about you…”, I sighed, as the large tabby stroked himself against my legs. I set down the bowl of tuna at the bottom of the steps, and scratched the cat behind its ears.

Eric came outside to join me, once again dressed in his dirty clothes. He looked on as Mr. Whiskers bumped his forehead against my hand. “I don’t like that thing…”, he said, and stared at the cat with cold eyes. “Are you jealous of the cat now?”, I laughed. Eric sneered some Swedish curse word, and Mr. Whiskers hissed at him. “Oh, really? I’ll tell her you said that…”, Eric growled. “Eric, be nice to my honey!”. The vampire took my hand, pulling it away from the cat, and raised me to my feet. He tucked me in to his side. “Mine!”, he growled. “Don’t you have some beers to serve?”. I was completely confused, but decided to let it go.

Eric turned his face to me, and kissed me almost possessively. “I have to go see Godric”, he said. “Come to Fangtasia tomorrow”. “I have to go to work”, I said. Mr. Whiskers meowed. “Shut up!”, Eric snarled at it. “After work… I want to see you”. I tugged at his jacket. “I’ll be there. But I’m not waiting in line”. Eric pulled me in for another kiss. “Mine…”, he breathed. “Mine…”, I smiled.

Eric stepped away from me, and looked down at Mr. Whiskers with distaste again. The cat hissed one more time, and Eric hissed right back at it, before taking flight. I scratched Mr. Whiskers behind the ears a final time, and picked up the empty bowl; before going back inside – my heart full, but stomach less so.

I fell asleep while eating mac’n’cheese, and reading dirty texts from my favorite Viking-prince-vampire.

THE END.

[thatfanficstuff]

Impossible - 8

Pairing: Eric Northman x Reader

Warnings: Canon typical violence, etc.

A/N: Finally back to writing a bit. Hope you like this chapter as much as I do and you find it worth the wait.

***

You tossed your things in your truck before spinning and shoving Eric away from you. “Your mate, Eric? Really?”

He brushed his chest as if wiping away your touch. Ass. “Yes. I fail to see the problem.”

That stopped you. “Wait. You’re actually claiming me?”

His brow furrowed. “Of course. You didn’t honestly think I would make such a proclamation without meaning it?”

“You literally proclaim things on a daily basis that you don’t mean.”

His hands settled on your waist and he pulled you toward him. His gaze ran over your face as he studied you. “I wouldn’t be flippant about anything so serious, Y/N. You must know that.”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “Don’t you think it was something we maybe should have discussed before you announced it to a bar full of random assholes?”

“Perhaps.” He gave a little shrug and kissed your forehead before pushing you toward your truck. “Let’s head home. We can discuss it on the way.”

You turned out of the parking lot and headed toward Shreveport, quickly getting lost in your own thoughts. Mates were serious business amongst the vampires. There was a time it was strictly an otherworldly belief in soulmates. Fate bringing two people together that were created for one another. It morphed over the centuries into a choice. A declaration that you belonged to one another. It went far deeper than any marriage. 

Allowances and lea ways were given for mates that would otherwise never be permitted. In fact, mates were treated as one entity. They received punishment and reward in equal measure regardless of which party was actually responsible. Your dad was going to freak the fuck out. It was that thought that stopped you. The realization that the question if you felt that way for Eric never once crossed your mind. You knew from the moment you met him that he was it for you and always would be.

Your concerns were purely disbelief that Eric could feel that deeply for you and what your father would think. The real question was, did you care?

“You’re awfully quiet for someone that had so much to say,” Eric said as you neared Fangtasia.

You didn’t look at him as you parked near the back door and the two of you sat in silence for a long time. Finally, you spoke, but you still didn’t look at him. “You’ve lived for a thousand years and never once tied yourself to someone. Not like this.”

“Mates tend to be a once in a lifetime thing, even for the oldest amongst us.” His voice was soft and you knew he was letting you talk your thoughts out. This was important. He wouldn’t try to talk you into anything. He was better than that.

You shook your head. “That’s not what I meant, Eric. You’re not exactly the relationship type. We’ve had this discussion.”

He hummed in agreement. “We have. If I recall correctly, I stated that was me before you.”

You turned to face him. “Are you sure about this?”

“I do not question my feelings for you, Y/N, but if this is not what you want—”

You grabbed his hand and used it to pull yourself closer to him. “That’s not what this is about. At all. It’s just…me? I mean, are you really sure?”

In a flash, he shifted the two of you so you straddled his lap. One hand cradled the back of your neck and the other rested on your lower back. His gaze locked on yours. “There is no one else—there never has been, nor will there ever be—that I would consider making this claim with. I will live and die for you. I swear it.”

Moisture flooded your eyes and you kissed him in an effort to keep it from overflowing. His hands shifted so he cradled your head as he deepened the kiss. Finally, you pulled away to breathe and rested your forehead against his. “Can I take this as an agreement to my claim?”

“Yeah, Eric, I’ll be your mate.”

He kissed you again. This time it was tender and sweet, filled with promises. Gods, you loved this man. When you separated this time, he rested his hand on the side of your face. His eyes searched yours. “You will agree to the bonding ceremony. If you are to be my mate, I want it all.”

You hesitated only a moment before nodding and earning yourself another round of kissing. The ceremony involved witches and spells and unbreakable bonds. But like your mate said, if you were going to do this, you might as well go all the way.

A knock sounded on the window and you jerked in surprise.

“I’m busy,” Eric growled then resumed kissing you.

“I’m happy for you. Now get unbusy.” Of course, it was Pam. No one else would have dared interrupt him.

You giggled and rested your head on his shoulder.

He sighed and unlocked the door. Pam promptly jerked it open. “Y/N, how lovely to see you again,” she said with a smile which dropped completely when she turned her full attention to Eric. “We have a problem.”

“And what might that be?” His hand ran in a lazy line over your spine forcing you to bite back a purr of contentment.

Her gaze darted to you.

“Y/N is my mate.”

As usual her arched brow was the only outward sign of her surprise. “The accountant called. There’s a discrepancy.”

Eric’s hand stilled. “How big?”

“Does it matter?” Pam answered.

She had a point. It didn’t matter if it was $5 or $5,000, they would have to deal with it. Vampires weren’t exactly the let it slide type. Not handling the matter would only show weakness. And if there was one thing vampires had perfected, it was taking advantage of another’s weakness.

***

As it turned out the discrepancy was $60,000 big. Eric was determined to blame the accountant that brought it to their attention which you didn’t understand at all. After all, how stupid would you have to be to not only steal the money but then point it out?

But everyone else that had access to the money was a vampire and vampires never betrayed each other. Yeah, right. You snorted a laugh at the thought as you swung open the door to Merlotte’s. You were still pissed at Sam, but needed to talk to Sookie without Bill around and this was the best place to do it.

You grasped Sookie’s arm as you stepped past her and pulled her along. “Sam, Sookie and I are going to have a conversation in your office. Deal with it.”

You ignored his words of protest as you closed the door behind you and flipped the lock.

“What is goin’ on with you?” Sookie asked. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I need a favor.”

Sookie looked more intrigued than ever and leaned against Sam’s desk, watching you with wide eyes. You weren’t the kind to ask others for anything. “I’m all ears.”

“Someone stole a lot of money from Fangtasia. We need help figuring out who.”

She grimaced. “That sounds like Eric needs a favor, not you.”

The corner of your mouth twitched. “Same thing these days. Eric’s glamoured everyone and has gotten nowhere. I’m afraid if this keeps up he’ll just kill all the humans and start from scratch.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“No, I’m not. That’s why I’m here.” You ran a hand down your face. “Look, if you don’t want to do this, it’s fine. I get it. I just had to give it a shot.”

The silence stretched for a beat as she looked you over. “Bill says I should stay away from Eric. At all costs.”

“Eric is a vampire through and through. And he’s not pretending to be anything else. Bill doesn’t like being reminded that he’s vampire. If you’re worried about him knowing what you can do, he already does. I didn’t tell him, but someone did. I heard him talking to Pam about it. I can pay you if that helps.”

“If I help them find whoever did this, what happens to them?”

You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest. “Honestly? They’ll probably find out what happened to their money then kill them.”

Sookie stood straight as she stared at you with wide eyes. “Then why would I agree to help you?”

“Because you keep them from killing a bunch of people that didn’t do it. I’ll make you a deal. You help us out and if you find out a human took the money, we’ll turn them over to the police. But, Sookie, I’ve got to be honest, I don’t think it’s a human.”

“So, I’m just supposed to let them kill some vampire on my say so and be okay with that?”

“Vampires have their own laws. Let the vampires deal with the vampires. You just help me save the humans.”

“I do owe you.”

You shook your head. “No, you don’t. But do this and I’ll owe you.”

“The great and mighty Y/N will owe me? How could I resist?” she teased and you rolled your eyes. “Bill won’t like it.”

You bit your lip to keep from telling her where Bill could shove his opinion. “Probably not. Bring him with you.”

“Will Eric be okay with that?”

“Who gives a shit?  But yeah, he’ll be fine with it. In fact, he’ll be happier if Bill is there to witness everything.”

Sookie pursed her lips then nodded once. “Okay, then. But I’m doing this for you, not Eric.”

“Duly noted. See you tonight.”

***

Eric was not amused that you had decided to involve a human in your business. Though he admitted he probably would have already gotten Sookie involved had she not been your friend. And knowing him, he would have ordered Bill to bring her by or something and that would have just pissed everyone off.

After greeting your friend and Bill, you took a seat next to Sookie, but let Eric handle things. You were strictly there for moral support. Eric started with the accountant whom he was positive was somehow involved in the theft. You leaned back in your seat with your arms crossed over your chest and just observed.

“He’s telling the truth,” Sookie announced and released her grip on Bruce.

“You trust the skinny human to clear the fat one?” Longshadow said from his spot behind the bar.

You clenched your teeth and looked at Eric. You hated the bartender, as your mate was well aware.  

Eric moved his gaze from you to the other vampire as he said, “Bring the next one in.” It was as much of a dismissal as he could give Longshadow without saying something directly.

And so the cycle continued from human to human until finally Pam brought out Ginger. “She’s the last human.”

You rolled your eyes. The girl’s brain was swiss cheese. You were more than a little surprised when Sookie announced that Ginger knew who took the money.

“There’s a blank space. I can’t see it,” Sookie said, looking confused.

Your eyes found Eric’s as Pam said, “She’s been glamoured.”

“It was vampire.” Sookie stood from her chair in surprise.

Before you could thank her for stating the obvious, Longshadow leapt over the bar and wrapped his hands around your friend’s neck. You were on your feet in a second. An upward blow to just the right place on his sternum and he released Sookie reflexively. You grabbed her and shoved her behind you, ignoring her shout of pain as she bounced off some piece of furniture or another. At least she was alive.

Longshadow moved forward again. Surprisingly he ignored you and launched himself toward Sookie as if he killed her, the rest of you would just forget he was the thief. Idiot. You shifted sideways to put yourself in front of your friend. Another blow to the chest, harder this time, had him reeling backward but not giving up. Fucker.

You picked up a chair and threw it at the vampire which didn’t hurt him in the least, but the chair broke which was your intention all along. Sweeping up a piece of the wood, you braced yourself as he charged again. This time it was your makeshift weapon that hit his chest and pierced his heart.

Ginger screamed as Longshadow dissolved into goo. When she vomited, Eric made a sound of disgust. “Humans. I don’t understand what you see in them, Bill.”

You glanced at him with an arched brow. “Really, Eric?”

He grinned. “You are far from human, sweetheart.”  

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

I Didn’t Mistake Your Finger for the Moon, I Just Chose to Look at You Instead

Tim Drake x Reader Oneshot

The title comes from zen buddhism (maybe chinese? i’m sorry I don’t know), the idea is I am pointing my finger at the moon to show you the moon don’t look at my pointed finger, look where I’m pointing.

Heavily inspired by the play Frankie and Johnnie in the Claire de Lune

***

You can’t believe it’s only 8:30pm, just two hours into the night and you’re already bored out of your skull. Around you, the huge ballroom swirls with sparkling socialites keeping themselves busy by incessantly talking shit and guzzling Bruce Wayne’s alcohol. Everybody has their lips to someone’s ear and a glass in their hand, except for you, which is quite stupid on your part. But that’s why you’re at the bar. 

Behind you, the positively charming laughs of the Wayne Gala’s guests dot the conversations that spill out through the room in concentric circles, rippling over each other in waves that ebb and flow right up until they reach you. Then they stop short, leaving you alone and trying to order a drink from a bartender who seems to be too busy to chat you up out of pity.

Not that you’d do anything with her, obviously. But still. Some attention would be nice.

Christ, you were so shit at knowing what to do with yourself at these parties. You’d think you’d have them figured out by now, but no such luck. Your funeral.

“Hey, have you seen Tim?”

You turn to face the speaker and your eyes fall on Dick Grayson, dressed gorgeous in a sharp suit complete with a dark blue bow tie. He looks incredible, but then again, he usually does. And miracle of miracles, the folks around you are now eyeing you up, trying to figure out if it’s worth skydiving into your conversation to get in a word with Bruce Wayne’s heir. Dick does that to people, has the sort of happy, positive demeanor that makes folks want desperately to talk to him, to be part of his group. You’ll probably never get used to it. Or to how beautiful he is.

“Yeah.” Yeah, you know where Tim is. You resist the urge to point across the ballroom, motioning with your chin instead. “He’s over there, schmoozing with some LexCorp folks.”

“Schmoozing? With LexCorp?” Dick’s face takes on a slightly disgusted hue in the light of the chandeliers.

You shrug. “Schmoozing, making thinly veiled threats, planting the seeds for some light corporate espionage, but not the sort anyone can prove. You know Tim.”

Dick chuckles at that. “I guess I do.” He takes a step away from you, then doubles back. “Are you all right, over here? You look a bit...”

“You can say lonely, Dick, it’s okay,” you say with a bit of bite, too many teeth in your voice, but he’s not wrong. “I’m fine, you don’t need to babysit me.”

His eyebrows raise. “Jeez, y/n, I didn’t mean--”

You cut him off. “No, it’s fine Dick, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry.” You press a hand to the bridge of your nose and try to take deep breaths. Starting a fight with your boyfriend’s oldest brother is not exactly on your to-do list for the evening. “I am a bit lonely, but it’s cool, I get Tim back in...” you check your watch, a cheap analogue that clashes something awful with your cheesed-up attire. “Eight in a half minutes. Then he’s mine for at least an hour.”

Dick quirks his lips in a half-smile. “You guys time how long he spends doing W.E. business at these galas? That’s--”

“Adorable? Or just anal?” Try as you might, you can’t keep the cynicism from spreading thick over your tone.

“I was actually going to say very Tim,” he says back warmly. You grin at him, bad mood abandoning you for the moment. “It was his idea. Wouldn’t be much of a date if we didn’t spend any time together.”

Dick laughs again. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t.” Across the room, Tim turns away from the circle of business harpies and shoots you an apologetic smile. Dick must’ve clocked it as well. “Maybe Tim’ll turn knight-in-shining-armor and rescue you,” he suggests.

You wrinkle your nose. “I doubt it. As much as I don’t like it, the business stuff needs to get done.”

Dick eyes Tim’s back. “Yeah, something tells me you’d be the one doing the rescuing.” He clears his throat. “Well, I hate to be rude, but I gotta skip out on you.” Dick’s down-to-earth manner of speaking always surprises you, especially because he manages to get away with it at these swanky events. When you do it everyone seems to look at you sideways. “Need to go find Damian,” Dick explains further. “If he’s not antagonizing your boyfriend, he may be up to something worse.”

You nod in agreement. “Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

He sighs. “Yeah, wish me luck.” And then Dick makes his exit, leaving you with seven and a half minutes to wallow before Tim comes back.

You chide yourself a bit, picking up the Gin and Tonic that the bartender had just placed in front of you. Were you seriously going to wallow in self pity at a gala half of Gotham would kill to attend? With Tim Drake as your date? Hundreds of girls and quite a few boys probably daydream about being in your place, especially after he made the Forbes Thirty under Thirty list last month. Still, his spot on the list doesn’t change the fact that exactly no one at this party, striking Dick and the bartender, has said a single word to you.

You stifle a sigh. It isn’t your fault Gotham’s socialites always prove to be uninterested in Timothy Drake’s thoroughly middle-class girlfriend. They had found you just fascinating when the relationship was new and Tim’s move of dating so far below his class had actually made headlines. But, six months later, your novelty had worn clean off. God, you wished you had someone to talk to. You were feeling so small.

Swallowing a sip of G&T, you think back to your first gala at the Manor. The glitter and glamour of the evening had left you breathless, whereas now it’s making you sick. Some parts of the evening never seem to go stale, though. You still love playing dress up in gorgeous clothes and parading around with your boyfriend, who was also dressed up in gorgeous clothes. Tim usually bought your dresses for these events, since there was no way on the planet you could afford them. You’d gotten used to Tim being stupid rich early in your relationship, and it doesn’t bother you that you can never match him in the money department. 

Occasionally, Tim likes to spoil you, although neither of you are too keen on outrageous gifts that are ultimately useless. He tends to avoid getting you things that are overpriced and unnecessary. (Cheap and unnecessary is where you operate. The two of you are currently having a competition over who could get the other the smallest, most useless gift for under two dollars. Your last gift to him had been a yellow plastic shovel that fits in the palm of your hand)

Tim doesn’t like buying expensive, frivolous things on principle, and you don’t like receiving them, also on principle. But if you’re going to attend these galas, you need an expensive dress point-blank, otherwise you’ll stick out like a sore thumb. And you want to attend, you want to be Tim’s girlfriend, public appearances and all. So Tim just has to buy you the dresses, which you secretly love because they’re gorgeous, and you have to accept them, because you can’t attend the gala without them. It’s a neat way for Tim to give you something expensive and make sure you’ll have a need for it. Plus, you know he loves seeing you wear the clothes he’s bought you.

Tonight, however, you’re not wearing one of Tim’s Vera Wang’s or Alexander McQueen’s. You’ve opted instead on something you’d bought yourself, a bridesmaid’s dress you’d worn to a friend’s wedding earlier this year. It just about fits in with everyone else’s attire, and besides, the dress was expensive. You wanted to wear it at least twice. A great plan, except it isn’t as beautiful as some of the other dresses in the room tonight. You’ve recognized more than one from a runway fashion account you follow on Instagram. Nice as your dress may be, it can’t compare with any of those, and every time you see an exceptionally beautiful gown you wonder what you were thinking, wearing a dress like this.

The negative buzzing in your ears dissipates as you catch Tim’s eye again. He’s got the same stupid look on his face he’d worn when he picked you up this evening. Like he’d been punched but he didn’t exactly mind.

“Are you sure you’re my date for tonight?” he’d whispered, after doing a cartoonish double-take at the door of your apartment, because he really is a good boyfriend. “I’m not sure other people will believe it.”

“Of course they will,” you’d scoffed, cheeks glowing at the compliment. “We look good together. You’re pretty stunning yourself.”

He’d look down at his own clothes with a worried expression. “Really?” Following your advice and urging, Tim had stepped out of his comfort zone tonight and was sporting a patterned tux. It’s a dark blue checked with thin black stripes, waistcoat and bow-tie to match. “I think I look like Al Capone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you look very dapper.” You had taken his hand, then, smiling up at him and leading him out of your apartment. “Charming, even.”

“If Jason’s there he’ll make fun of me. Damian definitely will.”

“They were going to do that anyway. And besides, who cares? I think you look great.”

“I guess you’re the only one that matters.”

“Damn straight.”

He really does look incredible tonight, you think to yourself as you check him out from your position at the bar. Nothing short of beautiful, with the long lines of the tux sitting pretty on his sinuous, willowy limbs and gorgeous frame. His shoulders are holding strong under the fine material of his jacket, and presiding over everything are his sharp cheekbones and even sharper eyes. Which, you note in satisfaction, are now fixed on you as Tim extricates himself from the suits and makes his way to the bar.

“Is this seat taken?” he asks, plopping down next to you and casually hooking a foot around your ankle.

“Nope,” you smile happily, thrilled to be spending time with him again. “I was saving it for you, and as you can see, I had to really fight to keep it free.” You motion around yourself to the people ignoring you. 

Tim winces. “I’m sorry, y/n, if I could do anything--”

“Stop, stop,” you wave him silent. “Don’t worry about it. You’re here now, it’s okay,” you reassure him.

“I don’t like that you end up spending so much time alone at these things,” he says, wrapping an arm around you. “If you even think I’m going to let you come to this thing by yourself,” you say, shaking your head. “Some of the other ones, maybe, but if I don’t make an appearance at The Wayne Gala, capital T, W, and G, the public will think I’m out of the picture.”

“Defending your territory, huh?” Tim grins sidelong at you. “Keeping the society pages off my back, more like.” You shift in your seat, sensing an opportunity. “But maybe I am defending my territory, hmm?” You give him an obvious once over, let lust show in your gaze. “Maybe you’re too pretty to let out of my sight.”

He flushes, color overrunning his cheeks and spilling down his neck and making him look even more edible. You let out a breath. “God, Tim, I could just...” you lean over, easily catching his lips with yours. Holding him there for a just a second, you run your tongue quick over his bottom lip and then pull back, spending a few moments just looking at him, with him looking back. 

You wait for some of the sparkling energy to fade before you speak again. “It’s important to me that you know I’m here to support you as acting CEO.”

He laughs at that, spell broken. “I know sweetheart.” He turns from you to order a drink. “I’m very proud of you,” you say to his back. He rolls his eyes at you over his shoulder.

The bartender makes the drink inside of twenty seconds, because Tim Drake asked for it, and then your boyfriend spends a few more moments staring at you, taking the glass in his hand and eyeing you over the rim.

You meet his gaze. “What are you thinking?” He presses a finger to his ear. “Going off comms,” he murmurs, then surreptitiously fishes the device out of his ear and stows it in his pocket. If you hadn’t known what to look for you would swear he was just running his fingers through his hair and then brushing some lint off of his suit.

“If I’m honest, I’ve spent the last twenty minutes fantasizing about eating you out.”

...what?

It takes a moment for his words to connect to your brain. Then--

“Tim!” you squawk, eyes darting around to make sure no one had overheard you. “You can’t just say that to me in public!”

His eyes meet yours, he looks unimpressed. Tim never has any patience for your prudishness whenever he brings up sex with other people around. “What can I say? The LexCorp people were boring,” and now he’s the one looking you over, eyes slowly working up and down your form. You shiver under his attention. “That’s a very pretty dress you’re wearing, y/n, I think it would look great bunched up around your hips.”

God, confidence is such an irresistible look on him. Despite your better judgment, you decide to play along. Leaning closer, you let one hand ghost over his crotch, cupping him for half a moment as you say “and how do you think the dress will look on your bedroom floor?”

He gasps when you touch him, then smiles brilliantly, eyes shining. You really, really shouldn’t be encouraging him, but you can’t help it. You love him like this, you love the unrelenting force of his desire. You love how much he wants you. 

With Tim, you’ve found that once the idea of sex gets into his head and he sees that you’re game, he’s like a dog with a bone, gnawing and gnawing at you. There’s no stopping him in pursuit to get you into his bed, or car, or the nearest supply closet. And you always find yourself indulging him, because the sex is usually good, but the man himself is even better. You delight in seeing Tim aroused, because as soon as that switch is flipped, the self-control that Tim rigidly keeps in place disappears, and he becomes hypnotically impulsive with his emotions. It took some time for him to get the barriers down, for him to let loose around you, but now he allows himself to be everything all at once. An aroused Tim is playful, awkward, confident, shy, ridiculous, and enthusiastic. You never know what you’re going to get with him, and sometimes he flits from one affect to the other between moments, leaving you breathless.

And you’re more than happy to provide an arena for Tim to let loose, because the only time your boyfriend allows himself to be anything less than perfect is when he’s in your arms. Control rules Tim’s life in the form of some probably unhealthy idolatrous god. As he’s explained to you several times, yes, he actually does need to be this tightly wound, because if he makes a mistake he’ll lose clout at WE. Or he’ll be too slow at night. People will die (he will die.) Insert answer here. 

Which is all true, but it doesn’t mean Tim can’t take a fucking break once in a while. And that’s where you come in. Your boyfriend spends his whole life striving for perfection and punishing himself when he doesn’t reach it, but when he’s with you, he can be anything he wants. 

And one of the wonderful things about sleeping with Tim is so often you get to see everything he wants. Once he’s finally lost control, once you’ve convinced him to put the walls down, he’s like a kid in a candy store. He can do anything, and so he usually does everything.

“Christ,” he breathes in your ear, head still in your fleeting touch, one arm coming to rest on your back. “I think you’ve given me a semi.”

“That,” you say in a sing-song voice, absolutely delighted, “sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” You turn and pretend to walk away, but Tim catches hold of your arm, reeling you back towards him. “You can’t leave now, y/n,” he pleads, eyes dancing. “People are going to look at my crotch and see I’ve got a hard-on, and I can’t endure Cass making fun of me again. C’mon, y/n,” he pouts at you. “I’m your damsel in distress. Save me from the bullies. Dance with me so no one will see.”

You roll your eyes, but come to stand in front of him nonetheless, letting him lead you to the center for the room with his hands on your waist. This isn’t the first time a gala has bored Tim to sexual frustration. “People will still be able to see your crotch,” you argue. “We’ll just dance really, really close together.” As if to prove his point, he suddenly jerks your hips to his, and you all but fall against him. “The song is too fast for this kind of slow-dancing,” you say into his neck, false protests muffled by his suit.

He leans back to make eye contact with you as the two of you start swaying. “That doesn’t matter. We’re young lovers, y/n,” he reminds you seriously. “They’ll forgive us.”

“Young lovers, hmm?” You’re struck again by his confidence tonight, how alluring it is. It’s rare that he’s this sure of himself, but he wears it so well when he is.

“That’s right.” The two of you are silent for a moment, and you contemplate leaning your head against his chest. “You really do look beautiful in that dress, y/n,” Tim says quietly, all joking gone from his tone.

Your cheeks heat at the compliment. “Thank you.” And then, because you’re immature, too, and because Tim isn’t the only one who can flash his sex drive in public, you impulsively say “I bet you can’t guess what I’m wearing underneath.”

This is probably a mistake, but what the hell. You want your boyfriend just as much as he wants you, maybe more.

Tim doesn’t even wait two full seconds before responding. “See, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I bet I can.” You weren’t expecting him to be so quick on the uptake, your mistake for thinking his boredom hadn’t already driven him to tackle this particular problem.

“It’s warm enough out that you’re not wearing any tights or pantyhose, so the suspender sets are out.”

“The suspender sets are out,” you repeat solemnly, already excited by this new game you’re playing. “Well, hang on, maybe I just wore a set without the suspenders.”

Tim is quick to shake his head. “No, you hate doing that, you’d rather just wear separate set altogether. It’s a set without the suspenders.”

You let out a low whistle. “Got me pegged there, detective.” You see an opportunity, and waggle your eyebrows. “Maybe I’ll have you pegged, later.”

He falters in the slow waltz he’s leading you through. “Really not helping with the semi here, y/n” he complains, and he’s right, you can feel it pressing lightly against you. You roll your eyes. “Fine, let’s go back to you guessing what lingerie I’m wearing.”

He nods, only half joking. Tim loves a puzzle. “Thank you. So none of the suspenders.”

“So none of the suspenders,” you repeat again, and offer him a winning smile when he glares at you over it.

Explanatory monologue in full swing, he says “You normally like to match your dress, but this one’s black, which isn’t very helpful.” All of a sudden his attention shifts and comes to rest on your face. “Are you going to tell me if I get it right, or will I just have to wait and see?”

“What would make it better for you, baby?” you ask, voice sultry as you slide your hips against his.

“I have absolutely no idea. Is it the red one?” 

“Nope!”

“Damn. I love the red one.”

“I know you do, sweetheart.”

He pouts at you, but quickly perks up again. “Here, hang on, I’m going to risk exposing my erection so I can get a better view of your back,” and suddenly you’re spinning, once, twice, three times, before Tim pulls you back to his chest and dips you as the song ends. You’re panting a bit in surprise, and from your position suspended in his strong arms, you can feel one of his hands pawing around at your hip, smoothing over the fabric of your dress.

He pulls you upright as another song begins, a grimace on his handsome face. You reach up to brush some of his hair out of his eyes. “That was inconclusive,” he mutters.

You glance over his shoulder. “I think Bruce definitely got a good look at what’s going on down south.” Your boyfriend’s father is looking rather pointedly at the ground, a pained look on his face.

“I could barely see the lines of the set through your dress,” Tim complains, and then adds “Bruce’ll get over it. Or he won’t. Whatever,” he says dismissively. “Last week I walked in on Selina blowing him under his desk, so now we’re even. What’s way more important is that I couldn’t see anything, why couldn’t I see anything?”

“Aww, poor baby,” you tease.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, before brightening a bit. “I mean, it wasn’t a total loss. I did get a great view of your ass. It still looks fantastic, by the way.”

“Thanks for the update.”

He keeps going. “I didn’t see the lines, but I did get a good feel of your underwear at your hip.” He plants his tongue between his teeth, eyes closed in concentration as you sway delicately to the new song. “I didn’t feel a strap, so I can rule out some of the thongs.” You hum in agreement, arms coming up to wrap securely around his torso in an extended embrace. “It isn’t either of the black ones, or the nice blue one, is it?”

“No, sweetheart, it’s not.”

“Hn.” He shifts his arms, and you feel his slight hand flitting about at your hip again. He soon gives up, discouraged. “The material of your dress is too thick, I can’t feel anything through it.”

You decide to throw him a bone. “I’ll give you a hint: I’m actually wearing another color besides black, and the set matches it.”

Tim frowns, stepping back from you for a moment to look down at your feet. “Your shoes are black too, what are you talking about?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you want me to ruin it for you?”

“No, let me think,” Tim says, and goes silent, eyes shut. You study him as the actual detective comes out to play. His eyes snap open again, and you clock his gaze going for your throat and ears. No necklace, but you are wearing gold earrings. Tim ignores them and takes your hand in his, examining your rings. He knows you too well to ask whether the set is gold or silver, that isn’t your style. He’s getting much closer with the rings though, and then his sharp exhale is ghosting through your fingers and his eyes are meeting yours again. You give him a proud smile.

“Good solve, Timmy.” He kisses the pad of your index finger. “Nail polish, y/n?”

“Nail polish,” you confirm.

“Why?”

You pretend to think it over, letting your eyes go wide. “Well, I just thought it would look nice, you know? My hand right over the panties, maybe even inside them, if you wanted me to do any of the work on my own.”

His eyes just about bug out of his head at that, and then he shakes his smile back and forth, impressed. Your answering grin is knife sharp. “You’ve got me right where you want me, don’t you, y/n? What am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you want,” you whisper, winding your arms around his neck. “That’s sort of the point. We can get out of here right now.”

“You know I would love, love, to do that,” Tim says, running his hands down your back, “but there’s supposedly a deal going down at 9:30 that I kind of need to be there for.”

“Well, then,” you murmur, “you’ll just have to suffer for another twenty minutes.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he says drily. The two of you sway in silence for a few minutes before he speaks again. “Hold on, y/n, something just occurred to me.”

“Yes, Tim?”

“Your nail polish is purple, but you don’t own any sets that color. What gives?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. He looks at you for a few moments before his face smooths out again. “You really have it in for me tonight, don’t you? It’s a new set?”

“It’s a new set,” you confirm.

“And I bet you look just stellar in purple,” he says to himself, a desperate edge to his voice. 

“You know very well I look good in everything.” You glance downwards. “How are you doing there, Timmy?”

“Fuck off,” he says happily. “Is it lace?”

“Tim, sweetheart, of course it’s lace.”

Your boyfriend groans, then freezes in place. You look at him questioningly. “I’m running a cost/benefit analysis on me skipping out on this deal.”

“Give it to Tam,” you suggest.

“Give it to Tam,” he agrees. “Yeah, alright, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

You let out a delighted laugh, following him in the direction of his old bedroom in the manor. Behind you, you dimly hear the orchestra finish their song. There are a few moments of silence while you make your way to the exit, and then you hear a few forlorn notes on the piano that have you turning around and calling out “Tim!”

“Whoa, y/n, where are you--”

“Tim! Tim it’s Claire de Lune, they’re playing Claire de Lune, we have to stay!” You drag him back to the dance floor.

“But,” he tries to argue, “but y/n, we were going to--”

“Tim.” You stand your ground. “It’s Claire de Lune. Please?”

He mumbles under his breath but takes you back into his arms regardless, like the good boyfriend that he is. You adore the Claire de Lune, and he’s probably reasoned to himself that no amount of arguing or pleading could tear you from the melody spinning lazily through the room.

He’s still going to complain about it, though. “Claire de Lune, huh? I can’t believe I lived to see Twilight cock-blocking me again.”

You poke him in the side. “Some of us first heard Debussy at the Gotham Philharmonic and some of us read about him in Stephanie Meyers’ blockbuster paranormal romance and googled Claire de Lune on the family computer in their Dad’s office, okay? The important thing is we’re both here, and we can both appreciate it, so shut up.”

Tim shuts up. You smile at him, and let your eyes fall closed. The slow melody envelops you like mist and settles on your skin, resting easy in your inner ear. A small part of you anticipates the notes before the pianist actually plays them, and you find yourself nodding when they finally escape from her fingers. Her performance is perfect, she isn’t messing around trying to improve Debussy’s masterwork, just picking her way through it, measure by measure. You take deep, even breaths as a sense of calm permeates your system. Eyes still closed, you let the music relax you, content to wade dreamily in its cool comfort. 

After about a minute, Tim clears his throat. “Y/n,” he says gently, “look.” You open your eyes and follow Tim’s pointed finger to one of the floor-length windows, gasping out loud when you see the stunning full moon. It sits in an overcast sky, fog and smog and clouds pressing against it like an embrace. The thin ropey clouds that drift across its slouched figure are reflecting its yellow light and giving it a warm, pearly corona, a halo. You stare at it openly for a few seconds, admiring the bone moon in its sky armchair.

Your attention drifts back to Tim’s finger, arm still hanging loosely in front of you, and then to the man himself. The ballroom lights are low enough that you can imagine the moonlight reflecting off of Tim, too, that he too is catching some of its cotton shine on his face. You’re awfully lucky to be with someone who takes the time to point out a particular moon among of a string of nights with particular moons, and you tell him so. Tim’s smile is quiet, but he presses his forehead to yours, where it stays for the rest of the song.

When it ends Tim leans back to smile at you again. You smile back, feeling filled up with the moon and the music and him. Catching his hand in your own, you start in the direction of the grand staircase that leads up to his old bedroom. Tim stops you by pulling on your arm lightly, before turning and walking towards the doors that will take you outside.

You look at him quizzically. “Can we go to your apartment?” he murmurs. “We’ve been in my world this whole night, now I want to be in yours.”

You smile softly before leaning up to kiss him, quick and light. He squeezes your hand as he leads you through the room, and then suddenly you’re outside, breathing cool, almost autumn air while you wait for Tim to get a car sorted out. You turn your eyes upward to meet the moon again, the ghost of Claire de Lune still drifting through your head.

Tim breaks your reverie by calling your name, and you follow him into the back of a car. After directing the driver to your apartment, Tim hands you an earbud. You put it in your left ear while Tim puts the other in his right, and together you listen to Claire de Lune again as the car makes it’s way through a Gotham that’s soft and shiny with moonlight. Three repetitions of Debussy later you’re standing in front of your apartment, Tim wrapping his arms around you as you fiddle with your keys, unlock your door, and lead him to your bedroom.

Later, after you’re spent twice over and Tim has made good on his fantasy of opening you up with his mouth, Tim shifts in the bed and slides himself around you, lips at your ear.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

You sigh happily. “Mmm.”

“I asked the orchestra to play Clair de Lune.”

You raise yourself up on your elbows at that, leaning over him with a meaningful look into his starry eyes. You’re sure there are stars in yours, too. 

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

You lie back down. “Thank you.”

His hand comes up to stroke your hair. “Mmm.”

[tonystarktogo]

(this could’ve been) a villain’s origin story -- KHR remix

[this fic is my first attempt to write in the KHR fandom. i apologize in advance.]

II.

The first time it happens, Tsuna doesn’t see it coming at all. It’s not the kind of thing one sees coming.

He’s following up on one of the many, many anonymous tips they receive daily, about villain movements, suspicious sightings, potential collaborations, the works. Nowhere in the official Vongola Inc. recruitement speech do they tell you that working for the world’s largest superhero organization mostly means digging through trash and interviewing witnesses, rather than bashing a supervillain’s head in.

Granted, most teams go out and get at least some action and technically Tsuna’s team is no exception. Tsuna is, though.

“You’re more likely to get one of us killed than be of any help!” Mochida had snapped when he’d seen Tsuna trott after the others on their way to the briefing room. “Make yourself useful for once and stay out of the way.”

[continues under the cut]

[In all honesty, Tsuna can’t blame his squad leader. He never thought he, Dame-Tsuna, always too slow, too clumsy, too useless, would get recruited by Vongola Inc. The best, most powerful, most feared superhero organization the world has to offer and they wanted Tsuna.

Of course that turned out to be bullshit. Tsuna should’ve expected nothing less. Should’ve seen it coming. Why doesn’t he ever learn? But he’d been so shocked, so gratefulrelievedelated to know that someone saw something in him. That someone wanted him.

If he’d known all Vongola wanted was Sawada Iemitsu’s son -- his bloodline -- well. Tsuna knows himself well enough to realize that it probably wouldn’t have changed a thing. 

But that doesn’t stop him from wishing it had.]

Mochida is cold and cutting and often cruel, but he’s not a terrible team leader. He takes his responsibilities seriously. And even though Tsuna knows the man doesn’t like him, sees being saddled with Tsuna as some kind of creative punishment by his superiors, Mochida doesn’t let Tsuna’s inability to walk a straight line without running into a a door and his utter lack of super abilities get in the way of their job. It usually ends with Tsuna being sidelined and manning the coffee maschine or the phonelines -- wherever he can cause the least damage -- but Tsuna doesn’t mind much.

Sure, it’s not glamourous, but it’s still little things that need to be done and Tsuna is glad he can be of help, even if his co-workers rarely appreciate it. Mochida doesn’t expect much of anything from him and sometimes that hurts, but he never sets Tsuna up for failure just to have something to laugh at either -- and that means more to Tsuna than it probably should.

Besides it’s not like spending yet another endless day at work, following up on various anonymous tips, 98 percent of which always turn out to be a useless waste of time, is a bad price to pay for a steady job in a respected profession.

It’s only in retrospect that it occurs to Tsuna that what happens next is not at all surprising. That it is almost inevitable. Because no matter how many crazy, paranoid or joking people call the Vongola Emergency line, sooner or later Tsuna was bound to stumble over a nugget of valuable information. That this was why they kept a tip line in the first place -- because it occasionally proves to be useful.

In Tsuna’s defense, he’s pretty sure none of the others expected today’s calls to be real either. They sure wouldn’t have sent him out otherwise.

But here he is. Searching -- read: stumbling through -- a long abandoned warehouse that Tsuna just knows would have Hana sniff in disgust at the utter cliché of it all. Without back-up or any particularly useful weapon.

[His team learned in their first month together not to arm Tsuna with anything he could use to hurt himself with. Or them.]

Staring in horror at the supervillain staring at Tsuna with equal surprise.

At least I’m not the only one caught off-guard, Tsuna thinks hysterically. And he’s allowed to be hysterical when he finds himself trapped alone and unarmed in an abandoned warehouse with Skull De Mort of all people.

[Tsuna doesn’t have many hero-like qualities, but he’s got a lot of free time on his hands when manning the phone lines and pulling graveyard shifts on days where even villains prefer to catch a break and sleep in. Tsuna also, by virtue of his heritage, has access to the kind of high-level intel most field agents can only dream of.

As such, Tsuna has a better understanding on the recently active and inactive supervillains than most.

Whereas the average newsreporter likes to scoff and sniff derisively when Skull De Mort pulls one of his outrageous attacks that always mean impressive amounts of property damage and no civilian deaths because Skull is just an ambitious, loud-mouthed thug with ideas above his station as far as the general public is concerned, Tsuna knows better.

Skull De Mort is an Arcobaleno. As in one of the seven most powerful villains in the entire world. He might not drown the city in blood, but it’s sure as hell not because he can’t do it.

Sure, Skull baffles Vongola Inc. regularly with his antics, but his name is spoken in the same breath as Reborn, Fon or Viper and the point is oh god, Tsuna is gonna die here.]

With perfectly reasonable, if unhealthy amounts of panic and horror fighting for dominance within him, it takes Tsuna several long seconds to realize that Skull isn’t launching into one of his infamous supervillain speeches. Isn’t even throwing glitter bombs at Tsuna -- and those glitter bombs might not kill anyone, but walking into Vongola HQ and leaving a trail of glitter everywhere just might.

Hibari-senpai -- who isn’t even Vongola, is the definition of unaffiliated asset everyone is too afraid to alienate -- hates glitter.

Tsuna is so dead.

Except he still isn’t. He’s been standing here, gaping and panicking for close to five minutes and Skull still hasn’t made his move. In fact, now that Tsuna pays attention, it’s not just his breathing that’s unnaturally loud and heavy in the empty hall. And-- Tsuna squints. Skull doesn’t seem to be leaning against the wall so much as clinging to it and he’s watching Tsuna with a look that no one has ever directed at Tsuna in his life, something that almost looks like, like wariness and-- 

“Are you okay?” Tsuna blurts out before he can think of all the reasons why starting a conversation with an Arcobaleno is a terrible idea.

It’s just— this is a supervillain and that’s terrifying and Tsuna should probably call someone more qualified to deal with this situation, but also this is an injured supervillain and somehow that makes all the difference.

Skull scoffs, ironically putting Tsuna a little more at ease. People always scoff or scowl when he reminds them of his existence, this is no different. Besides it’s hard to take the villain’s derision seriously when he promptly sways on his feet. He’s not wearing his helmet, either, and despite being dressed in the usual black motorcycle suit, Tsuna is pretty sure his violett hair is matted with blood.

“You’re hurt!” he exclaims, horrified. Promptly drops the taser he’s been trying to pull out of his overstuffed bag with shaking hands and rushes towards the villain’s side, who’s eyes widen in alarm as Tsuna approaches.

Somehow that makes it easier to breathe, but it’s not enough to distract Tsuna from the long cut along the man’s temple and the dark bruises on his jaw.

“The Great Skull-sama is fine!” Skull protests frantically.

He’s clearly not, considering he promptly loses his balance when he tries to take a step back. Instinctively, Tsuna reaches out to catch him, realizing a second too late that one, he doesn’t have the strenth to keep the taller man upright and two, Tusna is a walking, talking disaster who inevitably trips and brings Skull down with him. They hit the ground hard enough to knock all the air out of his lungs and land in a graceless heap on the floor.

“Sorry!” Tsuna squeaks, breathless from where his face is smushed against Skull’s padded shoulder. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me, Skull-sama!”

Kami-sama, he’s knocked the poor, already injured man over! Trying to untangle them immediately, Tsuna accidentally rams his elbow into Skull’s side, which earns him a pained groan and Skull another flustered apology.

This is why his team doesn’t take Tsuna on missions. He’s a hazard not just for himself but everyone around him.

Scrambling away from Skull before he manages to kill the guy through sheer clumsiness, Tsuna forces himself to take one deep, steady breath — only one, though, else he’ll have time to think about how stupid what he’s gonna do in a moment really is — and starts to unpack his bag. Tsuna might not carry as many weapons as a Vongola Superhero on duty technically should, but his emergency kit would make any aspiring doctor proud. And Nana too, but that’s because Tsuna’s mom thinks he’s healing the innocent bystanders — "My Tsu-kun has such a gentle heart!" — not himself. 

"What are you doing?!" Skull asks while slowly pushing himself off the floor and into a sitting position.

"I’m just looking for the— there!" Tsuna knew he still has one of Irie’s newest ice packs. He kneads the white package for a few moments to activate it, then holds it out to Skull. "Here. Hold this to your jaw for at least ten minutes, but no longer than thirty. Ichi’s still working on some issues long-term use has on human skin."

Tsuna babbles like he always does when he’s scared. [It drives Mochida crazy sometimes because Tsuna is scared most of the time and Mochida hates babbling.] It doesn’t stop him from noticing the odd look Skull shoots him, a bit like he’s measuring Tsuna’s worth. Except that’s a look he’s intimately familiar with and would recognize anyone, so it’s something close, but not exactly that.

"Please take it, Skull-sama." Tsuna shakes the ice pack lightly, pretends like his hands aren’t trembling when those bright, violett eyes fixate on him. "That looks like it really hurts." 

[He’s not sure if all Arcobaleno carry their superpowers on the outside. If it’s part of the costume, colored contacts and all, or if their bodies are brimming with power to the point where they’re overflowing, where it pours out of them in any shape it can.]

Slowly Skull takes the ice pack. Looks at it as though he doesn’t know what to do with it.

"H-Hold it against your chin, please, Skull-sama." Tsuna busies himself with sorting through his various bandages and tries very hard to pretend his voice isn’t shaking and squeaky like a frightened mouse. "It’ll help keep the swelling down."

"…The immortal Skull-sama heals fast." Skull says the words like a question. Tsuna doesn’t look up, but he can feel the weight of the man’s stare.

Hunching his shoulders, Tsuna pulls what little courage he has together, and stutters, "That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, Skull-sama. Please, can you just take it? I— I don’t like seeing people hurt."

Skull is still staring, Tsuna can tell, but it feels less like he wants to lean over and rip Tsuna open to figure out what’s inside, and more like he’s just watching Tsuna drop the disinfect spray for the third time. After a moment, he presses the ice pack to his face and even though Tsuna’s still trembling a bit, he smiles.

"Thank you."

Skull doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t protest when Tsuna tells him to disinfect the gash above his eyebrow — not deep enough to need stitches, thankfully. He draws the line at more bandages, though, which is worrisome. Tsuna is pretty sure the man has at the very least bruised his rips, but Skull is a supervillain, not runaway kitten, and maybe that means he knows what he’s doing.

That would at least make one of them.

Finally convinced that there’s no other injury Skull will let him help with, Tsuna carefully packs up his things again and bids the villain a hesitant goodbye. Which brings up a somewhat awkward point.

"I have to go back to work now and someone might ask where I’ve been." Eventually. Maybe. Tsuna rocks back on his heels, not sure how to put this. "If they ask, they might come here. And you— might not want to be there when they come," is what he settles on.

Skull’s watching him with another strange expression, both eyebrows raised as he watches Tsuna make a fool of himself. "Why?"

Tsuna eeps. [It’s not a full-on shriek, thankfully, but it’s far too close for his comfort.] There’s an intensity to Skull just now that has the hairs of the back of his neck stand up and reminds Tsuna rather violently that he’s talking to an Arcobaleno. That he’s been treating an Arcobaleno’s wounds. For a moment, Tsuna sways on his feet, as though his body wonders whether it should just give up on him completely.

"Ireallyneedtogonow!" Tsuna rushes the words out so fast, they trip over themselves, grabs his bag and high-tails it out of there. "Please take care of yourself, Skull-sama!" he adds over his shoulder, almost walking into the door as he does so.

It’s not until Tsuna is sitting in his comfortingly safe work chair that it occurs to him that not once during the entire, surreal encounter [he still can’t believe he was in the same room as an Arcobaleno and survived] did it occur to him to call Vongola. Even now Tsuna is hesitating to speak up, to tell one of his co-workers. Because while his gut feeling tells him that Skull got out of that warehouse as soon as Tsuna turned his back on him, he isn’t one hundred percent sure and what if they catch Skull because of him?

Tsuna resolves to spill the whole story as soon as someone asks — he’s a terrible liar and he never promised Skull he wouldn’t tell, not that the man asked himto — and tries not to think too much about the many crimes he committed by letting the chance of catching a supervillain of Skull’s calibre go to waste. Not that anyone would expect Tsuna to catch a supervillain, but still.

[His team returns two hours later, bright-eyed, bruised and breathless with the enthusiasm of a successful mission tangible in the air around them. Mochida even greets Tsuna with a smile and doesn’t scold him when Tsuna drops his tea cup in response and Haru tells him all about the exciting and ultimately successful arrest they’ve pulled off.

No one asks Tsuna where he’s been or if anything interesting happened while they were gone. 

Tsuna tells himself he’s relieved, for Skull’s sake if nothing else, because the pang he feels at the thought that no one would miss me if I was gone has gone beyond pathetic a long time ago.]

[arandompostarchive]

SALEM - Ch. 18

SAVED WORK

Summary: In all the centuries of your existence, you had never been dragged out of hiding by another god, put in a superhero team and forced to save the universe. But it seems your luck has run out.

_____________

***

You tugged Loki along with you, heading to the conference room Steve usually called you to. You saw Loki use magic to change into his armor, and you did the same, changing into Tony’s new suit for you. You’d have to thank him for it later.

You arrived there before most of the others. They took a bit longer to change than you and Loki. Magic was a helpful thing. Steve, Tony, Bucky, and Nat were the only ones in the room when you walked in.

“Y/n, we’re taking the quinjet closer, Tony and Sam will help you and Loki get up there since you can’t exactly teleport somewhere you can’t see,” Nat said, reminding you of the plan. You nodded along, taking your seat at the table next to Loki.

You noticed the group had put an extra chair at the table for Loki. It wasn’t much, but it was progress towards at least acknowledgment of Loki’s existence.

Thor had walked in as Nat finished talking and took a seat next to his brother. Steve turned to the three of you, switching into Captain Mode. “The important thing is that you, Loki, and Thor take out Moros. We’ll give you weapons from the ship. Y/n, you and Loki have fought him before. Do you think the three of you will be able to do it?” He asked. There wasn’t anything condescending in his voice, just worry the fight wouldn’t be over as quickly as possible.

“With weapons that can kill him and the assistance of my brother, we should not have a problem,” Loki said, reassuring Steve.

Tony rolled his eyes a bit. “I’m just saying, why is this guy so hard to kill? I mean, the two of you are gods and it was two against one. For once, I’m not trying to be an ass, I’m serious. Why is he so dangerous?” He asked. You could see it was a serious question, though you were sure he was holding back on some sarcastic remark. Steve looked to you for the answer, apparently Tony had voiced a question he wanted to be answered as well.

By that time, the entire team had joined you in the room, all in their suits. You looked between Tony and Steve to answer the question.

“The Asgardians and Olympians are different. The Asgardians may have labels, like ‘god of lies’ or ‘god of thunder’,” You gestured to Loki and Thor respectively. “But they are all one race. They get their titles later in life depending on their personalities. Olympians are born knowing their purpose. We are all different.”

Nat seemed confused at your explanation. “I’m not sure I follow.” She said, her head tilted to the side.

You sighed, unsure of how to explain it and make sense. “Each god has their own ‘specialties’ I suppose. I use magic and can use it to change my form, like when my eyes go dark. Poseidon uses water, Athena is a genius, Ares has strength, and so on. My brother is the god of destruction. Needless to say, he destroys.” You took a moment, making sure you were making sense. “He was born into destruction, unlike the rest of us. He’s the concept of destruction itself, which is a hard idea to kill. Some gods are less powerful than others, and children of Nyx tend to be much more dangerous. Especially ones with an ability like destroying anything. And I mean anything. Buildings, planets… people. My brother is not to be trifled with.” You said the last part softly. It was true, but you thought that was better kept out of the conversation of people about to fight Moros unless it was absolutely necessary

Loki’s hand squeezed your thigh in reassurance and you put your hand over his and smiled up at him. He returned the smile, turning his hand over so you could hold onto it. You saw Tony roll his eyes. “Dear god, if you guys are going to turn into a gross touchy couple, I’m blasting our resident smurf in the face, hear me?” He said, staring at you. You laughed a bit, while Tony glared.

“While I do find this sweet, we’ve got a really angry god to fight,” Sam said, drawing your attention back to the task at hand. You all nodded. Even Tony could be serious when he needed to, although he always tried to lighten the tension with humor. It was greatly appreciated most of the time, despite your sarcastic responses.

“Everyone else, besides Thor, Loki, and Y/n will stay on the ground and fight back the army. SHIELD has offered agents to help us and authorities will help when they can. Thor, Loki, Y/n, you can’t crash this ship. Tony was able to get some visuals of it. If it goes down, it’s sure to destroy far too much of the city. People will die without a doubt.” Steve looked to you, making sure you understood. The three of you nodded and everyone left to prepare.

Moros was already here, the best you could do was be as prepared as possible. You hadn’t fought with Thor and Loki before, although they had spent centuries fighting side by side, you had only fought beside Thor for a year and Loki for only a week. You could hardly call it practice. So, you shared as much information about Moros as you could think of. His fighting style, weapons, anything that came to mind.

Tony came up to you a few minutes into your explanation and handed you the weapons from the ship. You spread them out on a coffee table in the living room in order to divide them up. There were three of them, two daggers and a longsword. They weren’t the world’s prettiest weapons, but they would certainly do.

“Brother,” Thor started, “take the daggers and dual wield. Mjolnir may not be one of their god-killing creations, but it will certainly be able to deal a blow.” He said, smiling. You and Loki nodded, picking up your respective weapons. The sword didn’t have the usual beautiful look of a good longsword, but it wasn’t about the glamour today. It was much more about death.

You heard Steve’s voice over Friday’s system. “Everyone, report outside. We’ve seen movement from the ship. We’re leaving now. Thor, Loki, Sam, Y/n, Tony, you’re heading up to the ship. Get this over with as soon as you possibly can. You nodded, despite the fact that Cap could see you. Thor moved first, walking toward the elevator, you followed. Loki stopped walking.

“Coming?” Thor said, looking back as he waited for the elevator to come.

“We’ll meet you there in a minute,” Loki said, waving Thor off. Thor nodded, stepping into the elevator. You looked toward Loki, tilting your head to ask what’s wrong. He reached over to grab your hand and you took a step closer to him, slightly concerned.

“Be careful, my love.”

My love. My love. My love.

“Of course I will, why?” You asked, confused why he felt the need to remind you of something obvious.

He laughed. “I do not want to lose you. I doubt I can do that again, as selfish as that is to say.” You smiled at him and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Loki, believe me, I have no intention of dying today at my brother’s hands. Or at all, for that matter.” He nodded at that, accepting your answer. He seemed nervous. You could understand that. You would be too if you were in his shoes. He had lost you for almost three and a half centuries.

“Good.” You opened your mouth, but he spoke first. “And yes, I will protect myself as well, before you ask.” You nodded, accepting his answer as well. “You should take that off, you know.” He said, gesturing to the left side of your face. You had started to get used to not seeing from that eye, but you weren’t quite sure you should take the patch off yet.

Loki reached up to take it off, his hands moving slowly to give you time to stop him. You let him.

He pulled off the patch, careful not to pull too hard and pull your hair in the process. “Much better.” He said. Lifting your chin up to examine your eye. You suspected he wasn’t admiring it, rather making sure it had healed, but he wouldn’t admit it, so you let it go.

You used your magic to summon a small hand mirror. The was a large scar over half your face and it was distracting, to say the least. It reminded you of a spider’s web. The discolored and burned skin, crawling its way across your face. But your eye was the worst part. It looked gray now, like you were blind. Which, in all fairness, you were. The off-white color was almost disturbing to look at for you, so different than what you were used to seeing. It wasn’t your face anymore. It felt like someone else’s had been plastered over it. It felt odd to know it’d never be the same.

“Are you alright, love?” The word shook you out of your thoughts. Not the question, the word. “You’re crying.” You looked at Loki and brought your hand up to your cheek. You hadn’t even noticed you had started crying. You weren’t entirely sure why you were crying either. Was it your face? The pain? Blindness?

“How can you call me that?” You asked softly. It wasn’t an accusation, more of a genuine question.

“Call you what? Love?” Loki asked, confused. He didn’t seem upset by the scar. More concerned about you rather than the burn covering your face.

“I’m not the same, Loki. I messed with magic that I shouldn’t have and now I’m stuck like this. And you love me?” You realized why you were crying. Before all of this, before Moros, or the Avengers, or even Thor, you thought much differently of yourself. You never would have believed that someone would’ve called you ‘love’ much less the same person from your days in Salem. But now, after everything that had happened, he still called you love.

“Because I love you. Do you not like it? I can call you something else…” He trailed off, trying to think of another name.

“No. I like it, I’m just confused I suppose.” You weren’t exactly sure how to describe what you were thinking.

“Well, I love you. I know it’ll take longer for me to earn your love back, but  I’ve missed you all these centuries. Now that I finally have you in my arms again I will not let you go over something as small as a scar.” He seemed to understand what you were thinking without you having to say it, which you were thankful for. You couldn’t hear a lie as well and his, that was true. But you could at least tell when he was lying. And right now? He wasn’t lying.

You leaned up, pulling him into a much deeper kiss before you led him over to the elevator and took it down to the first level.

***

“C’mon, just let the bird-man carry you,” Tony said, bored.

“There’s no other way up?” Loki asked, staring anxiously at Sam. He wasn’t a fan of flying. At all.

“How did you think you were getting there?” Tony asked sarcastically. You rolled your eyes at the argument, instead, securing your new sword into the sheath on your back. The sheath didn’t quite fit since the sword hadn’t come with one and you had to hastily make your own with your magic. It was far from perfect, but at least it worked.

“I’m not sure, but I wasn’t expecting to cling on to false bird wings to fly!” You and Thor had given up and had decided to let Tony and Sam deal with him (much to their dismay). Eventually, after far too long an argument, Loki let Sam carry him. Tony had refused to pick up the trickster, and you didn’t bother arguing.

“I will have you know, I dislike this!” Loki called out, midair. Moros’ ship was above the city now. It was within the atmosphere, although the air only got thinner higher up.

“Yeah, we figured that out by now.” Tony said, sounding bored with Loki’s fear of flying (of course, Loki insisted it wasn’t a fear. Just an “extreme dislike”).

“Only a little further!” You shouted over the rush of wind. The coms weren’t as helpful when there was wind rushing past you. Tony and Sam were much better off with their helmet and goggles. With the wind drying out your eyes and mouth, you envied them.

Soon, you ended up on the side of the ship, attached partially with magic, and partially with some technology you didn’t entirely understand. Asgard may have had technology in their society, but Olympus consisted of magic and magic only. No fancy tech for you to learn about. Tony cut through the ship’s metal with little difficulty with some sort of laser, you hadn’t bothered to ask him about any of his inventions and he got too frustrated explaining them, although you appreciated that he always tried to. The much more important part was that you got onto the ship and Tony and Sam flew back down to help the team. By the faint sound of shots and screaming you could hear below you, you figured the fighting must have started already.

The ship was bigger than you expected. The space you had entered looked to be a garage-like area, full of ships similar to the one you had stolen. There was a hallway off to the side, lined with odd-looking lights.

“I’m not certain what I thought would be up here, but it certainly is not this.” You heard Thor say from next to you. The ship seemed exclusively black, white, and gray, a soft monochromatic theme that screamed ‘military’. It smelled of bleach and cleaning supplies, and the whole place was immaculate. In any other situation, you’d appreciate the cleanliness.

“It doesn’t much matter. We need to find my brother.” The boys next to you nodded and the three of you looked around to find some sort of map.

There were words printed on the side of the hall, and you stepped forward to get a better look at them. The listed off locations with small arrows. The halls were painted a light gray, it reminded you more of an asylum than an army base, but it was much better than the dirt and blood-covered halls on Kalan.

“Here!” You shouted over at Thor and Loki who were checking different areas of the ship. The ran over quickly, anxious to find your brother. “Main Room. That sounds like somewhere he’d be, right?” You asked. Loki nodded in response and the three of you started walking toward the room.

You were doing your best to stay quiet. You wouldn’t hesitate to fight anyone you needed to, but you’d like to avoid as many battles as you possibly could.

The halls were long and confusing, each had the same board you had seen earlier, pointing you towards the Main Room, whatever that meant. You had come across a few guards, who strangely didn’t seem alarmed at your presence. Loki had suggested the three of you had set off an alarm system when you broke in. Thor seemed to agree with this, meaning Moros was prepared for you. Just what you needed today.

Soon, you finally reach a large, overdramatic door. It was black, a sharp contrast against the light gray of the halls. You looked at Thor and Loki who had each gotten out their weapons. You pulled out your longsword and forced open the doors, doing your best to look composed.

“Sister.” The voice echoed off the walls of the main room. It was a huge space with a large window to the city below. There was a chair directly in front of the window, and you could see a large broadsword in a sheath next to the chair.

“Brother.” You responded, doing your best to match Moros’ volume. Thor and Loki stayed behind you, letting you do all the talking. You doubted there would be much talking with Moros though.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Moros asked. His voice reminded you of gravel below someone’s shoe. The low, rough sound took up the whole room. You walked the length of the room, standing next to his chair at the window. You kept your hand on your sword. You could hear Loki protest from behind you before you heard Thor say something in response. Loki’s protests stopped and you silently thanked Thor for whatever he had said.

“Please, get more comfortable.” He gestured to your eyes, and you knew what he meant. You took a breath and let your magic change your form. Your eyes darkened and black veins spread out from them. You felt a bit more self-conscious looking like that, but at least you were in… good company. Or at least company that wouldn’t be shocked looking at you like that.

“You’re a goddess of war sister, although you take much more pride in magic and darkness than I.” He said. He looked over to you. It had been a long time since you had gotten a close look at your brother’s face. Full gods chose their forms, and this would’ve been terrifying to anyone else. Anyone who hadn’t grown up with the literal concept of the night as their mother. His face was covered in what looked like cracks. His armor was old, you could tell. Maybe made by the Greeks themselves. His eyes though. His eyes were what scared you. They seemed to be a white color, but you could see something in them. It was like watching a million cities burn away all at once. Like watching solar systems die and people perish. It was disturbing. Ir made you wonder what people thought of your eyes when they were dark.

“You must still appreciate a good battle though? Fighting and monsters. That’s exactly what you should enjoy, is it not? Is it not perfect?” The question seemed genuine. You weren’t certain how to respond. He was right, you did enjoy a good battle. Sure, you were with the Avengers to help people, but saying that your inner war goddess didn’t seep out every once in a while would be a lie. But still, you had more control than this.

“People will die, Moros.” Your voice wasn’t stern, more concerned. Hopeful that maybe he’d listen. You knew he wouldn’t, but it was worth a try.

He only laughed. “You sound like a child, Sister. Like a younger sibling asking me to stop breaking her toys.” He slumped down more in his chair, seeming more relaxed than you liked. You glanced back at Loki and Thor, mouthing at them to ‘stay alert’. Thor seemed confused, but Loki got the message and whispered it to Thor. They looked around them, keeping their eyes on as much of the room as they could. You didn’t like the idea of falling into a trap.

Moros gave another small laugh. The rough sound of his laugh made you cringe. “Though I suppose I am breaking your toys, aren’t I? You’re better than this, you know. You sit all day with humans. They’ll die before you blink. You’ve got, what? Maybe fifty more years with them? That’s nothing. And then those Asgardians.” He said the word with disgust dripping from his tongue. Like he wanted to get it out of his mouth as soon as he could.

You could hear Thor and Loki stepping closer to you, just enough for you to feel their presence behind you. “Even they die, Sister. Give it 4,000 years. You’ll see. They aren’t gods. Not real gods. They haven’t shaped worlds. They didn’t create the sky, like our ancestors. They don’t control the tides or move the sun. They control wars or love like us. They don’t control magic, like you, Sister. You could defeat that sorcerer of yours. And that brute he calls a brother? He is no Zeus. They’re no gods, Sister. Not like you, not a witch capable of more destruction than I could imagine.” That’s what this was about. He wanted your magic. He wanted to see what you can do when you could let it all go at once.

“You never get to use all your power. It’s all caged until you have to save the next human. I don’t know why you bother. They’ll die soon anyway.” Moros stood, walking close to the window. You grew concerned when he left his sword behind. You looked behind you to Thor and Loki. They seemed… upset.

“You won’t die?” Loki asked, looking at you. He was upset, though you couldn’t tell why. You nodded slowly in response.

“Not unless someone kills me. We’re much different than Asgardians, though I suppose that was obvious.” He didn’t say anything else, so you turned back around to join Moros.

“Look at them. You must enjoy it, the fighting? It’s who you are. All of our siblings are dark people. Chaos, insanity, murder, death, war, destruction. We cannot control who we are, Sister. No matter how much you would like to.” You could see your friends fighting below you. They looked small from your view above the city, but you could still see them doing their best to fight the ships full of people running through New York. “Earth is a beginning. Our grandfather created this all, and I shall destroy it. It is the way of life. And it would be so much easier if you would join. This world is pointless. Humans live, they die, they impact nothing. They destroy their own planet. At the very least, don’t stand in my way. Go home, back to Olympus. I’ll even let you take your friends. Zeus would never oppose a daughter of Nyx!” He said, his happy tone contradicted his message.

Although, as sad as it was to admit, he had a point. As many people as you save, Earth would eventually crumble away. You’d have to return to Olympus sooner or later when the Universe eventually collapsed, and you wouldn’t even have Loki with you anymore. Asgardian life spans were impressive, but they didn’t last forever. Besides, your mother would want to talk to you about killing Ker eventually, not that you were excited about that conversation. She really hated it when her kids killed each other.

You couldn’t change who you were.

You’d always be the goddess of magic and war. You’d always have a place as Nyx’s youngest daughter. Always a child of the night, no matter how kind you were. Helping humans didn’t matter, it wasn’t as if the gods cared about them much anyway. There were plenty of other planets to fawn over and humans had long forgotten their existence. You could run away and keep Loki with you while you still had him. You could take up Moros’ offer. Drag all your friends away from the fight and bring them with you. Zeus never wanted to get on your mother’s bad side, which essentially gave you permission to break all the rules. You’d ignore Earth, convince them to save some other planets that were more worthwhile.

Moros was giving you time to think it over. You looked over the fighting. Every so often you’d see Sam and Tony flying over buildings, taking out as many soldiers as possible. But Tony seemed to stay close to the ship. He kept glancing back toward you, checking for any sign of change. He didn’t say anything. You couldn’t hear anyone contacting you over the coms, but he was thinking about you at least. And then you remembered…

How many of them would actually come?

There’s no way Steve would go with you. He loves these people too much, and he wasn’t your biggest fan. And if Steve was staying, so were Bucky, Sam, and Nat. If Nat was staying, so were Clint and Bruce. Thor had gotten attached to the humans over the past years. You couldn’t even blame him for it. Even Tony. He’d never say it, but he loved it here. He loved this team. Peter wouldn’t leave, he had his friends here. His new family. He was still an unofficially official Avenger, he’d never leave.

Which left you with Loki.

You could convince him to come. At this point, you were sure he’d go anywhere with you. You smiled at the thought, but the smile left your face quickly. You couldn’t leave your family behind. You couldn’t knowingly let a world die. You hoped that without you, maybe the Avengers would still find a way, but could you really take that chance. So, instead, you did just about the dumbest thing you could think of.

“Y/n, I know you may not like the humans as much as I do,” Thor started from behind you, “especially after everything they’ve done, but you aren’t thinking of saying yes, are you? There are billions of life forms here, not all of them are the same evil you’ve seen in your life. Please j—”

“Have you ever seen a sunset?” You asked calmly, ignoring whatever Thor was going to say. You were looking directly at Moros, and Thor recognized you weren’t talking to him. He didn’t interject again, letting you finish whatever thought you were going to start.

“What?” Moros asked incredulously.

“A sunset. Have you ever seen a sunset here?” You had a small smile on your face, remembering all the times you had seen a sunset yourself. They were beautiful.

“What does it matter if I’ve seen a sunset?” He was confused by your statement, completely thrown off. “That says nothing about humans! We created the sun, we created the sky, we move it across the heavens, we move everything!”

“That wasn’t my point, Brother. Have you seen a sunset?” You asked again, this time your tone sterner.

“This makes no difference, what are you talking about, Circe?” You glared again, not repeating the question. He sighed, resigning to your glare. “No, I have not.”

“You should. They’re beautiful. Humans love them. There’s a beautiful sunset in all of their romantic movies, they sit and just watch them constantly. Really. They do nothing but sit and watch the sun fall. There’s all these gorgeous colors, purples and oranges and yellows and pinks.”

You remembered sitting with Loki by the lake near Salem. It was a lovely view. Just the two of you, watching the sun sink past the dark lines of the trees, the sky echoing hues of orange. It was one of your favorite memories.

Moros looked at you like you were insane. “And?”

“That’s it. It’s gorgeous. I’ve never seen anything more lovely in my life. You should watch one. Just one. Just wait for the sky to turn and watch the sun over the ocean, you’d love it.” His expression didn’t change.

You could see Thor and Loki whispering to each other behind you, probably talking about how insane you sounded right about now. Talking to your genocidal brother about pretty colors.

“What do you mean ‘that’s it’?” Moros asked, “Is there no explanation?”

“What I mean is, there’s no point in sunsets. There will just be another one tomorrow.” You could still hear Loki and Thor behind you, and see the confusion plastered on Moros’ face. “But that doesn’t make them any less pretty. Humans are just like that. There will be a billion more and yes, some of them are much better than others, but they’re kind. And they create lives for themselves. They have friends and families, and this world is theirs. There is no point in wrecking everything just so you can ‘fulfill your purpose’. Maybe you should just destroy smaller things, things without as much life and beauty.

Moros groaned beside you. He walked back over to his chair and sat down, slumping against it. You followed shortly after, waving the next time Tony flew up close to the ship. You doubted he could see you, but if he could he’d feel a little better. You could hear some static over the com so you pulled it out of your ear. It looked like it was broken or something. Not that you understood anything about the technology in your hand. You shrugged and dropped it on the ground. If everything turns out alright, you could just grab it later. If.

“That’s your point? To leave because colors are nice? Go to Olympus, make your own colors! Sister, you have magic. Go create your own universe!”

“It’s so much nicer when you don’t make it yourself. You never know what’s coming that way.” You said, calmly.

Moros grabbed the broadsword next to him, once again coming to his feet. “I suppose it was worth an attempt, huh Sister?” He asked.

You sighed in response.“I suppose it was, Brother.”

You have a feeling you were talking about different things.

***

[wonderwomanfantasy]

heart like mine

 it’s big mental break down hours boys and I’m taking it out on Bakugou whoops. 

Bakugou x Reader

Word Count: 2,100(about)

Warnings: angst, gore, death, abuse, kidnapping, torture, this goes from 0 to 100 real quick,

Summary: Bakugou refused to belive in your supposed death, even though it’s been two months without any sign of you, even when they find the body. he knows you are alive, you have to be. he doesn’t know what he’ll do with himself if you aren’t. 

Bakugou didn't trust people easily, but it had taken him longer than normal to come around to you. You were always so damn happy go lucky putting on a wide smile and offering to use your quirk on whoever even remotely needed it. Witch bakugou didn't. You had a healing quirk, you would take the injury before redirecting it into someone or something else. He felt weak when he needed your help, and he felt manipulated when you used his weakness as your strength. He almost always brushed off your offer, he wouldn't let you so much as help him off the ground. He didn't need you.

But he had started trusting you eventually. He would let you ease the pain in his muscles, or take away the ringing in his ears if, and only if, no one else was around, and you sent the damage into the wall or something. He would never let you use your quirk on him in battle- If he was going hurt someone he was going to do it directly. 

You were always there when he needed you, your healing hands always ready to take some of the weight off his shoulders. He was more than ecstatic when you had gone to Best Jeanest for your internship with him, not that he showed it in any way. 

Bakugou wasn't sure when exactly he fell in love with you, but he knew that he loved you. He loved your voice, and your laugh, he loved your eyes and your hair. He loved your kindness and your sense of humor. And he would be damned if he let anyone get to you before him. He asked you out on the first day of school in your third year. You rejected him. You liked Bakugou too but you weren't dating anyone until after you had made a name for yourself as a hero.

So he waited, watched as you climbed the ranks from a nobody, to in the top twenty to number seven where you staid. Then he asked you out again and this time you accepted. 

Often, he found himself wondering what would come next, you had been his girlfriend for almost five years now had been living with him for three, marriage couldn't be far away, right? His mother hinted at it constantly while the fans speculated that you were already married but hid it from the public. He liked the thought of “Mrs. Bakugou (y/n)”. he had to snap himself out of daydreams of tall buttercream cakes and white dresses more often than he cared to admit. 

So he bought a ring. It was sleek and glamours perfect for you. Bakugou had picked up a thing or two from his parents after all. He was planning to propose that night, the little velvet box burning a hole in his jacket pocket. But you weren't there to be proposed to. His home had been broken into, ransacked and vandalized. The villains had only taken one thing of value: you.

He couldn't sleep, he didn't eat. His life was consumed with trying to find you and the bastards who had taken you so he could cave in their skulls. Every clue he took note of, he followed every lead and looked everywhere for you. On nights where exhaustion overtook him, he slept fitfully, plagued by nightmares. The ring staid on his nightstands waiting for a day that might never come. He didn't want to think about it. If the chances of finding you alive were slim to none after two days. Then what were the odds after a month?

He didn’t lose hope, even after they found your body. well, they found a body, who was your exact hight weight and what little shreds of fabric had been left on the mangled burned corpse matched fibers from your hero suit. Bakugou didn’t believe for a second it was actually you. he couldn’t wrap his mind around that possibility. the body had been burned beyond recognition, there was a chance it wasn’t you, and the fibers on the body matched your hero suit, but you hadn’t been wearing your suit when you were taken his friends moved on, urged him to do the same. but he couldn’t not yet.

You didn't understand why they had taken you, at first. You woke up chained to a wall. Gagged and bruised. Your wrists were bound to the wall so you couldn't even heal your own wounds. As it turned out, there weren't a lot of villains with healing quirks, so they had to kidnap a pro hero just too heal the wounds they got trying to kill your friends.

It was hell. No matter how you thrashed and kicked and fought back the restraints held tight you refused to use your quirk for them. So they starved you and beat you until you were to weak and delirious to refuse them. If they were feeling particularly crewel, which they often where, they would wake you up at odd hours of the day and night. The lack of sleep made you feel like you were losing your mind. Somehow you held on to a small sliver of hope. It couldn't be long before you were rescued. But days slipped by with no one coming to your aid. Days turned to weeks. The weeks to months. It was hard to tell time, you weren't allowed near windows. You had long since given up on telling the difference from day and night, sleeping when you could.  

Your faith was really only broken when you saw a Gossip imagine left beside you.  A Rebound Already? Pro Hero Ground Zero spotted with hot new blonde two months after (Y/N) (L/N)'s tragic death. 

Of course, no one would be looking for you if they thought you were dead, your own boyfriend had moved on for Christ's sake. You were broken after that. You no longer put up a fight when your captors used you for your quirk. You didn't even bother to send the wound off somewhere. You let the pain slide down your fingertips and down your arm letting the wounded land where ever they wanted on your body. Cuts opened on your stomach, bruises and scrapes that weren't yours materialized on your skin. You could only get away with it for so long, you were too valuable to let die. What you wouldn't give to just. Die.

Bakugou hated the press coverage. How fucking dare they imply that he could ever move on. He refused to lose hope. He would find you and he would find you alive and then everything could go back to normal. But every lead was nothing but a dead-end, and he was running out of straws to grasp at. 

Then a miracle happened, he got kidnapped. Sure he didn't think it was a good thing when he woke up tied to a chair, a quirk nullification collar latched tightly around his neck. Tape had been stuck over his mouth so he couldn't even scream. That sure as hell didn't stop him from trying though. Slowly.  A slender girl with choppy black hair who couldn't have been more than 19 came before him.

“you're Ground Zero, Bakugou Katsuki right?” she asked timidly. He thrashed wildly in his retrains, but they held. “shake your head yes or no” the girl tried but he continued to ignore her.

“I know where (y/n) (l/n) is and if you want to see her again you'll stop,” she boomed, it was surprising hearing such a loud noise from such a small frail looking thing. He froze instantly. “good, now Are you Bakugou Katsuki or did I kidnap the wrong blonde-haired son of a bitch?” she asked. He nodded. “good” “and you want to find (L/n)?” he nodded again. “she was kidnapped by the League of Villians about two mounts ago” she said nervously. Bakugou founded, he had already figured as much, it was more a question of why. They hadn't asked for ransom, they didn't kill you as some sort of message, and as of yet, they hadn't turned you to their side.

“they've been using her quirk, it's sick I can't stand it anymore,” the girl muttered. “do you still want to save her?” She asked picking at her lips nervously. he glared at her and nodded as angrily as he could. Of course, he wanted to find you.

“good,” she said nodding. Her eyes kept flicking back and forth as if she was expecting something to come crashing in on them. “It goes without saying that I shouldn't be doing this. But I- (Y/n) she was-Fuck it doesn't matter. I'm going to give you a tracking device, you come and find her, get her out okay.” she pulled out a small box from her pocket and placed it on the ground in front of him.

“bring back up or don't I don't care. And don't think this means I'm on your side or anything. I'll try to kill you when you show up and I expect you to do the same.” she added glaring. Bakugou wasn't sure what else to do, so he nodded. “okay good luck,” she said then turned to leave. Bakugou shouted and rocked in his chair. Her plan was all fine and good, assuming she wasn't lying and wasn't tricking him but how the fuck was he supposed to get out? “oh right, the collar will turn off after, ten minutes? I assume you can get out from there, see you soon then.” and with that, she was gone, literally disappearing in a puff of white smoke. Ten minutes later bakugou blew up the cuffs around his wrists and the chair beneath him.

It was probably a trap. It was almost certainly a trap, fuck somewhere deep inside he knew you wouldn’t be there but it was all he had and he was desperate. what was he supposed to do if you really were dead? he had given his heart and soul to you, was he just supposed to forget about all that and try again with someone new?  He picked up the tracking device with shaky hands. There was a little red dot on a map labeled with your entails and a little blue dot with his entails. You were close, so close. He took a deep breath. He had to be smart about this call for help. there had to be someone at the agency must be able to figure out if it was real or not. He shouldn't go. He should get out of here.

He started running towards you.

It was a normal day. You hated the thought of a routine with these people. But what else were you supposed to do besides accept this reality? The villains laughed loudly and drank without a care in the world. You closed your eyes and rested your head against the wall. You would try and fail to sleep, then enviably someone would shatter glass and they would need your help.  At least you were alone in your cell. 

Then came the deafening blast. Then silence, or maybe there was noise, you couldn't really tell over the ringing in your ears. It didn't even cross your mind that it could have been bakugou. You looked around panicked, did you dare hope for a chance at escape? 

The door to your room was knocked off its hinges into the opposite wall. You didn't believe your eyes as you watched bakugou stormed into the room. It couldn't be real it had to be a dream or a hallucination. It couldn't be his hands the ripped your chains out of the wall.

He brushed the hair gently out of your face as his crimson eyes scanned over your damaged body. “you look like shit babe,” he whispered to you in his grave voice. It had been so long since you had heard that voice. Tears sprung to your eyes as you clung to him. You barred your face in his neck taking him in with all your senses. If you could see his face you would see him crying too. He lifted you easily, you had lost a terrifying amount of weight since he had last seen you. “Don't cry on me you big baby It's okay,” he said in what might have been a comforting tone.

No one tried to stop him as he carried you out of that damned bar. He held you close to his chest listening to your sob into his shoulder. Even though you were crying and hurt he was ecstatic. Because you were alive and it was his turn to heal you.

[hazzasgayvodka]

have your way with me

He smirks, “Then do it baby, have your way with me.” 

It’s just five words, five simple words that throw every atom of your body into a frenzy. 

in which you’re horny and Harry’s little black lace ensemble for the Met Gala isn’t doing you any favors

“So?” You hear Harry’s voice ask from behind you, “What do you think?”

You turn around with a start, trying not to trip over the giant skirt of your dress as your eyes land on him, dressed head to toe in black. You nearly let out an audible gasp as your eyes rake over him from the pearl earring dangling from his newly pierced ear to his broad tattooed shoulders hardly concealed beneath the sheer fabric of his blouse. Every swirl of ink across his chest and arms is visible, deviously teasing in their contrast to the pale complexion of his skin. Your throat is suddenly dangerously dry as you take in the rings covering each of his fingers and his two-tone fingernails.

“You don’t like it?” He asks, snapping your attention back to him and his now furrowed eyebrows, “Too much?”

“No,” You say quickly, shaking your head to clear your mind of the many unholy thoughts flooding through it the longer you stare at him, “No Harry, god, I love it, you look, exquisite.”

“Exquisite, huh?” He smirks, crossing the room to get a better look at you.

“Absolutely breathtaking darling.” You mock, straightening the bow on his shirt and pressing your lips to his.

He grins against your mouth, pulling away all too quickly and letting his own eyes rake over you from head to toe. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear as he does so, his smile widening by the second as his eyes flutter from the strapless bustier top to the matching black skirt. It’s nearly large enough to hide the both of you underneath and despite your worries about tripping in your heels or falling out of your carefully secured bustier, Harry has assured you that all will be just fine.

“You’re ready to go?” He asks, threading his fingers through yours and you try not to laugh when you hear the clink of both of your rings smacking together.

“I think so.” You nod, taking in a breath and trying to steady the nerves erupting in your stomach.

“Hey,” He says seriously, letting go of your hands and cupping your cheeks instead, “Don’t be nervous, you look fucking amazing baby, going to steal the whole show.”

“As much as I wish I could believe you, Lady Gaga is going to be there H.” You laugh, leaning forward to kiss his cheek before heading for the door.

He rolls his eyes as he follows you out and you catch yourself checking your makeup for the hundredth time in the mirror. The giant wing of eyeliner you could absolutely never do yourself elongates your eyes in the perfect way but the gorgeous gold glitter across your lids makes them pop in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I promise I didn’t mess up your lipstick sweetheart.” Harry teases, coaxing you out the door.

“Harry, I’m just trying to make sure I’m-“

“You’re perfect, absolutely gorgeous, a goddess Y/N,” He muses, “But you’re going to be a late goddess if we don’t get out the door right now.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes as you allow him to pull you out the door. It’s when you’re walking behind him to the elevators that your eyes scan over the rather visible rippling muscles of his back. He presses the button and tugs you into the elevator behind him. Suddenly his moving lips are all you can focus on other than the delicious swirls of ink across his skin.

“Y/N? Did you hear what I-“

He can’t even finish his question before you’re pushing him up against the back wall of the elevator and pressing your lips to his. He’s a stuttering mess, trying to gasp out words and reminders to not touch his hair or Anthony will kill you but god you couldn’t care less. You want to rip him right out of this pretty little lace number and beg him to fuck you on any conceivable surface he’ll agree to.

The elevator dings, snapping you out of your thoughts and forcing you to pull away from him. His eyes are wild when you do, looking at you in pure shock as you grab his hand and tug him out of the elevator.

“What was that for?” He chuckles, threading his fingers through yours and leading you out to the car waiting for the both of you.

“Not sure,” You shrug teasingly as he opens the car door for you, “Guess that shirt is just, doing it for me.”

He follows closely behind into the back of the car, helping you situate the giant skirt of your ensemble before closing the partition and turning back to you with that award-winning smirk on his face.

“So, what exactly is it, doing for you?” He grins deviously, grabbing you by the hips and dragging you onto his lap.

“Harry, oh my god, we are on our way to the fucking Met Gala-“

“Exactly,” He laughs, “How long do you reckon we have before we get there?”

“I am not sucking you off in the back of a cab no matter how big of a rockstar you think you are-“

“Hey, hey, hey,” He laughs, leaning back and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “Who said anything about sucking me off?”

“I think that bulge in your slacks had something to say about it.” You smirk, leaning back into him and pecking the corner of his mouth.

He grins, rolling his eyes as he leans back into you, cupping your face with one hand and sneaking back under your dress with the other. You gasp into his mouth as his finger presses against the center of your panties and you can feel the reverberation of his chest as he chuckles, adding more pressure.

“Harry-“

“Yes my love?” He grins cheekily, cutting you off before you can say much else.

You narrow your eyes at him, and he quirks up his eyebrow with that signature smirk plastered on his face, a silent request for you to let him finish what he started. You sigh in frustration, grabbing his face with both hands and pulling him back to you. Your lips meet with a smack just as his fingers slip under the fabric of your panties and he hisses into your mouth.

“God you’re soaking princess.” He whispers, his fingers circling your clit before removing themselves from the front of your underwear.

Your eyes flutter open at the loss of contact and you see him holding his dripping fingers in front of his mouth, admiring your excitement covering them before pushing them past his lips and hollowing his cheeks, sucking them clean. His eyes roll back in his head before he releases his fingers, puckering his lips back into that smirk you know all too well.

“So sweet, babygirl.” He hums and it takes every ounce of self-control you have left to not jump his bones right here right now.

“Harry, please-“

He shushes you with his mouth, his lips swollen and his tongue tasting like you, equal parts tangy and sweet. There’s an urgency this time, both of you grabbing at each other with an overwhelming desire to consume each other in any way you can. Suddenly his fingers are slipping back past the confines of your panties and in a matter of seconds you’re full to the hilt with his finger pushed into you right up to his ring.

“F-Fuck,” You stutter, gasping against his lips, “Harry-“

“Gotta be quiet for me sweetheart, can you do that?” He whispers, yanking your panties down and making you whine into his shoulder.

You’re biting your lip so hard you’re sure you can taste blood as he curls his fingers and you nearly shriek, your body writhing. You’re squirming against the leather seat as his fingers fuck into you relentlessly, curling against your front wall, his thumb rubbing against your clit in perfect rhythm. Your stomach is coiling in a matter of seconds, your toes trying to curl against the confines of your gold pumps.

“H, I’m gonna-“

Suddenly the car stops and Harry’s head snaps up to look out the window. He withdraws his fingers from you without a word, quickly pushing them past his lips to suck them clean once again before running a hand through his hair to sort it out. He grabs your panties from around your ankles and slides them back over your hips, tugging your dress back down and leaning over to kiss your cheek.

“Keep that pretty mess between your legs, princess.” He whispers with that cheeky smirk on his face, just barely grazing his teeth over your ear as he sits back up and grabs your hand, tugging you out of the car behind him.

You don’t even bother hiding the obvious shock on your face as the words fall past his lips. Your jaw is still nearly on the ground as you follow him down the sidewalk and you’re suddenly swarmed by photographers. It’s time, the part of the Met Gala you’ve been absolutely dreading, the red-well actually pink this year-carpet.

“Just smile and stay close,” Harry nods, squeezing your hand in reassurance, “You look amazing.”

You nod your head more for yourself than him and suck in a deep breath as you take your first steps onto the pink carpet. A switch flips in Harry at the first shutter of a camera and suddenly that gorgeous megawatt smile you know all too well is plastered onto his face as he turns to each group of cameras, his arm wrapped around your waist.

“Harry! Tell us about your next album! Can we be expecting something soon?”

He’s shouted at by countless photographers all trying to get the perfect inside scoop to go with their glamour shot. They’re screaming his name in choruses, asking about his album and how he came to be the youngest co-chair of the Met Gala his first year here. He waves them off, continuing his smiling and posing as he leads you down the carpet until you reach the steps.

“Go on sweetheart,” He grins, gesturing to the stairs, “I got your dress.”

You don’t trust your voice as you take another deep breath trying to steady the rapid beating of your heart in your chest as you take the first step up. Once you’ve ascended the first set of stairs you turn around to meet eyes with Harry who’s already staring, holding up the train of your dress as he follows you up.

“Doing great, baby.” He chuckles, cracking a genuine smile as you laugh to yourself and turn back around to finish climbing up.

He comes up the last few steps behind you and carefully drops your train, perfectly arranging it to flow behind you. He offers you his arm as he comes to stand back beside you and you roll your eyes as you cheesily hook your arm through his allowing him to lead you inside.

The actual event of the grand Met Gala is a blur thanks to the presence of tequila and champagne. You can briefly remember the dinner before things went sideways and Harry was on Alessandro Michele’s shoulders screaming along to Cher and tipsily introducing people on stage as part of his co-chair responsibilities.

However, no matter how tipsy you seem to get, one thing is clear as ever in your mind, your panties are soaking. Every time you steal a glance of him in that little lacy number you catch yourself squeezing your thighs together in defiance of the tingling ever present in your core. If you were anywhere but the fucking Met Gala you’d grab him by the earring and tug him into the nearest bathroom stall in a heartbeat.

Perhaps if he wasn’t being so coy about the whole situation you wouldn’t be as painfully wound up as you are, but the countless cocky smirks and grazing hands coming just close enough to your inner thigh to make you shiver under the table have made the never ending night nearly unbearable. He knows exactly what he’s doing, making you frenzied and hypersensitive, driving you all the way to the edge before tugging you right back in.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel his hand on your shoulder. You turn around with a start to see his glossy eyes as he walks around to steal the seat across from you.

“Jesus, scared me half to death, H.” You scold, heaving out a sigh of relief.

“What are you so jumpy for?” He laughs, running a hand through his now sweaty hair to get it off his forehead.

“Nothing, I’m just,” You stutter, trying to come up with a formidable excuse, “Tired.”

“Tired are you?” He smirks deviously, standing back up from his chair, “That’s too bad, I was gonna ask if you wanted to get out of here.”

“We’re at the Met Gala and you want to get out of here?” You scoff, allowing him to take your hand and pull you to your feet.

“Eh, why not, getting a bit stuffy in here now don’t you think?” He shrugs.

“You are unbelievable.” You laugh, shaking your head as he chuckles and leads the two of you back to the front.

He’s a grinning giggly mess as he leads you both out to the car, opening the door for you and following you inside the backseat. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol clearly coursing through his veins or just the high from the event as a whole but whatever it is that’s making him smile like that, you hope it doesn’t wear off for a while.

You’re hardly in the car for two minutes before he’s rolling up the partition and grabbing your right thigh to pull you on top of him, straddling his lap.

“Harry!” You squeal, laughing as your dress swallows the two of you and he struggles to sort it out, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to kiss you for fuck’s sake.” He huffs, giving up on your dress and grabbing your face with both hands instead.

You’re both laughing as he presses his lips to yours, nearly sighing in relief as his right hand releases its grip on your cheek and moves to cup your chest instead. You gasp into his mouth at the immediate contact after lusting after him all night and he cracks a smile, meeting your eyes.

“Thirsty?” He teases, “I think there’s some champagne in the-“

“Oh, shut up Styles.” You laugh, cutting him off and pressing your mouth to his.

He chuckles, pulling you impossibly closer with his right hand that has somehow snaked its way under your dress and is gripping your ass with pure disparity. You would give just about anything for this car to arrive at his apartment in the next two seconds so he could slam you against the bed and have his way with you. You can tell his hands are itching to roam your bare skin just as yours are nearly spastic in their restraint to take his pants off.

The last five minutes of the car ride are almost excruciating. Your lips might as well be superglued together as he helps you hoist up the skirt of your dress in order to properly straddle his thigh, nothing between the two of you but his ridiculously high waisted pants and your nearly drenched pair of panties. He’s a grunting, moaning mess as you roll your hips against him, your hands tangled in his hair and your tits nearly on full display in your dangerously lowcut bustier.

It’s when the car finally rolls to a stop that you both pull away from each other, a single string of saliva connecting the two of you as your eyes meet. You wipe the spit away as you slide off of him, throwing the door open before the driver even as a chance to get out of the car.

“Thank you so much for the ride.” Harry puffs out, trying to catch his breath as he hands the driver two hundred dollar bills and closes the door behind the two of you.

He turns back to you as soon as the driver starts to pull away, his hands immediately cupping your cheeks and you have to fight off the smile threatening to make your cheeks hurt as you pull away from him, threading your fingers through his.

“Come on, H. Let’s get upstairs first.” You giggle, tugging him behind you but he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, nearly tripping on the train of your dress as he kisses up the back of your neck.

“Don’t know if I can wait that long.” He breathes, his voice just the right amount of raspy to make your knees go weak.

As soon as the two of you cross the threshold, you’re a flurry of limbs and stupidly expensive clothing. He unzips the skirt of your dress and you quickly step out of it, reconnecting your lips as quick as possible as you push him back towards his bedroom. You nearly trip on a pair of his shoes in the doorway as you shuffle around blindly before he pushes you onto the bed and his hands find the zipper of his pants.

You can’t even describe the noise that squeaks out of your mouth as his pants fall in a heap at his ankles and he’s left standing in front of you in nothing but that black lace body suit? You can see the blush creeping on his cheeks as he tries to cover himself, but you’re completely enamored by the sight of him, all of him, completely nude, only concealed by a thin veil of lace. Some switch inside you flips as you continue gnawing on your bottom lip, your eyes raking over him from head to toe.

He kneels on the edge of the bed, crawling on all fours to get to you but you find yourself sitting up and pushing him against the mattress instead. Your lips find his instantly as your hands grab each of his forearms and pin him against the bed. He gasps in surprise, a startled whimper escaping his mouth as you sit yourself on top of him, already painfully hard and hypersensitive.

You pull away from him and nearly moan over the sight of him sprawled out underneath you, his irises blown out and his lips so pretty pink and perfectly swollen from your rough kissing. His chest is heaving underneath you, his eyes wild and his hair already fully wrecked.

“Ties,” You pant out, letting your hands roam his body over the thin layer of lace separating you from his skin, “Where do you keep them?”

“Um, in the closet, I’ll get them-“

“Don’t you move a muscle.” You instruct, carefully climbing off him and retreating to his closet.

You come back with the necessary supplies to make the image in your head a reality and he’s nervously sitting up on his elbows, his hands resting perfectly on his slender waist. Just the sight of him is making your mouth water as you cross the room to him and he gulps, meeting your eyes.

“What are you-“

“Do you trust me?” You ask seriously, cupping his left cheek with your hand.

“Of course.” He says nervously, his eyes searching yours for any indication of what you’re planning.

“Good,” You smile, climbing back onto the bed and straddling him once again, “If you want me to stop, just say so.”

“Y/N-“ He warns.

“Shhhh,” You laugh, assuring him with a kiss, “Remember when we talked about, spicing it up?”

His eyes go wide before settling back down, his hips twitching underneath you as he recounts the conversation the two of you had earlier this week. You know that although he’d never admit it, he’s just as excited and wound up as you are.

“If that’s what you want,” He smirks, “Then do it baby, have your way with me.”

It’s just five words, five simple words that throw every atom of your body into a frenzy. Suddenly you’re reaching for his discarded ties at the foot of the bed and climbing back on top of him with all of them laid out on his chest. His eyes are wide with anticipation as you grab the three silk ties and get to work on roping his hands to the headboard. However, you change courses at the last second, instead deciding to tie his hands together over his head with one tie, leaving the other two. His eyes are trained on you as you knot the fabric around his hands, wincing slightly as you pull it taut.

“Easy babe, easy,” He laughs, “I never pull it that tight on you.”

“You really do talk too much, you know that?” You smirk, deciding quickly what to do with the second silk tie.

He opens his mouth to speak again and you surprise even yourself as you pull the silk tie taut between your hands and shove it in his mouth, silencing him. He nearly chokes in surprise as you tie it off, effectively gagging him.

“I thought you liked to hear me,” He mumbles against the fabric, “Always telling me to-“

“Not tonight,” You grin, cutting him off, “Tonight, I want to hear you whimper.”

He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat and his hips instinctively bucking up into nothing, straining for any kind of contact he can get. He shuts his eyes with a grimace, puffing out a few breaths before they peel back open and you’re nearly taken with just how fucked out he looks already.

“Just one more thing.” You smile, grabbing the last silk tie and covering his eyes, knotting it loosely.

His breathing is quickening by the second the longer he’s deprived of his senses. His hands are twitching, repeatedly balling into fists and flattening back out in some effort to feel in control. You lean down to him, sponging your lips against his neck and he shudders, his breath getting caught in his throat. You rut your hips against him just once to test the waters and the strangled noise that erupts from his throat makes your stomach flip in the best way.

“Y/N, please-“He begs.

“Shhhh,” You scold once again, “Whimpers only please.”

You can’t see his eyes but you’re sure he’s rolling them just as you climb off of him and cup him in your hand right over the thin lace of his ensemble. He sucks in a sharp breath, a small whine escaping his lips as his hips buck up into your hand, craving more contact. The fabric stretched dangerously thin over his hardening cock is soaked in precum, nearly plastered to him. The sight of him writhing in his pretty little lace ensemble is enough to get off to alone. The body suit might as well be a piece of finely handcrafted lingerie the way it exposes his now hard nipples and hardly fits around his throbbing cock.

“You want me to take this off?” You ask as innocently as you can in the sweetest voice you can muster, twirling one of the ends of the bow around his collar around your finger.

“Mhm, mhm,” He hums desperately, “Please.”

You bite your lip to stifle your quickened breath as the begging words slip from his gagged mouth and climb down the bed to unbutton his body suit. You undo the three black buttons that match the ones down his back perfectly and he nearly whimpers in relief as you tug the sweaty, sticking fabric away from him and after unbuttoning the back and untying his collar, over his head. He sighs out in relief as his cock smacks against his stomach, his head nearly purple and leaking precum down his shaft.

“Better handsome?” You ask sweetly, stripping out of your bustier and swinging your leg back over his waist.

He nods aggressively, making sure you can see, his hands still twitching in their confines above his head. You almost laugh at just how wound up he is, nearly shaking from anticipation of you finally sinking down onto him but surely he’s going to have to wait a bit longer for that.

You lower yourself onto him but definitely not in the way he’s begging you to. You tease your entrance with him, making him gasp for air and writhe beneath your touch before you’re sliding yourself up and down his shaft. He’s immediately quivering, his hands thrashing against their confines and the sweetest strangled noises erupting from his throat.

“Y/N! Please! Enough, enough, please!” He begs, choking around the gag still situated in his mouth, his hips bucking up into you craving more friction.

You lean forward and slide the blindfold off his eyes, relishing in his blown-out irises and the wild look in his gaze. His eyes squeeze shut as you drag yourself along him again and he bites down on the gag in his mouth, whining in the back of his throat. You cup his cheek in your hand, running your thumb over his flushed skin making his eyes flutter open. He looks so pretty like this, his wide doe eyes and swollen pink lips fighting against the black silk in his mouth, his chest heaving and his body squirming trying to lean into your touch. You lock eyes with him as you grind down onto him and nearly moan out when his eyes roll back in his head in the most delicious way.

“Fuck!” He whimpers against his gag, squeezing his eyes closed once again, “Cum, I’m gonna cum!”

You cease your movements immediately wanting to drag this out as long as you can muster and he cries out, single tears spilling over as he desperately tries to rut himself against you. You wipe the droplets away and lean down to sponge kisses all over his face and down his neck. You lick stripes up his chest, running over his nipples and making him shiver when you blow cool air over them. He’s restless, his legs curling up and straightening back out again, his thighs flexing, chest heaving, small nearly inaudible whimpers pouring from his mouth as he sits teetering on the edge of his orgasm.

“Is my handsome man doing alright?” You ask carefully, knowing full well that his ego would never let him tap out this easily.

“Mhm.” He nods, clenching his teeth over the gag in his mouth.

You hardly give him a second to regain his composure before you reach behind yourself and grab him in your hand, making him lurch. He’s drenched and throbbing, soaked in precum and the wetness from between your thighs. You stroke him gently, not wanting to push him over the edge too quickly. He jolts as soon as your thumb traces over his head, his back arching off the bed and his eyes rolling back once again as he nearly chokes on the throaty moan that escapes his lips.

“Doing so good,” You coo, continuing your painfully slow assault, “Listening to me.”

He nods, shaking his head vigorously and you decide to take to the knot on the side of the silk tie gagging him. You unknot the fabric and toss it behind you, immediately leaning forward to seal your lips to his. He moans against your lips as you take him in your hand once again, but this time you’ve done just about as much teasing as even you can take.

You sink down onto him and the garbled mess of strangled noises that erupt from both of your mouths is enough to push you over the edge right here and now. He jolts with every movement you make, his hands thrashing against his restraints and his hips trying desperately to fuck up into you.

“Bleeding hell, I can’t,” He wheezes out, his chest heaving, “God I’m gonna cum, please let me, let me cum.”

You nearly cave in on yourself as his words make a shudder wrack through your body all the way to your toes. You’re desperately holding yourself up with your hands planted on his chest, whines and whimpers falling past your lips just as much as his own. He’s so thick and warm and the way he’s looking at you already supremely fucked out before he’s even orgasmed is more than plenty to rush you over the precipice to your own ecstasy.

“Please,” He says and you assume he’s begging to cum until your eyes flutter back open and he says it again, holding his tied hands out to you, “Wanna touch you.”

You untie him with haste, your skin suddenly aflame waiting for his hands to roam every inch of you. His hands are nearly shaking as he separates them, balling them in fists and straightening them back out again a few times before grabbing you by the hips and lifting you off of him. You’re stunned to the max, expecting anything but this as he lays you back against the mattress roughly, his fingers immediately tweaking your nipples before his head ducks down to take them in his mouth. You gasp in surprise, your back arching off the bed underneath you as his lips move further south by the second and suddenly he’s eye level with your entrance, his hands still cupping your chest.

“You think that was cute, huh?” He smirks, the soft fucked out little boy you were staring at moments ago nowhere to be found, “You think it’s cute making daddy beg, huh?”

Your stomach does a flip in the most delightful way and you feel your thighs clenching together just from the darkening shift in his tone of voice. He picks up on it immediately, his hands grabbing your thighs crudely and spreading them apart, pinning you wide open to the bed. You whimper at the cold air flooding your warmth and he grins deviously as he finally leans down and takes your sensitive bud into his mouth.

You gasp in pleasure, your hands immediately gripping the sheets beneath you, your thighs threatening to clamp closed around his head, but you know he has you right where he wants you. He licks a stripe right up your center, his eyes rolling back in his head as he groans in appreciation, lapping up the arousal spilling down your inner thighs.

“Harry!” You squeak, trying to shove him away, “Harry, stop, I’m gonna cum!”

“Good,” He smirks, licking his glistening swollen lips, “How about I make you cum three times for every time you denied me? That sound fair, sweetheart?”

You can hardly whimper in response, your entire body locking up and threatening to push over the edge at just the suggestion of him making you cum six times.

“Ahem,” He says, clearing his throat, “I said, does that sound fair, sweetheart?”

You nod your head, your hands shaking in their iron tight grip on the sheets, “Yes, yes that sounds fair.”

He leans back over you, roughly grabbing your jaw in his hand and making your breath catch in your throat. His eyes are locked onto yours, a dangerously dark shade of emerald as he furrows his eyebrows and squeezes your cheeks harder.

“Yes, what?” He asks sternly, his words calculated and making your thighs clench.

“Yes, daddy.” You correct yourself, jolting in surprise when he holds your mouth open after you’re done talking and opens his own mouth letting one single drop of spit drip off his tongue and onto yours.

“Atta girl,” He grins deviously, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Now get on your knees.”

[deathduty]

Leanan On Me || Deirdre & Lydia

TIMING: Pre-Mushrooms LOCATION: Lydia’s House PARTIES: @deathduty & @inspirationdivine SUMMARY: Deirdre visits Lydia and they talk about weakness and voluptuous chests WARNINGS: stalking tw, head trauma tw

Lydia was getting stronger by the day, but not strong enough. She wasn’t resting as much as Dr. Oakfield expected, she wasn’t brave enough to sleep nights, but she was managing little trips out, and she was getting fast on her crutches, and maybe the cast could come off soon, as long as she didn’t put too much weight on it after. Her bannister and doorframe replaced, so there was no more evidence anywhere of the original attack. Just in her head, and every time she saw the upstairs bathroom. And on her body. The doorbell buzzed her phone, and when Lydia peered through the camera on her phone, she spoke through the mic. “Hey Deirdre. Door is unlocked, come in!”

She had often heard that death was a mercy, that there would always exist far worse fates than an end. But Deirdre didn’t have the heart to say she wasn’t beyond happy that Lydia was alive. That no matter what, and no matter how selfish it sounded, she wanted Lydia to live. All she could do as a friend, was help her move past the trauma of what had happened. All she could hope for, as someone who loved Lydia, was exactly that. She stepped through the door with a relieved sigh, having worked herself into a worry by the simple virtue that she couldn’t see Lydia. She had half a mind to just ask to stay with Lydia permanently, until her worry dissolved---which might have been never for the banshee trained to analyze risk. She took care to make sure the door was locked as it should be before she began calling out for Lydia, finding her a moment later. “Hello there beautiful,” she smiled gently, taking a seat next to her, holding her hand out for Lydia to take. “You’re looking better. Has sleep been good to you?” 

The swelling on her face had reduced significantly. She still looked asymmetric, but at least now when Lydia smiled it reached both sides of her face without the need for a glamour. “Hey there yourself,” she replied softly, taking Deirdre’s hand. Oh, she hated this, the gentleness with which others approached her, as if the wrong word might rip off her other wings. She ought to consider herself lucky fae were visiting her at all. It was traditional for fae undergoing moulting to avoid other fae until their shame was passed.  And Lydia’s shame was so present she’d refused to discuss it with anyone, unwilling to spread such bad luck. At least her lungs didn’t burn anymore, breathing and talking merely a strong discomfort rather than an agony. “I’ve slept so much since it happened, one would hope so. How are you, my dear?” But she only slept during the day, and it showed in her red eyes.

Caring for a fae was strange, for all Deirdre knew about pride, she’d never been taught about love. Her family treated pain like an independent hurdle to climb, and she’d never lived through any major family tragedies to know how they were supposed to be dealt with. But she’d learned of care recently, and she liked to think she knew just enough to ease someone’s burden. “Oh, I miss you and our wine dates, so you better be resting good. There’s only so much wine I can drink by myself, without your scathing commentary.” She smiled softly, trying to figure out how to breach the topic of Lydia’s care without...breaching anything at all. But the worry was clear in the furrow of her brow, the way her lips kept falling off into a frown. “You know…” she sighed, clasping her other hand over Lydia’s, cradling it safely in her hands. “You don’t have to do this with me. Worrying about...not yourself. Pretending like things are better than they are. I’m not going to run off and tell everyone how much pain you’re in. I’m not going to tell the world you’re weak or afraid if---if that’s how you feel, it’s okay. I just mean...I don’t need to see a strong face, Lydia. I just want to see my friend, as she is, however she’s feeling. So, truly, how are you?”

“I don’t know what else to do,” Lydia replied, voice creaking. “I don’t know how else to be. I’m not supposed to be weak.” She looked down at Deirdre’s hands, and god, she wanted to pull away, to pull herself into perfect posture and a perfect smile. None of that was real. “A young fae came by, recently. I’ve been befriending him, introducing him to our culture. He’s left a Raiju somewhere around to protect me, in case I need it, but when he first saw me, god, it was like he’d walked into a murder scene. It was just… written all over his face. I just- I feel like he sees me differently now. How is anyone meant to respect me if I let someone do this to me?” Deirdre had veins along her wrist, each fading as they stretched up her arm. Lydia started at them, tracing each with her gaze intently. Better than looking up at Deirdre’s face.  “I- Remmy was supposed to be safe here. Instead they got poisoned here and then this happened, and I was supposed to have this under control. I didn’t think he would do this at all. I thought I had him promise bound, and the only-“ Lydia’s voice cracked and she looked abruptly to the window, blinking at the sudden heat in her eyes. “I must have made a mistake in the wording. That’s the only explanation. I’m usually so careful. It’s what I’m best at.” 

Deirdre could remember the way her mother reacted to her emotions, the way she was taught to get rid of what few she had. There were many crimes she could commit, but none worse than weakness. And what greater weakness was there than vulnerability, emotion and failure? Then she could remember the first time she cried in front of Morgan, the deep shame that settled in her like a tidal wave and the guilt that roared above like thunder. But where she thought she might find disgust, she was met with love. Deirdre could think of no other reaction to give Lydia but that. She began slow and soft, “I don’t see someone weak. I see someone that was attacked--unfair, unjust--and I see that person, with great strength, recovering as a person does. Please don’t say you’re weak. It’s not true, and the only purpose that serves is making yourself feel worse. No one is indestructible.” Deirdre lifted Lydia’s hand, meeting it half-way to press a kiss to her knuckles. “You didn’t let anyone do anything to you. Someone hurt you. Someone came into your house with that intent. That’s not your fault. Whoever that man is, he did this. Not you. He did. You’re not weaker for having gone through it. You’re not lesser than for being hurt by it.” She smiled softly. “Strength doesn’t have to be one thing, your strength isn’t one thing. There is strength in recovery, strength in perseverance, strength in honesty and strength in vulnerability. And, honestly, you don’t have to be strong all the time. There’s a strength in resting too, in just letting yourself be as you are. What I see is someone who is strong, I always have and I always will.” Deirdre paused. “Maybe I can’t change your mind about this, but if anything, I promise I don’t see you as being weaker--or at fault for any of this. So here’s at least one person you don’t have to worry about ruining an opinion of. I love you, and I respect you just the same as I did before.” 

Lydia still didn't look at her, not until Deirdre kissed her hand. "How are you so kind?" Lydia asked after a long moment, trying to take it all in, trying to accept it when it rattled against her internal beliefs. Deirdre was right that all she was doing right now was considering herself weak. So all that did was harm her, but it was still true. She hadn’t prioritised protecting herself, or Remmy. She hadn’t been smart. All those other things were nice platitudes, but… "What if it is. I've been so… arrogant, Deirdre. I've been so far up in my righteous indignation that I forgot to be scared. He's been stalking me for months, I knew he was dangerous, but I was so angry, so indignant that any supernatural being would treat another like this. So I punished him with the promise. He killed a local priest to get to me and I still wasn't afraid. I was angry. I made him burn himself until the holy water made holes in his mouth. I set him a task that was painful and humiliating, and was supposed to be impossible." Lydia took ab deep breath looking down at her hand. The scrapes were nearly gone, as least. Her hand looked so small in Deirdre's. There were no acrylic nails to make her fingers look longer, no no polish to make her look bolder. Her nails looked cracked and chipped from her flight. Except fight was a strong word, wasn't it? She'd given up in a heartbeat. All these words and definitions for strong, and Lydia wasn't any of them. Not right now. "Deirdre, the only reason I'm even alive is because he wanted me to be. That isn't strength, that's terrifying. Doesn’t that make me weak?”

"I'm not kind," Deirdre shook her head, "you're just important to me." Whatever kindness was being perceived, might as well have been attributed to Morgan—after all, Deirdre had learned these beats somewhere. But it didn't matter so much, how or where any kindness had come from. Not knowing what else to do, Deirdre crawled into Lydia's lap, hovering just above to keep from applying any actual pressure. She needed Lydia to look at her, and so she gingerly cupped her face, tilting it up to meet her earnest gaze. "It's not your fault. We could go on like this forever. It's my fault because I didn't ask enough questions, and as your friend I'm responsible for keeping you safe. It's Remmy's fault for not paying enough attention. It's your floor's fault for not swallowing him up and sending him down to hell. You could put blame anywhere. But the truth is this: he hurt you. He came into your house to hurt you. What does it matter what you did or didn't do? Where mistakes were or were not made? You should know, better than anyone, that it doesn't matter how careful people are—or how humble they act—someone can still hurt them. You did what you thought was right, that's all anyone can do. It's not your fault, Lydia." Deirdre didn't know the full story, not that it would have changed her mind, but she was beginning to piece it together. For now though, she thought it far more important to move Lydia's mind from self-blame than to procure the facts. "He took control of your life, maybe so you suffer more, thinking of him, fearing him—I don't know. But you have it now, it's yours again. Doesn't it make you strong to reclaim what he took? For every breath you take, for every second your body spends repairing itself, there is strength. You're living, and there's nothing more powerful than that."

You’re just important to me. That was when the tears spilled down her cheeks, finally. Lydia pressed the back of her hand to her eyes to stem the flow of tears. She shifted to give Deirdre space as she felt the woman shift closer, but didn’t realise quite what was happening until Deirdre’s soothing cool fingers tilted her face to look back at Deirdre. “I’m sorry,” she said, quietly into the inches between them, and didn’t know what she was even apologising for. For needing comfort, for needing talking to, for crying. Maybe she was sorry that Deirdre’s words were a balm, that each sentence made her a little softer, a little sadder. “But I’m not reclaiming anything! He left. He’ll come back. He got in by compelling Chloe. What if he does that to Remmy, or you, or to me?” Lydia’s voice cracked. There was a certain irony to the terror of having done to you what you so carelessly did to others, but Lydia was in no fit state to appreciate that right now. “You know, many Aos Sí expect you to self-exile until it grows back. Having them is an honour, they’re sacred, letting anyone touch one, let alone remove one… And he can just do it again. Any time he likes.”

Deirdre took care to thumb away Lydia’s tears after a moment, wanting to encourage her to cry in some small way--to let out everything she felt she couldn’t in different company. It helped, sometimes. “What if any number of wardens I’ve pissed off decide to target someone else? What if someone from the Ring decides they want to target Remmy’s friends instead of them? What if a bird I fed once decided it was going to shit exclusively on you for the rest of its life? You could say that about anything, Lydia. You can’t blame yourself for the actions someone else takes. You’re not in control of that. No matter how careful you are, how cautious you decide to be, bad things will still happen---to you, to anyone you care about. If he takes an action against someone, that’s his actions, prompted by his own thoughts. It has nothing to do with you, no matter what he says about it, it’s never your fault. It’s never because of you. It’s him, it’ll always be him.”  She smiled, contorting herself and leaning down just enough to press a kiss to Lydia’s forehead. “Oh, believe me, I know how the fae act about a lack of wings. I know exactly how cruel and callous they can be. Most of them will never know how bad it hurts to have one pulled off, most of them will never consider how much more powerful it is to stand as someone who knows that pain--and lives. Your wing will grow back, and none of them will care that it was ever gone in the first place. You have wings, and you’ll always be better than...a fae that doesn’t.” Deirdre slumped, then shook her head. “Tell me what the worst case scenario is. Tell me what you think it is, if you can.”

Lydia listened to all of Deirdre’s arguments, a tiny smile playing her lips as Deirdre talked about the birds she might feed, and opened her mouth to immediately argue. “But-“ But nothing, because Deirdre planted a small kiss on Lydia’s forehead and fresh tears sprung from her face before she’d even remembered what the gesture meant to non-Leanan Sidhe. Deirdre slumped, still somehow straddling Lydia’s Lao without touching her. Lydia wrapped an arm around her friend’s back, and she wasn’t sure whether it was to comfort Deirdre for the flatness of her back, or to cling to her like a life raft. She sat with Deirdre’s question for a while, still looking up at Deirdre’s eyes, and tried to decide. “It might grow back wrong. It might not grow back at all. I don’t know if I’ll ever fly again, Deirdre. I don’t know- I don’t know if I’ll be able to think properly again. Even this, right now, it’s so hard to concentrate. To really get what you’re saying and to remember it.” But that wasn’t the worst thing. “I’ve seen the worst thing. He hands me heads in baskets. Over and over. Yours, Remmy’s, Felix’s, Morgan’s. He drowns me, over and over, until I eventually don’t wake up after. And I think that would be a- a-“ Lydia stopped, stuck on the word, “a soothing? A relief, there. I can’t… I can’t believe it happened, but it’s all I think about. Him, playing with me until he gets bored.”

It was strange to listen through another wing-based anguish; Deirdre tried to remember if even one wing was better than none, or if walking around with the evidence of her attack would be worse. The fae were all about appearances, after all. But Deirdre didn’t know the answer. “That’s how time works. Everything feels permanent in the present; as though you’ll be like this forever. And pain, it makes everything feel longer, doesn’t it? The future is unknown, and murky at best. At worst, it’s scary.” Deirdre stiffened at Lydia’s description, playing it out in her head. “But I won’t let that happen…” She grimaced, “if you’re going to die, Lydia. It won’t be like that. I won’t let it. I promise you a good death.” She knew that promise would be hard to keep, but she didn’t care. She felt the desire to make it true burn through her, and by sheer will alone, she’d make it happen. It was her duty, but more than that, it was the least she owed Lydia. “I mean it. There’s an old adage in my family: as long as you live, nothing is over. Even the greatest trees will be struck down by a strong enough storm, but for every one that falls, there are dozens more that haven’t. And I don’t---I believe that, Lydia. I can’t tell you he’ll never come back. I can’t tell you he won’t hurt you again. I hope for it, I don’t pray but...fates, I’d pray for it. I’d do everything I had to to make it so. I know you will too. Bad things will always happen, we can’t prevent them. But life is--it’s more than just waiting for the next tragedy.” She paused, hugging Lydia back, wrapping an arm around her head and another around her shoulders--careful to avoid irritating her healing back. “But you don’t even have to worry about any of that right now, Lydia. You don’t need to pay attention to what I’m saying right now.” She leaned back to look at her. “You don’t have to be okay. Give yourself time, Lydia.” Deirdre smiled, “and I promise you a good death, no matter what.” 

In any other time, Lydia might not have appreciated Deirdre’s words. Lydia lived a life of beauty and excellence, of perfect control and vanity. She didn’t usually think about death other than in the context of her ephemeral humans. Now it ate at her, consumed her daily thoughts. The burning in her throat, the twist of her lungs. When Lydia slept she dreamt of death. She spent her nights in fear of it. One bottom feeder had done all this to her. As Deirdre hugged her, Lydia pressed her face into Deirdre’s voluptuous chest, sinking into the banshee’s comfort. I promise you a good death. Why the hell did she live at a time that that was comforting? But it was. A quick knife in the back, in the throat… felt so much more welcome than anything else. “God, I know it’s more than waiting. I know it’s temporary, rather thank forever. But Deirdre, I’ve never had so little control in my life. I just… I hate this. The fear, the control, the pain, the lack of certainty if anything will ever heal right.” She pressed her face harder against Deirdre’s chest. “I’m so lucky I have you in my life.”

"I know…" Deirdre soothed, carefully running her fingers along Lydia's pearl hair. She didn't know if the act was as soothing as it was with regular hair, but she could only hope. "I know, Lydia. I won't tell you to trust the future, or have hope. But I'll do it for you. I'll hope, I'll trust. And when you're ready, you can join me." She smiled, glancing down as she realized Lydia couldn't see her expression, her vision obscured by breasts. Well, she couldn't exactly blame Lydia for enjoying it, but she laughed anyway. "Uh huh, or do you mean you're so lucky to have my chest in your life?" Deirdre laughed again, trying to breathe life into the scene around her. Her thighs quivered, beginning to struggle with her lap hovering, but she didn't have the heart to move away. "Can I ask you something?" She started, "the man...the one who did this...who was he? Or, rather, what? I heard about the uninviting spell and—was it that vampire that fed from you, some time ago? I-I remember you talking about that." And if this was some drawn out back and forth of revenge, it'd make sense that it started there. 

Deirdre’s joke was another balm on her back, as it startled a laugh out of Lydia so loud it hurt her chest, which Lydia clutched with a soft “ow” and a lingering smile. “Mm, well, we both know about how jealous I am - envious I am of Morgan when it comes to your excellent chest.” She replied, managing a chuckle, but she didn’t move her face.  “Y-yes. It was him. It’s all been a big game of cat and mouse. Where it was my turn to be the mouse. I, god, I’ve been so stupid. He was always wearing suits, always with a cruelly pleasant smile. I don’t think I ever saw him lose his composure.” Lydia pressed her hands to her head, bending over with the sudden pain, even as her pupated back protested at the movement. “I’m - Deirdre- Some space - Can I have some space?” Her hands curled into fists in her hair. “What were we talking about?”

“Oh, oh--” Deirdre scrambled off Lydia, sitting stiff with worry at her side. “Are you okay?” She asked quietly. “Hey, it’s---maybe we can just sit like this? We don’t have to talk about him...or anything.” She frowned, staring at her friend. She couldn’t be sure if that reaction was something induced in speaking of her attacker--she spoke of him before, hadn’t she? It couldn’t be that. Or the head trauma she was still recovering from. Either way, all Deirdre wanted was for Lydia to get better, and maybe that meant sitting quietly with her. “What do you need right now, Lydia? Is there anything I can do?” 

“No,” Lydia replied sharply, and winced at just how pointy it came across. “Sorry, sorry-” she murmured, reaching for her handbag where she had a blindfold to help create darkness in the middle of the day. “It’s okay, it’s not you- I-” Lydia groaned, and nodded gratefully for the offer of help “Can you- There’s this- In the fridge, there’s a bottle of a tea. Can you strain out the spider legs and bring me a glass? And some Tylenol. On the oven. Please.” It was a revolting concoction, which made it all the worse that it worked. Something to bury the weakness, at least for a little bit. Deirdre could see right through her right now, barely even able to get up. “How can I be brave like this?”

Deirdre didn’t need to be asked twice, or once even, she was up and going before Lydia finished speaking. She found her fridge, pulled the tea out, strained the legs. Grabbed her the Tylenol and promptly came back, not a single second to spare looking around or analyzing what had changed since the last time she was here. “Hey,” she offered out what was asked for, the tea in one hand and the pill sitting in the palm of the other. And then there was her question. Deirdre considered it with a frown. “I don’t know...maybe it just means allowing yourself to be vulnerable so you can get better and let people help you. Maybe it means you stop beating yourself up. Maybe it means something else entirely. But I know that I love you, and I always will--no matter what happens. Maybe you don’t need to be brave, maybe that’s the brave part, maybe you let someone else be brave for you. I don’t know.” She slumped, feeling helplessness tug her down. “I’d do anything if it’d make you better. I’d do anything if it meant going back in time and stopping that man from ever hurting you. I don’t know what it means to be brave, I think I’m as much of a coward as anyone. I just know that you matter to me, and as someone who loves you, I don’t want to see you denigrate yourself or your state. I love you, maybe that’s enough.”

Lydia took the pill and tea, dropping the pill on her tongue and immediately downing the entire cup of tea. She shuddered and cringed, the taste sticking to all of her teeth and her whole tongue. It was sweet as maple syrup, and tacky, and textured like rotten cabbage, despite being a liquid. “Thank you,” she breathed, and knew she was lucky her and Deirdre were so close, so her continuous mistakes wouldn’t be exploited against her. Lydia might have laughed at the thought in any other situation, worrying about her vulnerability beside the fae she trusted most, right as Deirdre was encouraging her to be soft, to let others be brave for her. “Oh, if I could go back in time, I would do so many things differently.” The pulsing in her brain was slowing. The tea was no miracle cure, but thank god that it existed, just enough to make herself numb to her own brain. And everything else, but… no magic with consequence, right? Lydia’s eyes prickled again as Deirdre spoke. “I love you too,” she said softly, and reached for Deirdre’s hand, to put her to sit next to Lydia, so that Lydia could rest her head on Deirdre’s lap, This time, she made no effort to hide her quiet sobs. 

If pain could be loved away, or dissolved with the right flowery metaphor, Deirdre hadn't figured it out. She loved Lydia more than she ever knew she could love a friend, and knew with resounding truth inside of her that Lydia was a good person. If there was anyone who deserved peace, it must have been her. It should have been her. Deirdre wanted it to be her. She'd make it so. "Rest," she told her, adjusting her lap so it was more comfortable. "I'll be right here." She didn't believe in God, or fate that existed outside of death, but she sang Lydia an old hymn quietly. In it, she imagined the world changed and shifted. That Lydia Griffin, of all people, would live long and happy—that all pain, was only temporary.

[alonely-dreamer]

The Valuable Sun | Chapter 14

Summary: Eric left with Russell and Pam won’t let her leave Fangtasia.

Pairing: Eric x OC

Warnings: 18+

A/N: Please, note that I am French so there might be some mistakes here and there.

Words: 2227

Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13

There was no escaping Pam. The vampire had made it impossible for Brooklynne to go outside of Fangtasia, even for a minute. “I never disobeyed Eric, I’m not about to do it now,” she had said. But Brooklynne couldn’t bare it. She had to leave, she had to go. As soon as she found her phone, she had been surprised by the number of calls that she had received. Not because there were a lot of them, that was to be expected, but because of when she received them. She had been a prisoner here for two days and Sookie hadn’t even tried to call her once. The only calls she missed were from Tara and Jason. Listening to the dozens of messages they had left them, she learnt that Tara had been kidnapped by a delusional vampire named Franklin who took her to Mississippi where she first found Bill, then Sookie, who too had been kidnapped by a vampire of the name of Russell Edgington. Brooklynne was confused to hear about it, as Eric hadn’t mentioned her sister at all. She had been even more confused when she heard that Eric was there, saw them both, even Bill, but did nothing. Tara went as far as to call the Viking a “motherfucking traitor”. Brooklynne couldn’t blame her, after all, it did feel like betrayal. But she chose to trust Eric, she chose to think the best about the situation. If Eric had helped any of them, he’d probably be dead, and gone would have been his chances at avenging his family. But still, knowing that he left Sookie in the hands of Russell, especially since he knew of her powers, that hurt. That hurt much more than she would like to admit, even to herself. But all of that dilemma was forgotten in a second after she heard Jason’s messages. It was a horrific rollercoaster. First, she heard him say Bill had drained Sookie of most of her blood, then heard that her sister almost died. She heard too many messages of her brother asking her where she was and “what the fuck” she was doing. Sookie needed her, she needed her blood. The hospital couldn’t find Sookie’s blood type, and Brooklynne was her only chance of survival. Listening to these messages, she begged Pam to let her go, she cried, she screamed and even kicked but the vampire had no sympathy and even threatened, more than once, to chain her back to the bloody basement. The fighting stopped though, when she listened to the last message her brother had left her, informing her that Bill had arrived and fed Sookie his blood. Sookie was safe. Sookie was alive.

Exhausted by the last two days and especially the last hour, she let herself fall on the grey couch in Eric’s office, putting on the way too tight clothes that Ginger had brought over, ignoring the food that was on the desk that the waitress had “cooked” herself. She fell asleep almost instantly, leaving the horror of reality behind, just to step inside the horror of her mind.

Question after question, doubt after doubt, nightmare after nightmare, Brooklynne slept over forty hours in a row but got very little rest. All of her quiet and hidden worries came to life, dreaming of Eric, but not exactly Eric, or maybe just exactly him. Maybe the scary smirking vampire in her nightmares were exactly who Eric was and she was just too stupid to realize it. Maybe he didn’t really care about Sookie, maybe he would have killed her himself if it meant securing his revenge. Maybe he was a bloodthirsty vampire like Sookie had said, someone who didn’t care at all about her, or just about her powers, someone who would kill her once he had no more use of her.

When she wasn’t dreaming of Eric she dreamt of Russell or the Magister, or both. She watched the latter die over and over again, watched him torture Pam, torture her, torture Eric and then die by the hand of Russell Edgington. She watched herself be killed by him, watched Sookie die by his hand as well, watched a faceless vampire kill Tara and Jason. She heard Pam’s screams echoing inside of her head, saw Eric’s concerned look turn into an evil grin, saw herself with burning wings and falling from the sky.

None of those nightmares woke her up, no matter how bad they got. It was a loud noise that had her jerk awake, and an apparition that had her jump and almost fall off the couch.

“We need sanctuary,” she heard Eric say as he walked in.

Pam was there too, as surprised as Brooklynne as the telepath heard the vampire gasp, obviously unaware of what had her maker so panicked.

“Oh my God, what have you done?” she asked as she saw the blood on his shirt and on his face.

“Are you okay?” Brooklynne asked as she got up from the couch and made her way to him over to the desk.

“I staked a vampire, the lover of Russell Edgington,” he informed them, pacing the room. Brooklynne had never seen him like this, neither had Pam.

“Are you insane?!”

“Where can we go?!” he shouted back at her, making both women jump.

“We can go to my house…” Brooklynne started but he cut her off.

“No, that’s out of the question.”

“You never panic, should I be panicking?” Pam asked right as Ginger appeared behind her.

“Ginger, dear,” Eric started to say, “where do you live?”

“Across the river in Bossier, why?”

“We need your house. Now-ish,” Pam answered.

“Because of the V-feds?”

“The V-feds?” Brooklynne repeated, confused.

As she received no answer she looked up at both Eric and his progeny and what she saw was less than reassuring.

“They’re here for the Magister,” Pam guessed.

“What? But…”

“Russell sent a crew to clean up, right?”

“Yeah, I checked everything myself, the basement is spotless,” Pam answered.

“Let’s stay calm, and let’s go,” Eric instructed, “Brooke you know nothing, and if they try to glamour you, pretend like it’s working.”

“What about me?” Ginger asked.

“You…” Eric sighed, “you can just be yourself.”

He gave a look to his progeny then gave a reassuring nod to Brooklynne, before he walked out of his office, followed by everyone else.

 ***

 Confused, Brooklynne stayed silent as Nan Flanagan ordered her men to silver Pam and Eric. The 800 year-old vampire said nothing as her eyes fell on Brooklynne and continued to ignore the human as she interrogated Pam first, then Eric. To everyone’s surprise, Eric was brutally honest about everything. He told them about Russell and his pack of werewolves. He told them of his own family and need for revenge. He told all of that, knowing it would probably get him killed, in front of cameras, in front of the famous Authority Brooke had heard so much about.

After Nan left Fangtasia a little before sunrise, leaving some of her men to guard her prisoners, Pam said nothing as she gave a worried, sad and confused look to her maker, before she made her way to the other room where her coffin was waiting for her. Eric didn’t follow her and instead made his way to his office where Brooklynne found him.

He was sitting at his desk with a worried look Brooklynne wasn’t accustomed to see on his face. He raised his head a little as she walked inside the room. She said nothing as she closed the door and made her way to him.

“I’m mad at you,” she said in a calm tone.

“Lying would have been futile.”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about you leaving my sister to a crazy psycho vampire who hates human and who’s probably gonna do terrible things to her once he knows what she is!”

“You mean a fairy?” he said suddenly, almost making her jump despite his quiet voice and calm attitude. The look on her face told him everything he wanted to know.

“How do you…”

“Your cousin told me.”

“My cousin?” she frowned.

“Hadley.”

“How did you… How does she…”

“She was Sophie-Anne’s human until a few days ago. She’s the one who told her about you and your… abilities. The queen sent Bill to investigate.”

It took a minute for the telepath to realize what it all meant. “She sent Bill,” she breathed out. “Bill… became friends with Sookie…”

“It was his job. Though I have no doubt his feelings are real, knowing how he is…”

A word escaped her mouth she had never said before. It surprised Eric too.

“I couldn’t have helped Sookie even if I wanted to…”

“I know that. I just… I wish you would have told me…”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Nobody wants to worry me!” she replied loudly. “Nobody tells me anything because they think I’m too weak to hear it! And I’m sick of it!”

“I’m sorry.”

His apology took her by surprise. She couldn’t remember if he had ever apologized, to her or anyone.

She sighed. She let go of her anger, not wanting to spend what could be their last moment together angry at him. She sat on his lap like he liked her to do and rested her head on his chest.

“What do you think is going to happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do.”

He sighed. “I’d be lucky if they decide to put me in a box for a thousand years.”

“They can do that?” she asked, with a horrified look on her face as she looked up at him.

“Oh, yes.”

“But…”

“Don’t worry about it. It won’t help either me or you.”

“But…”

He didn’t let her finish as he gently brought her head back to his chest.

“You’ll be fine. When I’m gone… never tell anyone what you are. Take Sookie and go. The queen knows what you are and what you can do. What your blood can do. She wants it. She wants the sun. She can never have it, do you understand?” he asked as he took her face in his hands and locked her eyes in his to emphasize his point. “If he doesn’t already know it, Russell will figure it out too. Never tell anyone. Ever. Promise me.”

Tears filled her eyes as she stared back at him, his plea echoing in her head. A few tears fell down as she nodded.

“What am I gonna do without you?” she asked in a trembling whisper.

“You’ll be just fine,” he said, bringing her closer to his chest. “If they leave Pam alone, you can always trust her and ask her for help.”

“I’m sure she’d rather I leave her alone,” she chuckled sadly.

“Yes. But she’d do it for me.”

“You’re gonna be okay,” she said, completely aware of her denial.

He smiled as he stroke her hair. “We’re all going to be okay.”

 ***

 An entire day had gone by and Eric hadn’t gotten any sleep at all. Around midnight, they found Pam at a table in the club, waiting silently for Flanagan to come back with the verdict. She said nothing to her maker, though the look on her face said it all. Eric and Brooklynne sat at the table next to hers and they didn’t move nor say anything for about an hour.

At last, Nan came back with a letter in her hands. She looked angry and in a hurry. This was going to be quick, and the armed men following her made it certain that the arrest, if arrest there was, would be quick too.

“You look like shit,” she told Eric.

“Well I feel fantastic,” she replied dryly.

“The ruling is as follows,” she said as she opened the letter. Brooklynne squeezed Eric’s hand and she felt her heart starting to beat faster inside of her chest. She knew Eric would hear it too. “The Authority disavows any knowledge of our interview, your statement or, indeed, this ruling itself. None of this ever happened.”

“What?” Eric voiced what Pam and Brooklynne were feeling too.

“Missing royals, dead Magisters… It’s a political tar baby no one wants to touch,” she explained. “Not with the VRA close to ratification.”

“Russell will not stop killing,” Eric told her. “What if the human public learns of it.”

“That’s why you’re going to take care of it. Quietly, discreetly, and, most important of all, completely off the books. You wanted revenge, it’s yours.”

“What resources are you gonna give me?”

“None. We’re not getting near it.”

“How do you expect me to kill him? He’s three times my age.”

“Listen, you whiny little bitch. The only link between Sophie-Anne, Russell and the Magister is you. You brought us this steaming pile of shit and you’re going to make it go away. Bring me his fangs, or I will have yours.”

She turned around without another word, followed by all of her men, leaving the two vampires and the fairy alone to digest what had just been said. Eric turned around to look at his progeny who seemed to be as worried as he was. His eyes fell on his human and he could almost read her mind.

It was a death sentence after all.

*********

Tags: @thepoet1975 @nerdysandwichqueen @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @raegan-hale @colie87 @heavenly1927​ @abbey7103

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

The Interview: Rough Notes

I know I still need to finish O’Neil’s intro episode, but I finished watching The Interview and took notes.  I’ll properly arrange this later, and will do some re-writes, but here are some of her initial answers I came up with.

Elizabeth “Doc” O’Neil Character Sheet

What’s Up Doc? Part 1

Word Count: 2.1K

Do you see anything good at all coming out of this war?

No.

You answered that rather quickly.

You gave me an easy question. I don’t. I don’t see anything that can be gained or any real good in the long run. But I don’t see that in most wars really.

So you think there are some wars that can produce some good?

Only in extreme circumstances, but I don’t think Korea is one of them. 

Is there anything from home that you brought over with you? Home comforts?

Books, that’s really the only thing I could think of.

Really? Nothing else?

Well everything else is temporary, in terms of things you can bring over. Shampoo or make up or even a nice dress can only last you so long and then you spend however long you’re here wishing you had them for a little while longer. But books are more consistent, safer bet. 

What books did you bring if you don’t mind me asking?

I might mind you asking a little bit. (laugh) Ah, nothing of real high literature, really just any fantastical thing to distract you from all this for a while. 

What do you feel was the most difficult thing you had to adjust to over here?

The language I think, more than anything. 

You mean with the locals?

Yes. Korean is just so different from English. With something like French or German there’s enough of a base root to kind of figure it out, but Korean is completely foreign in comparison. It’s harder to get your foot in. But, at the same time it’s a study in universality. 

How so?

Well, facial expressions, I guess. You know a smile or tears or fear, it’s the same on every human face. I think we forget that sometimes, that there is that universal language we all share. 

Do you feel there are different pressures on you as a female doctor as compared to your male co-workers?

Yes and no. Um…(laugh) I know that’s not really an answer. Yes in the sense that it takes longer for people to trust me. With higher ups or other officers that come in here, let’s just say I’m always picked last for the team. But when we’re in OR actually doing our job I don’t feel that at all. I think the boys that come through here are just so happy to have their insides where they’re supposed to, they don’t care who did the sewing. 

What do you do when you’re not working?

Uh..reading, talking, catching up on sleep. Honestly anything really. Anything to keep you distracted for a while. I will say Pierce, Doctor Pierce, our chief surgeon, he’s probably the best at that. At keeping us distracted.

What sort of things has he come up with?

(laugh) I’m not sure if I’m allowed to say it on television.

So I take it there is a lot of boredom to go around.

Yeah, you can say that.

What do you do to combat it?

Same as before really, just about anything. But, I don’t really think it’s the boredom that really gets to me.  I mean there’s always something to do if you put your mind to it.  It’s the waiting, I think.  Like no matter how bored you might be there’s always this part that’s aware that it could end at any moment and you’re thrown right back into the chaos. 

Is there something special coming out of this in technical or medical elements as compared to WWII?

Nothing that makes any of this worth it. It may have taken a little slower back home to perform the tests and experiments we do here, but no.  Nothing that can make up for the loss of life here. 

Is there anything special coming out of this war? 

No. There’s nothing...you keep phrasing the same question over and over again in different ways; is this war worth it? And if I may be frank, by my count America has only been involved in two wars that have been worth it; the Civil War and World War II.  The Civil War to put an end to slavery and stop the systematic and tortuous execution of a people and World War II for the same reasons.  And I think that’s the only excuse.  That if somehow by the end of it you come out of a war with a net positive of people saved to lives lost.  So, no.  There is nothing special or good coming out of this war.

Do you get scared?

All the time, but I think that’s true of everyone here.

Is there a time you get more scared than others?

I think it’s the silence.  The silence is what scares me.  When you hear the bombs going off outside or gun fire, you know where you are.  You know where the fighting is coming from and you can focus on what you have to do.  But, in the middle of battle there are times everything goes quiet, no gunshots no anything, and those are the moments that scare me because I have no idea what’s going to happen next.  Either the fighting has stopped or maybe a bullet finally got me and I haven’t realized it yet. 

How would you describe yourself, are you a Captain in the U.S. Army or are you a doctor?

I’m a Doctor first, a woman second, and a captain last. 

Can you describe what you do?

We try our best to keep young boys alive which the U.S. Army is determined to kill, in however way we can. 

How do you keep your morale up?

Drinking, I think, is the common thing here. Ah, watching films. Um, God anything.  But, I don’t think morale is a good word for it.  Morale I always thinks implies some sort of patriotism or happiness in your work, and I don’t think there’s any of that really here.  I think it’s more just trying to find those moments where you can pretend you’re not here, if only for a little while.

How do you manage to stay sane over here?

The people.  The other doctors, nurses, and so on.  They’re how I stay sane.  If I were here by myself, I don’t think I could handle it. There would be no frame of reference to know this wasn���t normal.  But, so long as you can look to other people and see that they know this is crazy too, then it keeps you grounded. 

How did you pick the military as a career? You started as a nurse as I understand.

Yes, though I’m hesitant to call the military my career. Medicine has always been my profession, at least I’d like it to be.  I was training to be a doctor when World War II started, and it seemed at the time the right thing to do.  There was all the propaganda at the time and a kind of glamour to it, for lack of a better word. So I went and it...forced a new perspective. After you sew up enough kids with shrapnel in their spine, taking out appendices seems like small potatoes. 

So, is that why you joined? Some kind of greater purpose?

No, not greater purpose.  More I think the chance to do some real good.  Tangible good.  Plus the patients give you less attitude when they walk out. 

Has this whole experience changed you in any way?

Not drastically, at least comparatively.  Who I was at the start of the last war vs. who I was at the end of it was very different.  But who I was at the start of this war compared to who I’ll be at the end of it… I think, at least I hope, I’m more aware.  I’m more aware of other people and other perspectives and how that might shape how they see me.  I think in some ways I’m more open than I was just because there is really to pretext for hiding it.  But in terms of priorities, no I don’t think so. 

Do you have respect for authority over here?

Let me put it like this, I have respect for authority which has earned it. I do understand why the structure is there, but that doesn’t always mean the people in charge are there because they’re the best suited for the job. 

Can you tell me about the people with whom you’re working?

Wonderful.  All of them, each and every one.  I think I really got lucky in that sense. 

Does that include the nurses?

Of course.  The nurses here are fantastic and I don’t think people understand just how integral nurses are to every aspect of medicine.  Honestly, I think I worked harder as a nurse than I do now as a surgeon.  I’m more convinced than ever that nurses do exactly what the doctors do backwards and in heels. 

Do you agree now with romanticizing war? 

I don’t think I ever really did, but now it frankly disgusts me.  I can’t put it any other way.  Propping up war was some romantic adventure and proof of bravery is the most dangerous thing you can teach someone.  It genuinely makes me sick to think about. 

Do you have any heroes?

Marie Curie is probably the first that comes to mind. 

Could you explain who that is, for people who may not know?

Oh, yes. Marie Curie was physicist and chemist who pioneered studies in radioactivity. She one the Nobel Prize in physics for discovering two new elements, and in a way is the reason I’m here. During World War I she recognized how important it was to have mobile radiology units near the front lines.  Her involvement saved thousands of lives.  She was a woman of every study women aren’t supposed to study.  It’s hard not to look up to her. 

What do you think of president Eisenhower?

I’ve never met the man, so I can’t say. 

Do you ever get leave? 

Every now and again.  Tokyo is a great city, but unless you’re close to death or a mental institution, it’s hard to get away. 

Is there a lot of drinking here? 

No more than any other army camp I think.  It’s just another way to distract yourself. 

What do you think will happen when the U.S. leaves?

We’re going to be leaving it the same way we left it, but with more bombed buildings and dead bodies.  I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen to the people here, and I don’t think the U.S. Army really cares. 

Do you know the South Koreans? 

Of the families here, yes, very well.  At least I hope so after being here for so long.  I don’t think you can be here and not know them.  That who the U.S. army says we’re here for anyway. 

Can you tell me what you miss most back home?

My bed.  More than anything.  I miss having a real mattress and a hot shower.  My bed and my shower, those are the two things. I think it just comes down to being warm and comfortable.  It’s really either or here.  Either you’re comfortable and you’re freezing or you’re warm and you’re laying on a hard floor. 

What will you do when the war is over? Where is home?

I suppose I’ll go back to Philadelphia.

Is that where home is?

Home is a bit of a strong word, but it’s where my parents are and where I did most of my schooling.  I’ll probably head back there and try to find a job.

If home is a strong word, is there a place you would call home?

...I might have to get back to you on that. 

Do you want to say hello to anyone back in the states?

Um, I guess, hi Sophie. I hope you and Andrew are doing alright and I promise that next letter is coming. And if I you’re watching somehow; hi Mom, hi Dad.  I haven’t heard from you in a while so um, I’m still alive.  So, I’ve got that going for me.  

Would you want to see people here after the war? 

I hope so, yes.  When you go through something like this, you can’t really relate to anyone who hasn’t.  At least, it’s difficult to.  So as much as I don’t want to remember a lot of the things that have happened here, I know that they have and that I won’t be able to forget.  I want, at least the option, to reach out and talk to someone who understands.  I love so many of the people here, I don’t want them to be gone from my life. I don’t think I could take it. 

[imaginationofacrazyfangirl]

A Not So Beautiful Fairytale

Pairing:  BTS x Reader, Yes all of them.

Genre: Fantasy/Angst/Smut/ Some humor

Summary: You find yourself slave to seven very handsome supernatural beings. They claim they want nothing more than companionship, but years of servitude taught you not to trust their kind. Either way you just need to hang on until you can find your little sister who was separated from you years ago. 

Word Count: 2874

Warnings: Violence, slavery, implied rape, future smut (involving who knows yet, but will update when I do.)

 Human auctions are not uncommon in the supernatural world. As much as they (being the supernatural) feared the knowledge of their existence getting exposed to humans, they couldn’t seem to help themselves from playing with the same creatures they fear so much. Perhaps it is just in their nature to want to maintain dominance over such inferior beings? Whatever the reason is, Namjoon hates slave auctions. He felt no thrill in using a human as servant or some sort of pet to humiliate. Nor did he enjoy in the more carnal pleasure some of his kind took with their human slaves.

   Besides Namjoon couldn’t stand the wailing noise of terror or the sharp scent of piss which accompanied the slave blocks. They were too much for his delicate senses; another reason he chose to avoid the black market as much as possible. Despite being the main source for supernatural to obtain their most basic non-human goods, the market tends to be littered with slave blocks everywhere. The things are practically shoved into every sharp corner or center stage possible in the small square making it virtually impossible to avoid.

    Hence why Seokjin normally did all the shopping for the household. As a siren, he lacked the capability to experience sensations beyond the level of a human. So his tolerance level for such sights is much higher than Namjoon’s. Moreover Jin is pretty much the mother figure of their strange little family of seven and knows better than anyone the things needed in their household. Whereas Namjoon normally buys more than necessary only to destroy half of it on accident due to his clumsiness. So it is only on the rarest occasions such as today when no one else can go that Namjoon is forced to make the trip to the black market.

     He only thanks the heavens that Seokjin didn’t send him alone instead forcing the youngest/newest of their family Jungkook to join him. The dark haired, wide eyed phoenix is still very much a hatchling in spite of being over a hundred years old. Something evident by how he looks around the market mouth hung open.

 “Hyung! This place is amazing!” he exclaims.

   Namjoon smiles shaking his head. He supposes Jungkook is right. The market is a sight to see, especially when compared to those in the human community. Unlike in the human world where everything is modernized, the supernatural community tends to keep their markets and cities no older than the Victorian period. And this particular market hasn’t updated since the renaissance period leaving in its old cobble roads, brick buildings, geometrical favoring and other old fashioned styling. Furthermore its riddled with creatures of all sorts ranging from pale winged faeries to glistening scaled nagas slinking around in their natural forms. A rare sight to see outside such venues. 

    “You’re gonna catch flies if you keep your mouth open like that.” Namjoon teases ruffling Jungkook’s already messy hair.

   The younger boy immediately shuts his mouth. A light blush forms on his cheeks causing Namjoon to smile wider. ‘To be young and unknowing again,’ Namjoon wistfully thinks to himself. He’s not by far the youngest of the group, but he is more knowledgeable of the world than even his elder brothers Jin and Hoseok. His second elder brother Yoongi is the only one more experienced and disillusioned than he is. 

   “Look Namjoon, honey cake!” Jungkook cries, pointing at a wooden stand with a royal blue awning. Under it a sun kissed skinned faerie baters with a red eyed fury over the fluffy golden cakes dripping with honey. Jungkook runs to the stand not even waiting for Namjoon’s response. His body literally glow red at excite over the cakes. Suddenly Namjoon wishes he had gone alone, because something tells him, he’ll be spending way above the budget Jin set for them. Especially since he can never deny getting his brothers anything they wanted.

    "We’ll take four. “ Namjoon orders.

Jungkook frowns.. "Only four? Hyung, I can eat eight and still have room for more. ”

    "We’re here to buy supplies, remember? Jin will kill us if we don’t come home with what was on the list.“ 

   An annoyed huff escapes the phoenix but he says no more deciding it best not to argue. Namjoon is right. Jin would murder them if they returned empty-handed or at least scold them into the next decade. "Fine, but I’m eating one right now. ”

   "Aish, such a kid.“ 

"Exactly. So you should feed me more. I need it to grow.” Jungkook replied, mouth full of cake. 

     Namjoon rolls his eyes. “You’ve been hanging Hoseok too much. He’s starting to rub off on you.”

        “Nothing wrong with that.”  Jungkook says stuffing the last of his treat into his mouth. “So where to next, hyung?”

     Glad for the reprieve Namjoon glances at the list Jin gave him. It’s short compared to what Jin normally wrote when he went shopping. No doubt an act of mercy for Namjoon to which he’s internally grateful for. “Red root and dried dove’s blood, Jin says the best place for it is a druid shop not too far from the market.”

    “Woah! I’ve never seen a druid before-let’s go.” 

Yup…Jungkook has a lot to learn still.

//

   Shopping goes along surprisingly well thanks to Jin’s thorough instructions. They even manage somehow not to blow their budget on silly knick knacks and treats; though Namjoon has his suspicions about just how much money Jin gave them. Either way Namjoon owes Jin the world’s biggest ‘thank you’ for not only were his instructions thorough, but they somehow directed him away from every slave in the vicinity. 

   "Aaahh, we’re all done. Let’s go home, huh Mr. JK?“ Namjoon smiles.

 Silence.

  "Jungkook?” Namjoon turns only to find the phoenix gone. Panic arises in him knowing how naive the boy still is and how tricky the market can be. For all Namjoon knows Jungkook already traded away his first born or something worse to a shady vendor. The thought hits Namjoon like a freight train. “Jungkook!?”

   Closing his eyes, Namjoon blocks every sense of his but smell. Thankfully phoenixes have a rather distinct scent of smoke, ashes and cinnamon making it easy to point Jungkook out of the maze of creatures. Even more thankfully Namjoon doesn’t smell any of the usual worrisome vendors around the boy. What he does smell though are the sour vinegar scent of piss, salt water, copper and humans…Jungkook found his way to a slave block. 

   Briefly Namjoon debates on letting the phoenix find his own way back. After all, Jungkook isn’t that young he can’t figure out how to find Namjoon. Plus as a phoenix, Jungkook technically is the strongest of creatures in their family-so it’s not like Namjoon needs protect him all the time… 

      It takes Namjoon less than a second to find him. The younger boy unsurprisingly stands at the very front of the block. His eyes wide open as he stares at the three humans on stage. Undoubtedly this is Jungkook’s first auction, and like most of their kind, he’s enthralled by it. 

  "Come on, Jungkook. Let’s go.“ Namjoon says, grabbing him by the shoulder. He purposefully turns to miss the frightened faces of the humans. As much as he hates glamour, it seems kinder to deceive humans of their horrible fate. 

    "Hyung, look.” Jungkook urges, eyes unwavering from their original spot.

   Namjoon shakes his head. “A slave auction I know. I’ve seen them before Kookie.”

 “And how much are you willing to pay for this male human? He has plenty of fat on him, making him the perfect entree dish for your next dinner party!” The auctioneer cheers. 

 A violent sob escapes the human followed by loud offers from the crowd. Namjoon can’t help but sneer at them. For a race that thought themselves superior than humans, they are truly awful creatures. 

  The gavel slams. “Sold to the pixies. Enjoy ladies and fella. Next of human 427, a little on the old side but still good for things like embroidery, cleaning or aged bone soup.”

    "Jungkook now.“ Namjoon orders. He puts a bit of his strength into it but the phoenix barely budges.

       "Joonie, you don’t understand. Look.” Jungkook pleads, pointing. Reluctantly Namjoon does as asked his eyes landing on the third human. He supposes he shouldn’t be too surprised to find that the human who ‘enchanted’ Jungkook is a young woman, the phoenix is young after all. “She’s beautiful…”

  The longing in Jungkook’s voice nearly strikes a chord within his own heart. From where he stands you don’t appear beautiful, your (h/c) hair is long and unruly from lack of care, skin a shade paler than it should be from lack of sunlight, dirt splotches decorate your naked body along with bruises and scars most likely given by your 'caretakers ’. No you are far from beautiful. However for some reason Namjoon can’t pull his eyes away. 

   "I want her, Namjoon-hyung.“ Jungkook states, his voice leaving no room for argument. 

   "Jungkook, we can’t buy her-”

     "Why not? I have more than enough money to. I’d take care of her like how my parents care for their humans. “

    "She’s not a pet, Kookie. She’s a living creature with feelings and emotions.” Namjoon swallows, trying to remember why buying humans is bad.

     "She won’t be my pet. I’ll let her do whatever she wants no questions asked. I just need her to be mine, hyung.“ The determination in Jungkook’s voice shakes Namjoon to his core. He’s only heard Jungkook that determined once in his life, and that was to join their family. 

    "Next up we got this foxy little minx here. ” the auctioneer says. 

     The guards push you further on stage, almost causing you to stumble due to your unwillingness to move. You shoot them a hateful look. Suddenly Namjoon realizes why he finds you so interesting, you have no fear or sorrow in your eyes. Everything about you screams fighter not victim. 

  “As you can see folks, she’s not the most pliant of our lot, but that’s nothing a little glamour won’t fix. Am I right?”  The auctioneer grins. As if to prove a point he walks over to you hand out glimmering with magic. He’s undoubtedly going to put you under, something which Namjoon is surprisingly grateful for. Perhaps if you have the druggy blank stare and dreamy smile all glamoured humans do, he’ll be able to turn and leave.

    The auctioneer reaches out to caress you. However instead of meeting your soft skin, his hand tastes the sharpness of your teeth. A scream erupts him as the guards rush to pull you off. All the while the crowd watches first in silent contemplation of these chain of events then in laugher and finally whispered caution of you. 

   "Evil thing. You’ve just lost any chance you had at escaping here alive.“ the auctioneer growled, slapping you hard. "I told you to behave, and you didn’t listen. Now you’ll pay. ”

  Horror invades Namjoon as the auctioneer raises the gavel above your head. “FORTY THOUSAND!" 

    The words escape Namjoon before he knows it. All eyes turn to him in disbelief. With a deep swallow Namjoon makes his resolve. "I’ll pay forty thousand for her.”

   The auctioneer cocks an eyebrow. “You’d pay for this insolent brat?”

    "I said forty thousand didn’t I?“ Namjoon retorts.

 The auctioneer eyes him for a second. A greedy smile spreads across his face. Immediately Namjoon knows this is going to take a turn for the worse. "This brat has caused me a lot of strife these last few months. So much so revenge is sounding rather nice compared to whatever price you’re low balling me.”

    Namjoon scoffs. Forty thousand is far from low balling if anything it is a hundred times more than you are worth. Moreover Namjoon knows what the auctioneer wants in exchange and no human is worth that price. Yet he can’t find it in himself to leave. “Forty thousand and two years worth of cultivation.”

   "Namjoon-hyung! That’s your life energy you’re exchanging. “ Jungkook hisses.

    Namjoon doesn’t waver. "Well?”

 "Like I said I don’t appreciate lowballers.“ The auctioneer frown, swinging the gavel downwards.

    "NO!" 

   "I’ll add a phoenix tear!” Jungkook’s voice rings out. 

   The gavel stops mid-air. Interest returns to the auctioneer in the form of a grin. “Really a phoenix tear? Forty thousand, two years of life force, and a phoenix tear?”

  Now it is Namjoon’s turn to protest. “No. Jungkook, nothing is worth that price.”

    Phoenixes tears valued more than anything any supernatural could give, and the method of extracting them…Namjoon doesn’t even want to picture it. “He’s already asking for too much. We should just leave -”

    "Stop hyung. I’ve already made my decision. “ Jungkook states firmly. "So auctioneer do we have a deal or are you just a greedy bastard?”

   The auctioneer hums stroking his chin, “Fine. Take her. She’s too much trouble for me. Good luck training her. ”

    Yanking the twine rope around your neck, the auctioneer throws you off the stage. Namjoon moves to catch you, but Jungkook is quicker grabbing you virtually in midair. He looks down at you with an expression, Namjoon has never seen on the phoenix before. “You are alright. You’re safe now. ” Jungkook promises.

   Words fail to express anything Namjoon is thinking, but he gets the feeling something has changed drastically. 

//

Tiny painful gasps escape you as the rope around your neck constricts. Even without the slaver or guards there to pull at it, you can feel its every tightening presence. Especially now that someone - something has bought you. “Hey, what’s wrong? Hyung, I think something is wrong with her!” The dark haired boy cried.

   He stares down at you eyes full of panic. It is odd to see a creature worried about someone outside of their race. In the two years of your captivity, you learned quickly just how little these things cared for humans. “She got yanked by the rope, Kookie. It probably bruised her throat if not knock the wind out of her at the very least. ” his blonde haired companion informs. 

  You eye him cautiously, unsure what to make of him or the boy. Overall he’s lankier with a skinnier but taller figure. Even his face is more defined with sharper angles in the nose and cheek area; which is funny because despite the baby fat still clinging to the brunette, you can tell he’s the more muscular of the two. “Asshole.” The brunette hisses, grabbing the rope.

    You flinch readying yourself for the pull only to feel a soft heat against your neck. The sense of something burning kisses your nose and a soft 'crackle’ chimes as the weight of the rope disappears. Slowly you open your eyes to find the rope in ashes. Brunette or Kookie as Blondie called him, smiles at you. “There. All better now. ”

   In disbelief, your hands search your neck only to find nothing. “W-why?”

 The question slips from you. This is definitely not normal slave owner behavior. Were they trying to lure you by feigning kindness? Or did they truly mean it? Maybe they were abolitionists who hated slavery-if such people existed in the supernatural community. 

     Kookie’s smile widens. “It was hurting you, right? So I took care of it like any good owner would.”

   Owner? Whatever hopes you may have are destroyed by that single utterance. Nothing changed, you are still trapped. “Aish, what did I say about her not being a pet, Jungkook?” The blonde chastises. 

  Kookie, Jungkook or whatever his name is, shoots him a sheepish look. His doughy cheeks redden with embarrassment. He looks genuinely ashamed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean you were a pet. I meant a-”

       "A slave?“ You finish for him. "Or am I to be food for you at some point?”

   Horror washes across Jungkook’s face. To his credit, he even turn a little pale at the question. “What? No! I would never eat you -or any humans. I love humans. It’s just…you’re just-”

     The blonde lays a comforting hand on Jungkook’s head silencing him. “Jungkook’s too pure hearted to cause anyone harm without reason.”

     "I’m human what more reason do you need?“ You reply unwavering. Scars and bruises litter your body from these 'pure hearted ’ creatures. Nothing, no promise or assurance can ever make you trust them. 

       Light brown eyes scan you as if searching for something you can’t see. Subconsciously you push yourself further into Jungkook’s body as if to hide your vulnerability. Blondie smiles at you. It is a soft yet sorrowful smile as he knows exactly what you’ve gone through. He reaches out, his large hand cradling your chin. "You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you? I know my promise probably means nothing given my kind put you through this,  but you’ll be safe with us. I promise.”

   You open your mouth you protest, but no sound comes out. Prior experience warns against trusting these two, however something within silences it. Perhaps it is a fool’s wish, but you want to believe him… want to believe both of them.

    "Well if this isn’t a lovely sight?“ An all too familiar voice interrupts. The three of you look to see the auctioneer grinning down at you. "Now if you two are done playing with the merchandise, a deal is a deal.”

//

[thatfanficstuff]

Impossible - 5

Pairing: Eric Northman x Reader

Warnings: Nope

A/N: It’s Eric day! Sorry it was just a little delayed.

***

By the time you pulled into the parking lot at Fangtasia, the lack of sleep was catching up with you. A glance at the time showed you still had almost two hours until sundown. Hopping out of your truck, you made a beeline for the door. You tried the handle just for the hell of it and found it unlocked. You let yourself in and frowned at the blonde that appeared from a back room.

“Who are you? You can’t just come in here.” The shrill edge to her voice made you wince.

Lovely. “Actually, I can because you left the door unlocked. Stupid.”

Her wide eyes stayed glued to you as she hustled past you to flip the lock on the door. “You need to leave.”

“Not here to cause any trouble. I just need somewhere to crash until Eric shows up. The couch I saw the other night should do nicely.” You stepped toward the room you’d spoken to Pam in. It had all appearances of being Eric’s office which meant the sofa would be long and comfortable.

The woman stepped in front of you and gestured toward the door. “Get out or I’m calling the cops.”

You laughed. “Eric would skin you if you called the cops to come to his club.”

She huffed and stomped a foot. “Fine then. I’ll call the vampire cops.”

You blinked at her. “Jesus, lady. How many times have you been glamoured exactly?”

“What?”

You gripped her arms and moved her to the side. “I am going to go sleep in Eric’s office. When he gets here you can tell him I overpowered you. Keep it down until then, would you? I’m exhausted.”

***

You heard Eric before you saw him. You’d been dozing on and off with an arm draped across your eyes.

“There’s some girl in your office. She wouldn’t leave,” the blonde you’d encountered earlier said loudly, probably the moment he walked in the door.

“And why did you not make her leave?” Eric sounded bored and you had the feeling he’d had similar conversations with the woman before.

“She overpowered me.”

Footsteps approached the door and you stayed just as you were. Maybe everyone would leave you be and you could get a little more sleep. Unlikely but possible.

The door opened and you felt Eric’s gaze run over you like a physical thing. “I’ll take care of it, Ginger. Just make sure we’re ready to open.”

He stepped in and shut the door being surprisingly quiet. Especially since he could tell you were awake by your breathing and heartrate. There was no way you were getting more sleep with him in the room. Not until you were certain he wouldn’t use the opportunity for retaliation at any rate. “You know, if you glamour that girl any more she’s going to start drooling.” You stayed as you were, unwilling to move just yet.

Eric huffed a laugh. “She’s a very loyal employee.”

“Mmhmm. Whatever you say, Eric.”

There was a beat of silence. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“You told me to be.” Anyone else you would have ignored and forgotten about considering everything that happened, but not Eric.

“That was before I received your phone call last night. And since when do you do as I ask?” There was a teasing tone in his voice and your heart beat faster.

This was your Eric. The Eric that you’d fallen in love with and that had fallen in love with you. “Why aren’t you being an asshole?” Your voice sounded more timid than you would have liked but there was nothing to be done for it now.

“I spoke with Godric.”

You lifted your arm to glance at him then put it back. Too much light. “I take it he confirmed what I told you.”

“Of course. I am still bothered you kept the truth from me, but I am willing to set that aside.”

You took that as your cue to sit up. If you were going to have this conversation with Eric, you wanted to do it while you looked him in the eye. You raked your hands through your hair though you doubted that you had mussed it much during your short nap. “How generous of you to be willing to set aside the fact I didn’t do anything wrong in the first place. Why are you always so…” You gestured at him. “You?” You supposed there were better ways to interact with the vampire but he always seemed to say exactly the wrong thing where you were concerned. If you weren’t so certain it frustrated him just as much as it did you, you would accuse him of doing it on purpose.  

Instead of responding to your question, he went very still and his features grew tight. He was furious and you had no idea what you had done to warrant that look. Surely your smart mouth hadn’t irritated him that much. He reached out and grasped your chin to turn your head to the side. He traced his fingers over the left side of your face, his touch surprisingly gentle. “What happened?”

You frowned. “What?”

“You’re bruised. When I spoke with you last night you told me that you were fine. So, when did this happen and who did it?”

You jerked your hand up and covered your cheek where Jason had hit you. You’d grown accustomed to the dull throb and had mostly forgotten about it. Damn it. At least it wasn’t you Eric was angry with for a change. “It’s not a big deal. Emotions were running high and things got a little out of control is all. I handled it.”

“All of that is very interesting but not what I asked. Who. Did. It?” His voice was no louder but his tone was sharper. He moved to sit beside you on the couch so he no longer towered over you.  

You sighed as you turned to face him fully. “And what are you going to do if I tell you, Northman?”

“I simply wish to have a discussion with him about touching that which doesn’t belong to him,” he said as if he was always perfectly reasonable and level headed and you shouldn’t have presumed he would be otherwise.

“Pretty sure he got the message when I bounced him off the side of his truck.”

The corner of his lips kicked up. “You always were rather capable. It was one of the many things I always admired about you.” He shifted his body to sit properly and draped his arms along the back of the couch. “So, what happened last night?”

You sighed and slumped in your seat suddenly feeling exhausted. “Sookie’s grandmother was murdered. It looks like it was the same person killing everyone else in town, which is good I guess because Bon Temps is too small to support two serial killers.” You ran a hand down your face. “It was brutal, Eric. She was a good soul. She deserved better.”

He hummed and you weren’t certain if it was just an acknowledgement or if it was an attempt at comfort. “What do you know about this killer?”

You shrugged. “Not much. He seems to be targeting fang bangers. Local cops want to blame Bill just because he’s a vampire. So they’re about as competent as you’d imagine.”

“What about the person that hit you? They obviously have control issues.”

You closed your eyes and shook your head. “I’m not going to slip up and accidentally say his name, Eric. Nice try though.”

He lifted a brow and gave a small tilt to his head as if to say he tried. Before he could say anything, the door opened drawing your attention. Pam stepped inside and gave a slow, sultry smile when she caught sight of you.  “Well, hello there.”

Eric sighed. “Pam. What do you need?”

“Longshadow says there’s an issue with the liquor distributor. You need to deal with it.”

“And you cannot?”

She shrugged one shoulder.

“Very well,” Eric said as he stood. “Y/N, I will return shortly.”

You got to your feet as well. “Actually, do you have somewhere I can change? My clothes are in the truck.” You’d neglected to bring them inside mainly because you weren’t certain you’d be sticking around. But you weren’t about to pass up the opportunity to spend time with this Eric. You’d missed him.

He grinned. “It would be my pleasure to have you naked in my office. Feel free to change here.”

Pam rolled her eyes. “There’s a room down the hall for the dancers. Even has a shower if you’re so inclined.”

“Thanks, Pam.” You patted Eric’s shoulder as you passed by him. “Nice try, Northman.”

***

By the time you had a conversation with Pam, took a shower, and got yourself ready, Eric was already holding court. You ran your hands over the length of your favorite little black dress making sure everything was in place before stepping out of the office. Your gaze immediately found Eric on his makeshift throne. His attention was on the man beside him as they had a quiet conversation and you took the opportunity to run your eyes over him.

He’d slipped a jacket over his black tank which made him look more professional. Regardless of what he was wearing, he looked every inch the Viking king he should have been. As if he felt your eyes on him, his head turned and his eyes locked on yours. He silenced the man beside him with a wave of his hand and leaned toward you. He didn’t even attempt to hide his blatant admiration and as his smile widened, you saw a hint of fang in it.

He beckoned you forward and you wove through the crowd until you stood in front of him. “You summoned me?”

His tongue darted out to lick his lips then ran over his teeth as his gaze flicked over you once more. “You look delicious.”

You shook your head though you couldn’t help a little smile. That always was his favorite compliment. “Thank you.”

He leaned back in his seat. “Join us, Y/N. Stewart here was just telling me about all my failures as a sheriff.”

You stepped up on the stage as the other man protested Eric’s words. Before you could take the chair to his other side, Eric softly grasped your wrist and tugged you down onto his lap. You immediately moved to stand and his hand settled on your waist, holding you in place. He traced his nose along the column of your throat as he moved his mouth to your ear. “Stay.” His lips brushed your skin as he spoke and a shiver ran through you at the intimacy.

It had been a long time since you’d found yourself in this position and as much as you wished to simply enjoy it, there was too much that needed to be said between the two of you. Before you could move, Eric spoke again. “Please.”

You relaxed against him and supposed that answer enough. You turned your attention to the other man who was watching the two of you with far too much interest. “Now, what was it you were saying, Stewart was it?”

Eric tightened his hold slightly before turning his attention to the other man as well. “Yes, Stewart. Continue.”

“Well, as I was saying, there are matters that really should be addressed. The Authority does not take kindly to lax enforcement in their regions. I’m afraid they will be most disappointed when I file my report.” You tilted your head and looked the man over. He wore a cheap suit and straightened his tie nervously as he avoided meeting either of your gazes. “Of course, I could be persuaded to ignore some of the more grievous failings.”

“What do you think, Y/N?” Eric asked you. “Should we give Stewart here what he deserves for such an offer?”

You rested your head against his shoulder. “Oh, certainly. You know it’s funny that I was just speaking to my father about this area and he happened to mention that the sheriff runs a tight ship. One of the few areas he didn’t have to worry about I believe he said. The irony, huh?”

Eric grinned. “Indeed.” He looked at Pam and nodded his head once. A moment later two large vampires were on stage grabbing the man.

“Wait!” he protested. “I thought we’d reached an understanding.”

“We have.” Eric waved his hand and the protesting man was led away by the two thugs that were doing a remarkable job of appearing they were just taking him for a walk.

Eric’s fingers pressed into your hip and you lifted your head back to look at him. “We need to have a conversation about this.” You gestured between the two of you.

He hummed in agreement as he pushed your head back to rest on his shoulder. Later. You could talk about it later.