#i hope you are too because everything from the subject to the atmosphere to the photography is so superb and incredible and fantastic

[patrickztump]

by elliot ingham via fall out boy instagram stories ✧ 7.30.2023

[h0neylevi]

Hi! this is my first time requesting and i’m actually nervous abt it or messing up but could you do reader constantly flirting with levi (aot) jokingly but gets like soooo flustered and blush the moment they get complimented or when he flirts back? thanks!!

hello anon!

i'm sorry this took me so long -_- i do hope you're still around to see it ❤︎

c/w: modern au, alcohol/drinking, gn!reader w/c: 1699

Levi never took a compliment at face value.

His most ardent cheerleader was usually Hange, and receiving any level of attention from them was usually undercut by a layer of mischief that diminished any sincerity in their words.

It never seemed to bother him, but he didn’t seem to take much stock in their words either. It was just Hange, after all. And Hange was not usually very serious.

You on the other hand had a more reliable record of being genuine. So when he didn’t respond with his usual dry remark the first time you complimented him, it didn’t surprise you.

Instead, grey eyes found yours, a flicker of confusion clouding his expression before it was gone again. He never acknowledged what you said, but his body language had stiffened slightly. Hange was the first to point out later that his cheeks had looked a little flushed.

After that, it became a running thing–more for yours and Hange’s amusement than anything–to see if you could manage to fluster him again. He quickly learned to tune the both of you out, only sparing a stern glare in Hange’s direction as a way of showing his displeasure.

The trouble wasn’t remembering when it became a running joke to shamelessly flirt with him. It was pinpointing exactly when the lines began to blur and it no longer felt like a joke, but telling the truth.

You consider the situation again as you drop into a seat in the middle of a bar one Friday evening. The lights are low and warm, casting everything in a honey glow that enhances the carefree atmosphere of idle chatter and music. You stir the two skinny cocktail straws in your drink to the beat of some upbeat pop song and look around.

It isn’t exactly packed, but it isn’t empty either. People mill about in small groups, taking up space at the bar and hovering around outside near the entrance for smoke breaks. Your friends–Hange, Erwin, Levi, and Mike–have taken control of one of the pool tables in the corner not far away. You watch as Hange leans over the table and takes their shot, sinking a solid ball into one of the corner pockets with a pump of their fist.

They back up and exchange a high-five with Mike, giving Levi the space to move forward and survey the table. From the low light, you see the little pinch of focus that forms between his brows. His eyes scan over the possible plays before he rounds the corner and leans into place.

You become acutely aware that you’ve stopped stirring your drink and look away before he takes his shot. Back to the drink in your hand that’s growing more watered down by the minute.

As excited as you initially were about getting out with your friends tonight, you don’t feel like drinking. The music is too loud and the atmosphere feels too cramped. And it’s all because of this stupid unrequited crush that’s bloomed without you really even realizing it.

You take a deep drink and sigh, the underlying taste of alcohol burning on the way down. Normally you’d be happy to have such a heavy-handed pour, but tonight it just seems to settle like lead in your stomach.

Maybe you should just go home. Have the rest of the leftovers in your fridge and go to sleep early.

You’re just beginning to plan your exit speech when someone approaches your table.

“What are you doing over here?”

When you look up, you’re surprised to find none other than the subject of your thoughts.

As Levi waits for your answer, he takes a sip of the drink in his hand. From the color, you’d guess a high proof spirit mixed with soda. For as long as you’ve known him, he’s never been much of a beer drinker.

Despite the butterflies that form in your stomach from being caught off guard, you pull your expression into an easy smile. After months of trying to get under his skin, it feels natural.

“Trying to look available.”

His brows raise like he’s almost unsure he’s heard you correctly. “Available?”

You nod. “Mhm.”

You expect that to be the end of it, for him to nod and go back to his game of pool but to your surprise, he slides into the seat opposite you and sets down his drink. “And how is that working for you?”

You let out a quiet laugh and prop your chin on your hand. “Well considering I’ve only managed to attract the one person who’s rejected me for over six months, I’d say not well.”

For a moment, he just stares and you’re left to wonder if maybe your tone came across a little too sincere for comfort. It was getting harder these days to appear lighthearted about your feelings.

But if Levi’s particularly rattled by your words, he doesn’t let on. His gaze falls to his glass a second later, gently swirling it so the ice inside clinks together. For several tense seconds, you wait, wondering what he’s thinking until he finally says, “I’ve never rejected you.”

If someone had asked you what you expected him to say, it would have taken you all night to land on that particular arrangement of words.

You frown, not understanding where the sudden shift in his demeanor is coming from. “You have,” you argue back, your tone growing more serious. “A lot actually.”

He looks back up, and the expression on his face turns pointed. “I don’t remember ever saying no.”

“You’ve never said anything,” you point out.

He nods along, giving you a look that suggests your point only further supports his argument. “Exactly.”

But you give him a flat look, just short of rolling your eyes. “No response is still a response, Levi.”

A brief silence settles between you then, somehow not permeated by the buzz of the music and chatter surrounding you on all sides. In fact, it feels like there’s no one else around. A feeling you were rather hoping wouldn’t happen, even if another, much larger part of you is still pleased that he’s speaking to you at all.

Then Levi leans forward, catching your attention despite the way you attempt to avoid his gaze. He rests his arms on the table, resting his fingertips against the rim of his glass. “Try again then.”

You flash him a narrowed, skeptical look. “Why would I do that?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs. “Maybe you’ll get a different answer this time.”

You can hardly believe what you’re hearing. You take the time to look at him, really look at him. For the most part, he looks exactly how he always does–hair neatly combed and framing that set of grey eyes you like looking into so much. There’s something slightly different about them tonight though, half-lidded and relaxed in a way similar to his posture. Like he isn’t so on edge and on the defensive.

“Are you drunk?” you guess.

“I probably shouldn’t drive,” he concedes after a moment. “But I don’t need to be drunk to flirt with you.”

That catches you off guard. Enough to where you take a sharp breath in, the air getting stuck in your chest as warmth blooms over your face. It’s difficult to look him in the eyes, but it’s also just as hard to look away when the eye contact he’s giving you makes your heart skip several beats.

But still, you try not to let his boldness make you too foolish.

You take another sip of your drink, stalling for time in an effort to get your racing thoughts under control. “I’ll believe it when you try with that hangover you’re going to have tomorrow.”

He stares at you for what feels like minutes, seemingly considering your words before saying, “Okay.” You think for the second time that that’s the end of whatever has possessed him to come and talk to you, but he speaks again. “Want to meet up for coffee tomorrow morning?”

“Coffee?” you repeat, too dumbstruck to do anything but uselessly repeat his words.

The corner of his lips quirk into a small grin.

“See, they take these seeds from a plant and roast them–”

You scowl, but the smile that accompanies it undermines any attempt to make it look as though you’re actually offended. “I know what coffee is.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s like you don’t want me to say yes.”

The amusement in his eyes flickers out slightly and he re-settles his attention to taking another long sip from his drink. For a moment, you think that maybe you’ve ruined your chances by taking the joke too far, but his posture is still relaxed. He doesn’t make a move to leave.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to say yes,” he finally says, his voice softer as he turns to look at you again.

There’s a seriousness in his tone, but it lacks the hard-lined edges that you’re so used to. Maybe that’s why it causes your heart to keep racing. You may not know what he’s thinking, but you know he’s being genuine.

You take a slow, intentional breath to try and keep from vibrating out of your seat with nerves. A hysterical, irrational thought occurs to you suddenly that maybe this is his way of getting back at you for all of the months of jokes. But the Levi you know wouldn’t do that. Would he?

Finally, you say, “If you’re just joking around, I’m going to be so disappointed.”

“Then it’s a date.”

Before you can respond, there’s some shouting from the corner, and Levi turns to see that the others are calling him over. A familiar face appears at the crook of Mike’s elbow, and you realize Nanaba has finally arrived. Erwin is preoccupied with adjusting the rack on the table, but the rest are watching you both with a mixture of expectation and curiosity.

They must want to start another game. Hange gestures to the table when you both look over, confirming your suspicions.

Levi turns.

“Coming?” he asks, still not rising from his seat. “Unless you’d rather go somewhere now.”

taglist: @gggellaa @hideandgopeep @humanitys-strongest-bamf @humanitys-strongest-brat

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[heeliopheelia]

"look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't fucking lie to me" (heeseung x reader)

genre: angst word count: 0.7k requested by @flwrshee ♡

warnings: swearing, break up, heartbreak, lying

a/n: fuck i love angst sm LMFAO absolutely looooved writing this one

The silence is starting to feel heavy as you sit in Heeseung's parked car right next to your apartment complex. You're just coming back from a meeting with his friends and throughout the entire ride you haven't uttered a single word to him.

"Baby, talk to me, please," he sighs out after the uncomfortable atmosphere starts nearly itching his skin.

"What do you expect me to tell you? I just found out our entire relationship is basically a fucking joke," you say, face turned towards the window.

You don't even try to maturely approach the subject. Because how else is one supposed to react after realizing that their boyfriend most likely still has feelings for his ex? The sole thought of it makes your skin crawl and Heeseung can clearly see it as he swipes his eyes over your frowned side profile.

He tries again, feeling as if he's losing you already, one by one. "Nothing about us is a joke to me."

You want to get out of the car, you really fucking do, but at the same time you know that it's probably the last time you see him, the last time you're this close to him and the weak part of you that still wants to stay with him doesn't allow you to leave yet.

You feel goosebumps spiking your skin when his fingers hesitantly touch yours, so you quickly jerk your hand away.

"I feel like some fucking rebound, Heeseung."

"YN, baby," he starts quietly, trying to gain your attention. Pressing your lips together, you try your hardest to hold your tears back. "Will you please look at me?"

And you do, turning your head away from the window, hard eyes finding his immediately. For a second you take in the uneasiness painted on his face, his wide open eyes only making you want to cry even more. So you drop your gaze to your knees.

"I hope you had fun at least," you finally say, fiddling with the bracelet he gave you on your birthday three months ago. "Playing with my feelings like that, hope it was worth it."

"Don't say that, love," he pleads, hand itching to reach out to you again. "You can't believe everything people say so easily."

You scoff, looking at him in disbelief. "These people are your best friends. I see no reason as for why wouldn't I listen to them."

Realizing he's a step away from blowing his entire relationship with you, he finally engulfs your slightly trembling hand in his and brings it to his lips to press a kiss on your knuckles. His jacket around your shoulders suddenly feels all too heavy and burdening, a complete opposite of the comfort it used to bring you so many times before. The smell of his cologne is too strong all of sudden, the warmth of it nearly suffocates you.

"You know I lov-"

You interrupt him quickly, the sharpness or your tone startling him slightly. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't fucking lie to me." You swallow the bile in your throat as he sits in stunned silence, eyes gaping at you hopelessly. "I need to hear that she means nothing to you and we'll forget all about it."

"I- I can't," he stutters out, rubbing his face with his hand. "Fuck, I'm sorry. But I'll get over it, I promise. I can't lose you too, YN."

You jerk your hand out of his hold as if it was burning you alive and shake your head with a bitter scoff. "Then what the fuck are you even doing? Leading me on like that, do you realize how much this is hurting me? It's like the entire year we've been together meant absolutely nothing! That's so fucked up, Heeseung!"

"I know, I know!" He groans, pressing his palms to his eyes. "I'm sorry, I just thought that I'd lose these feelings along the way in a relationship with you. I never expected that she'd still have such strong hold on me even a year later."

"Well, since my love is clearly not enough for you, I'm finally gonna stop wasting both of our time," you nearly hiss at him, shrugging his jacket off your shoulders and shoving it into his chest. He catches it, eyes as wide as a deer caught in the headlights. "Thanks for the ride, Heeseung."

"Wait, YN!" He calls after you as you walk out of his car. He reaches out to grab you and somehow try to make you stay but his fingers only manage to graze the edge of your top as you turn around to him. "Don't leave."

"Stop being so fucking selfish. Goodbye. Don't call me again," you let his pleadings go past your ears before you shut the door and leave Heeseung in shambles.

permanent taglist: @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @luvmura @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @venividibitchin

[uriwoos2]

gentle with me ☼ ִֶָ · (lsh)

pairing: bf!riwoo x gn!reader. genre: fluff, hurt/comfort. overview: soft, gentle bf riwoo <3 who comforts you, when ur feeling down. word count: 1.8k warnings: the reader is dealing with some unpleasant thoughts. they both have unusual nicknames for each other. idk it's cute, ok? ♡ note: got the urge to write this boyfie riwoo fic, cuz he's quite literally my biggest source of comfort. he's just so lovely <3 this ended up longer than I intended, but.. anyway. hope you enjoy. likes & reblogs are very appreciated! — with love, cream <3

♪₊˚song: touch tank — quinnie.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

you're sat at the kitchen counter, cheek resting heavily on your palm as you pick at the remainder of the pancakes on your plate, having lost your appetite.

i don't feel so good.

before this you were doing just fine, what could have triggered such an unpleasant surge of feelings, that you can't even give a name to?..

you and riwoo had an early breakfast this morning, both of you waking up at an ungodly hour. it was uncharacteristic even for him, who tends to get up before you on most days. he tells you he doesn't mind it, even if he has to be alone for a bit, because he gets to wake up next to you every morning.

sometimes, he remains next to you in bed, admiring your sunlit features in secret with a smile on his face. but more often than not, he opts for an early start to his day. you have no idea where he gets all the energy from but thanks to that, he can get some chores done. his reasoning for this being, that if everything's already taken care of by the time you've opened your eyes, you can focus solely on him.

he's so sweet.. so so sweet, just for me.

today you actually arose from your slumber first, after a restless night. something just wasn't right, you could feel it since the evening before, but you couldn't really put a finger on what was bothering you. your rustling made riwoo shift in his sleep too, as you gently removed his arm from where it was resting on your belly. always such a light sleeper, his eyelids fluttered open at your slightest movements and this time was no different.

"baby?" he croaked out, sitting up while rubbing his eyes, "what's going on? are you okay?" his hand instinctively finding it's way back to yours, "did you have a bad dream, sunbeam?" he put your intertwined hands in his lap, his thumb stroking the back of your hand, soothing.

you couldn't think of a way to relay what you felt to him, because you yourself had no idea, and no matter how accepting his gaze was at the moment, you chose to not worry him for no good reason.

"it's nothing, don't worry. I just couldn't sleep much, but I'm good." he squinted at you, not taking your word for it. "riuriu, I swear I'm alright." you go to pinch his cheek lightly, your heart swelling at his thoughtfulness. "but I don't think I can go back to sleep, you wanna go make some breakfast? I'll help this time." you offered with a smile.

he chuckled adorably, nodding his head, eager to spend more time with you. "okay, okay, but tell me if there's something wrong, okay?" you just nodded at that, wanting desperately to change the subject.

yeah! I just need to keep myself occupied, that's it. no need to make a big deal out of this.

you got up to follow your boyfriend into the kitchen, determined to distract yourself by helping him make some food, hoping it would clear your head.

cooking with riwoo is always so much fun, and the food comes out super delicious, too. and another bonus, is that both of you tend to become especially affectionate when you're in the kitchen together, something about the atmosphere there being so intimate and homely. as if you won't be able to breathe if you're not latched onto his arm while he's at the stove, or if he hasn't got his head on your shoulder hugging you from behind while you stand in front of the fridge, picking out the ingredients. doing such simple every day things together means everything to you, these moments being your favorite, because you can relish in the uncomplicated warmth they carry.

the breakfast came out perfect, and you told riwoo as such, at which he just blushed, and said it was your stirring and pouring that made all the difference. he gets really shy and smiley at your compliments, which you find to be the most endearing sight ever.

everything was seemingly going well, until you ended up on your own at the table. riwoo had finished his food, and got up to clean the mess you made while cooking, and even if he was still in the room, that uneasy feeling returned once again. it came in waves woven with anxiety and discomfort, slowly increasing in size and submerging your mind deeper and deeper, with each rise and fall of the tide.

what's wrong with me today?

you couldn't tell what was causing this flood of unpleasant emotions, as there was nothing out of the ordinary. if the environment is unchanged, that means it must be coming from within.

is something bothering me? but I don't know what it is! how can something bother me without me knowing what it is?..

"hey, baby.. I don't think I can finish this." you decide to inform your boyfriend, who was right across the kitchen, now washing the dishes. but you didn't expect your voice to come out so small, making it impossible for him to decipher your words over the loud stream of water.

he looks at you over his shoulder, "what was that, love?" then turns off the tap, to face you completely, "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" he says, with the small encouraging smile of his that he always sends your way, no matter the situation.

"I..." you trail off, unable to form your thoughts into an intelligible sentence, eyes lowering. riwoo seems to sense your distress somehow, which cements his suspicions about your mood ever since you got up this morning.

he picks up a towel to dry his hands with, as he's walking over to you, and then sits back down in his chair opposite of you. "hey, what is it?" he reaches over to touch your fingers with his own. "are you not feeling well, love?" his words are laced with such intense concern, that you feel guilty for letting your feelings show.

"i.. i- don't know. I'm just.. ugh. I'm sorry bug, I don't even know how to say it. my brain just shut down on me." you sigh, a lump forming in your throat, making it hard to keep your voice level, "I actually have no idea what's wrong with me either, or if I'm like.. I don't know, making it up."

riwoo's brows furrow in displeasure, instantly rushing to validate your feelings, "don't say that, of course you're not making it up!" his features settle into that gentle smile of his once again, "if you're not okay, then you're not okay, it's simple."

you nod at his words, "I know that, i do. but I don't even know what I'm sad about, I just think I couldn't get enough rest last night, and it's messing with my head." you shake your head absentmindedly, rubbing at your eyes.

riwoo is silent for a bit, and then, taking your entire hand in his, he says, "alright, maybe. but you know you don't have to give everything a reason, right? you can just feel sad sometimes, with seemingly no reason at all. that's completely alright, love." the corner of his mouth upturned slightly, in hopes of comforting you.

and he is, comforting, that is. everything about him is. just being quiet in his presence is a comfort of its own. he is so considerate and so so sensitive. you're eternally grateful for him, and his love, his attention, his affection. but right now it just seems like you've blanked completely. suddenly feeling strangely tired, you find it impossible to relay all this to your sweet lover, who's waiting. being just so patient with you. your heart tightens. my beautiful love.

when he doesn't receive a verbal response from you, he simply reaches out to brush strands of hair from your forehead, a smile never leaving his features, "wanna go lay back down, sunbeam?" it's apparent to him that you're in no shape to tend to yourself, and you don't need to worry, because he will take care of you. he seems to know when you need it, he always just knows. "we don't need to dwell on this. let's just rest for a bit, mhm?"

you want nothing more than to be in his arms now, these weird feelings weighing too heavy on your heart. "yeah, okay." you look down at your unfinished breakfast, as he's picking up the plate to put it away, feeling bad. "love?.. sorry about the pancakes, I just can't stomach anything right now."

"don't worry about that silly, you can eat as much as you want." reassuring you with a smile, "I'll make it for you again, once your appetite has come back." he takes you by the hand, leading the way, "c'mon, love." you follow him sluggishly.

he helps you lie down comfortably, and after getting in right beside you, he glues his body to your side. just how i love it.

you turn, almost instinctively, sinking into his arms, your head finding it's way onto his chest. you're thankful he isn't trying to figure out the root of the problem, because you can barely take even thinking about it right now. you're glad he knows exactly what you need. sighing, content, and grateful to your boyfriend, you feel overwhelmed, a surge of various emotions overcoming you. he's just so perfect. he is so kind to me. my love.

you didn't even notice you were crying, until riwoo placed a soft kiss on the crown of your head, hands rubbing soothing circles on your back, whispering a soft "it's okay." pulling you even closer, hugging you even tighter. "I'm here, sunbeam." another kiss, "it's okay." he buries his head into your hair, arms secured and unmoving. he wants you to feel safe, he wants to protect you, but feels really helpless in moments like these. so the only thing he can do is give you warmth and comfort of his body.

you don't stop crying for a while, but once it subsides and turns into occasional sobs, you're so exhausted, that you think you can pass out. your head is pounding and your eyes are swollen, and.. it's so warm, my baby's so warm. it feels very nice, so so nice. I think I can just fall asleep like this. yeah...

so you do. your boyfriend, upon noticing your evened out breaths, sighs in relief and shuts his own eyes, laying his lips on your hair in a tender kiss, one more time. riwoo isn't planning on letting go of you anytime soon, for as long as you need, he'll let you borrow his chest as a pillow, and his arms for warmth.

[mint-yooxgi]

{3} - Fight or Flight - Yandere!Redcap!Mingi X Tall!Chubby!Reader

Fae!AU & Yandere!AU - Part of the CoDN Thrill of the Hunt Collab

Genre: Fantasy, Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Pairing: Mingi X Reader

Words: 9,085

Rating: Mature - 18+ MDNI

Warnings: Please read the warnings carefully, as this is a very heavy story dealing with many dark topics. This is also all of the warnings for this fic as it is one long one shot that I had to split into multiple parts, and I'm too tired right now to individually categorize all of these warnings to their respective parts. 8 ft tall Mingi. Slow burn. Violence: depiction of a massacre, a deer being slaughtered, as well as physical, verbal, sexual, and emotional, both alluded to and not. Blood and gore. Abuse: physical, emotional, verbal, and sexual, both alluded to and implied. Assault: physical, and sexual, both alluded to, implied, and attempted. OC has a really rough past, really this isn't for the faint of heart. Whipping, both alluded to, and done. Mentions of branding. Heavy themes of possession and ownership. Deception. Arson. Really, there's a lot of dark subject matter. Mingi falls hard and fast, thus, he simps a lot for the OC, but it's not a story written by me if Mingi doesn't simp for the OC. The reader is mentioned to be both tall and chubby, but it is not mentioned often, so it shouldn't disrupt the flow of the story when ready if you are not tall and/or chubby. I think that's everything, but if I missed something, please let me know! Smut: Biting/marking, outdoor sex, fingering (fem. rec), oral (fem. rec), hand job (male rec), come eating, overstimulation, Mingi has a dig bick, sex in a spring, really, it's very soft in comparison to the subject matter. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

P.S. If there are any spelling or grammatical errors, please ignore them. I did my best through many rounds of editing, but some are liable to still slip through.

A/n: I am SO sorry this took me LITERALLY forever to complete. I meant to have this out so much earlier, and actually posted on time, but it turned out much, much longer than I ever anticipated it being. I'm really proud of how this story turned out, and I didn't want to split it into multiple parts because I felt it would take away from the story as a whole. I'm super excited for you all to read this one, as I had a tremendous amount of fun writing it, and I really hope you all love Mingi's and OC's journey as much as I do. Huge shoutout and thanks to @anyamaris and @kwanisms for listening to me ramble and rave about this story both before and during the writing process, and for always encouraging me while writing! Also, huge thank you to @sanjoongie for being so patient and understanding with me as I write this all out in full. I hope you all enjoy! As always feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!~

Summary: Out of one horrible situation and into another, the cycle of abuse never stops. You've lived with monsters your whole life. So, what's one more?

P.P.S. Please don't let this flop guys. If you enjoyed it, please reblog!!!

Mini Masterlist - Part One - Part Two

You were wrong.

Not only is this redcap the most infuriating fae possible, but he has no tact when it comes to handling you. Clearly, he’s never dealt with humans before, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. Every chance he gets, he’s shoving you around, pulling you harshly to your feet and snapping at you to ‘get a move on’ if you’re not moving at a quick enough pace for him.

Gone is the almost surreal atmosphere of peace the morning had brought you. Instead, as evening shifts into night, only irritation seems to fill the silence between the two of you. Whether he’s upset at himself for relating to a human or not is unbeknownst to you. All you do know is that he seems to dislike you more than he did the previous day.

“Are you done yet?” His voice cuts through the gentle sounds of the pond you’re currently bathing in.

Your head turns to stare at his back, noticing he stands a better guard than Windfel ever did. Not once did this fae turn around even to toy with you. Truly, he kept his word about being respectful about this kind of stuff, and for that, you should be grateful. Only, a creeping sense of dread begins to sink into your bones.

Slowly, you begin to make your way out of the pond, not quite feeling as refreshed as you should. The constant pounding of your heart within your chest reminds you that you’re still alive, and as you pull on the new clothes, you cannot keep your hands from shaking.

“Have you finished? I need to wrap your wound.” His arms are crossed over his chest, that much you can tell.

“I can do it myself.” Comes your somewhat sharp reply, looking around for where he put that roll of bandages he scavenged from a nearby town.

“No, you’re going to do it wrong.” He sighs, beginning to tap his foot against the ground. “I don’t want your wound getting infected again and slowing us down even further.”

Your features pull into a scowl. One which you are grateful he cannot see at the moment. You remain silent, tugging the loose shirt over your head once dry enough to do so. Only a grunt is given to acknowledge he can turn to face you, one which he seemingly immediately understands.

“Sit down.” He commands, walking over to you with another leaf filled with fresh paste in his one hand.

You comply, barely holding back your grumble of discontent. “Yes, General.”

The fae lets out a sharp breath through his nose, kneeling beside you on the ground. He says nothing as he begins to apply the paste over your now healing wound.

The cut on your leg is doing tremendously better in such a short amount of time. No longer does it crust at the edges, and the swelling has gone down significantly. There’s a small scab that rests over the deepest part of the cut, but the edges are much fainter than before, almost scar like in appearance. Sure, it still aches, but it’s nowhere near as horrendous or as infected as it once was.

Carefully, he spreads the paste over your cut. You notice his claws have retracted once more, and though he’s focussing intently on what he’s doing, he isn’t all that gentle. At one particular point, he adds a bit too much pressure to his fingers over the worst part of your cut, and you flinch.

A sharp hiss escapes you before you can stop yourself, and he removes his hand.

He says nothing as he discards of the leaf this time, reaching over to grab the roll of bandages. Wordlessly, he slides his one hand beneath your knee, tugging it upwards without warning.

Your initial response is to scold him, but given how close he is to you right now, combined with the fact that he is treating your wound, you don’t want to give him an opportunity to attack you. If he’s this good with treating them, then obviously he’s even better at causing them. Besides, there are ways he could torment you with the worst pain imaginable, all while making sure to still keep you alive.

It’s not like that hasn’t happened before. You would know.

There is no time, nor opportunity for you to be embarrassed right now. True to his word, he barely takes his eyes from your wounded leg the whole time he treats it. No roaming hands. No snide remarks, or suggestive comments about anything.

Whether he takes notice of the other scars lining your legs is unbeknownst to you, for he doesn’t comment on a single one. Instead, his brow is furrowed in concentration, his hands moving roughly around your thigh as he wraps the bandage around your wound. It’s almost as if he’s working subconsciously, letting his muscles repeat the monotonous motion of covering your wound without thinking. Almost as if he’s done this a thousand times before.

In the back of your mind, you begin to wonder about him. What was his past like? How did he learn to treat wounds this well? Is he truly as terrifying as you’ve been led to believe?

You catch yourself, blinking a few time to clear your vision. These are not things you should concern yourself with. You need to worry about yourself, and only yourself right now.

Looking back at the fae, you notice that his eyes are glazed. Still, he stares intently down at your thigh. You can tell he’s not paying attention, for he bandages your thigh too tightly, tying it off without a second thought.

“It’s too tight.” A blunt comment which seems to snap him out of his thoughts.

“No, it’s not.” He clicks his tongue, standing back to his feet. “Quit complaining, and let’s get a move on. I’ve already wasted enough time waiting for you today.”

“Isn’t it dangerous for me to travel at night?” You remark, tugging the fresh pair of pants over your legs as he walks over to the tree line.

“Not with me, it’s not.” Comes his gruff reply as he begins to stalk deeper into the woods. “Keep up. I’m not stopping if you fall behind.”

Without another word, and with a deep sigh, you take off after him. That stem of red spider lilies you still have with you gets hastily tucked back into your pants pocket. Despite the petals wilting every day, you cling onto it. It means too much to you, and the fact that you were able to find a single stem in the wild still makes your head spin.

Your favourite flower, come to bring you home.

Surprisingly, you manage to keep pace with the fae quite well. You can tell he’s not travelling at his top speed, but the trek is still manageable, and your thigh doesn’t throb once.

Your ankle on the other hand…

Sometime over the course of the night, your foot had started going numb. Your limp has become more prominent, and with every step you take, pain shoots up your right ankle. You manage to bear it for quite a bit longer. That is, until you lose your footing, tripping over a sudden root in your path and falling to the ground with a loud thump.

An annoyed sigh greets your ears, followed by even louder stomps heading back in your direction.

“Are you that incompetent-“ A sharp intake of breath. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m always bleeding.” You push yourself upward, feeling pain shoot through your fingertips.

Oh, yes. You forgot. You cracked your nails.

Sitting yourself on the ground, you let out a sigh of your own. Gently, you go to raise your hands to your face in order to assess the damage. However, before you can get very far, two large hands envelope your own.

“You’re a walking disaster.” He clicks his tongue, studying your fingertips thoroughly.

His touch is not soft, but it’s not as rough as this morning. Still, he turns your hands in his without thought, tugging your arms lightly forward as he brings your fingertips closer to his face.

Your expression hardens, pursing your lips. “So I’ve been told.”

He says nothing, but you do notice his gaze flick upwards to your face. A moment later, and he’s letting out another sigh. “Is there anything else I should be made aware of?”

“Well, since you’re asking,” you reply smartly, pain and irritation ridding you of your normal filter. “I haven’t been able to feel my right foot for over two hours.”

He swears lowly under his breath. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were now my own personal doctor.” You snap.

A low growl greets you in response, and you freeze. With wide eyes, you meet his own.

“I would like to make it back to my home without any further setbacks.” He snarls. “Preferably with you in one piece.”

“Didn’t realize I was so important to you, General,” you tug your hands out from his grip, and surprisingly, you do not feel the sharp sting of fresh cuts adorning your skin from his claws. In fact, it looks as if he retracted them before he even started examining your hands.

A strange, yet welcomed fact which you didn’t bother to notice until now.

“You’re not.” He spits out his reply, standing back to his full height in the next second. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a bit with some supplies.”

Without waiting for a response, he takes off into the night. 

All you can hear are the sounds of the forest around you, and the faint stomping of the fae away from you as you drag yourself to rest against a tree. Finally, you feel as if you can breathe easier. 

There’s a war going on within yourself. You still want to make the general so mad that he kills you in a fit of rage, while another part of you is genuinely regretting that decision. Whether it happens or not, is still yet to be seen. At least you no longer have starvation, dehydration, and infection clouding your mind.

About an hour later, the fae returns to see you having stripped yourself of your pants. The bandage he had tied around your thigh rests to the side as you let the wound breathe, and it looks the best it has in weeks. Whatever that paste is made from has really helped, for now all that remains of the initial cut is a small scar, and a minor scab.

You notice he spares a glance at your thigh. “How’s your leg?”

Your brow quirks, but you school your features into a neutral expression almost as quickly as it comes.

“Well, I’m starting to gain feeling back in my foot.” You say, watching him carefully as he crosses the short distance between the both of you. “I told you the bandages were too tight.”

“Do you ever stop nagging?” His features twist in irritation as he crouches beside you.

Almost instantly, your breath catches, and your expression falls. Your throat bobs as you swallow thickly, averting your gaze to the side. Old memories, ones you had shoved deep down inside of you resurface, and bile rises in your throat.

“I suppose I should feel grateful for having you keep me from dying.”

“Feel whatever you want to, mortal,” he sighs, handing you a canteen of water. “I have no ties to you, and you have none to me.”

“Then, what do you call this?” Pointedly, you spare a glance down at your almost fully healed thigh, making sure to catch his gaze.

“Insurance.” He states bluntly. Not even a second later, his eyes fall shut, and he’s breathing out a long sigh. “Look, I’m getting tired of repeating myself-“

“I know.” You cut him off. “I’m useless if I can’t function properly.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“You didn’t have to.” You turn your head, jaw twitching as tears prick at your eyes.

You’ve heard it all before. Over and over for what feels like your entire life. Friends, family… all those that were supposed to love you, to care for you.

You nearly scoff.

Love. What a useless emotion. You’re not even sure it exists anymore. Though, you’re sure your parents would argue that they did even this for you out of whatever twisted love they claim to have for you.

No. They wouldn’t know love even if it hit them right in their faces. 

No one has ever loved you. No one ever will.

“We’ll rest here until you’re fully healed, and then we’ll continue the journey back to the keep.” His voice, solid and stern, pulls you out of your own thoughts. “That way there’s no excuse as to why we need to make additional stops.”

“Yes, General,” your voice is much weaker than before, barely coming out as more than a hoarse whisper. It’s as if you’ve suddenly lost the will to fight. If you ever even had it in the first place.

A grunt is all you hear from him in response. In fact, that’s all you hear from him for the rest of the morning, and as the sun begins to rise over the horizon, you fall into a deep, restless sleep.

***

It takes two full days for your wound to fully heal. Granted it only took one for the cut to become nothing more than a scar, but it was better to be safe, than sorry.

Despite the setbacks, Mingi actually feels relieved now that he knows you won’t be able to slow him down since your thigh has healed. Looking after you hasn’t been so bad, either. Your company, surprisingly enough, can actually be quite enjoyable.

There are times where you don’t seem to filter yourself as heavily as others. He enjoys those the most. You have an attitude to you that he can appreciate. An attitude which reminds himself of his younger days, before he became the seasoned general that he is now. He honestly wishes he would see it more often from you, but every time you allow yourself to snap back at him, it’s as if you expect him to hit you for it.

Not only that, but the past few times you’ve fallen asleep, you seem to be tormented by terrors unknown to him. He can hear you thrashing against the tree you rest on, whimpering into the stillness of the night as your body attempts to curl in on itself.

It bothers him, and he doesn’t understand why. 

Ever since he saw you attempting to frantically crawl away from him that day after he had slaughtered that deer, something within himself has shifted. 

Mingi has always known he’s a monster. He was born a monster. He was raised a monster. He is a monster, and he’s never for one moment denied that part of himself. Of course, he has his own moral code he lives by, but again, he doesn’t enjoy wasting his time on easy prey. 

If it’s not worth killing over, it’s not worth dying for.

Besides, no one respects him for the minor kills. He wouldn’t have gotten where he is today if he took the easy path. He has a reputation to uphold, and killing people that are not even worth his time only makes people fear him.

Fear isn’t what can drive people to be loyal. Respect can.

No one gains respect by slaughtering countless humans here. At least, in his opinion. It would be the same as targeting children. Who gains honour from tearing apart the weak and defenceless? Certainly not him. He never has, and he never will. 

There’s no valour in that.

Still, there is something about you that irritates him to no end. Every time you call him general, he wants to rip your tongue from your throat. The way he catches you looking at him from time to time makes him want to gouge your eyes from your head. Yet, there’s something about the way you’ve come to rely on him, about being able to actually take care of something in such a way instead of destroying like he’s used to. Something about the way he feels as if he can just live around you, causes his guard to weaken and start to crumble. 

A vulnerability he hasn’t felt in a long time. A vulnerability that, in actuality, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt in his entire life.

Maybe that’s why you irritate him so much.

Stupid human making him feel stupid things he’s never felt before.

The sun sets in the distance, casting a golden hue across the surrounding area. A gentle breeze cools the humid air of the day, giving way for the crisp stillness that night is sure to bring.

Still, you limp along.

Your stamina has improved since your wound has healed, and you seem to be more keenly aware of your surroundings. Enough so, that Mingi can see the familiar shine of recognition behind your eyes as the forest begins to thin up ahead. 

“Shouldn’t there-“ you swallow, panting lightly. “Shouldn’t there be a town up ahead?”

A low hum in confirmation is all you receive in response as Mingi breaks through the tree line. He pauses, waiting for you to catch up. Taking the time now, he scans over the area, no annoying pests in sight. Of course, there are the town’s other inhabitants, but at least the pain in the ass seems to be gone for the moment. If his missing scent is anything to go by, Seonghwa hasn’t been home in quite a few days.

Perhaps those small set backs were more of an advantage than Mingi thought.

“Come on,” Mingi says, leading you towards a tavern across the way. “We’ll stay here for the night. I could use a decent rest in a bed instead of on the ground for a change.”

Eager eyes follow the both of you as you cross the short distance between the woods and the tavern, and Mingi can already hear the whispers floating in the air. He knows that he’s easily recognizable, given the red band tied around his upper arm, but hearing them comment about you sets his skin prickling.

The worst part is, he doesn’t know why.

Stepping inside, the familiar smells of malt ale and other fermented substances greet his nostrils. There’s a distinct stench of body odour, and malcontent lingering in the air that irritate his nose the further into the tavern he goes. The rowdy patrons are all around, laughing and jeering amongst themselves as he steps up to the counter. 

Even though he spares a glance over his shoulder to check, he knows that you’re scurrying after him as fast as you can. You seem to be able to feel the pointed stares sent your way as Mingi discusses lodging arrangements with the owner. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Mingi watches you shift uncomfortably on your feet, curling in on yourself as loud voices reach the both of your ears.

“Isn’t that that infamous redcap general?” A loud whisper cuts through the noise of the tavern.

“What���s a human doing with him?” Another hisses, and Mingi can feel his one ear twitch.

“You think he’s claimed her?”

“I don’t see a mark.” Such a smug comment causes Mingi’s jaw to tick in irritation. 

What ever happened to minding one’s own business?

“You think we could convince him to let us have some fun with her?”

“Maybe I should give her a mark of my own-“

“Watch your tongue before you lose it.” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, his sharp gaze locked onto the fae that had uttered such a repulsive phrase.

A sudden silence encases the entire tavern, and even your eyes go wide. 

The comment from the general is so unexpected, it seems to even surprise him.

Mingi is acutely aware of all eyes on him now. Not even a drop of condensation falls against a single glass as he snatches the ward key from the counter. With his opposite hand, he pushes you along, only causing you to stumble forwards and towards the stairs at the back of the room.

“Don’t concern yourselves with business that is not your own.” Mingi snaps, practically shoving you up the stairs and out of sight from hungry, prying eyes. 

Eyes of which that seem to follow you all the way to the room. A fact which only serves to irritate him more, a scowl tugging at his features as he unlocks the door with the ward key. A moment later, the entrance swings open, and he’s dragging you inside.

“This was a bad idea.” He begins to pace, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I was fine the last time I passed through this town.” Your reply is much softer than he’s used to, and he spares a glance in your direction.

There you stand, still fidgeting in your spot. Your hands tug at the long sleeves of your shirt, shoulders curling in on yourself as you intently stare at the ground. Your eyes have lost that faint shine he’s come to know over the past few days, the brightness having dulled suddenly into a blank nothingness.

He bets you’re thinking about their eyes on you, and how everyone was gazing at you like you were a piece of meat. Even he can still see the way tongues ran over sharp teeth, lips curling back against fangs in malicious grins as the scents of excitement and thrill bombarded his senses.

His own lips draw back in a scowl, and he nearly growls.

“Do you understand what they were implying?” Mingi can barely keep his breathing under control as he turns to look out the window.

Claws dig into wood, fingers nearly snapping the window frame from the pressure of his grip. What only makes this worse is he doesn’t understand why those comments have set him off so much. It’s simply typical fae talk, no different than what his subordinates had said when you first showed up at the edge of their encampment.

Thinking back on it now, the thought nearly makes him snarl.

“It’s nothing I’m not used to with men-“

“They are not men.” Mingi snaps, his chest heaving as he turns to face you.

Immediately, you recoil back, mild shock on your features. That is, until you’re schooling your expression and taking a deep breath in.

“Why should it matter what they say, then?” You keep your voice low, steady. 

“It doesn’t.” His reply is quick. Too quick.

“Aren’t they your kin? Don’t you think the exact same way?” Your voice rises slightly, and the tears he can see shining in your gaze cause his chest to begin to ache.

“I have never- will never think that way.” Mingi shakes his head, fingers tangling in his locks and tugging exasperatedly at the roots. “I may not like your kind, but I don’t agree with treating them however we want to just because we can.”

His head is spinning and throbbing all at once. He feels both freezing cold and burning hot, and he cannot prevent his eyes from shifting from you to the door. His breathing, which he has always been able to master, comes in erratic pants, fangs bared as his claws scratch at his scalp.

“You had no problem with it before when it was your men saying it.”

A silence so deadly settles over the room.

In the blink of an eye, Mingi has you pinned against the wall. His arm rests over your upper chest as he looms over you, teeth bared in a snarl. Raised in the air above his head is his opposite arm, claws glinting beneath the light of the moon as he prepares to strike.

Only, the hitch in your breath pulls him back to reality.

Immediately, he stumbles away from you, staring at his hands in horror. He doesn’t register the single sob that echoes through the silence of the room like a knife, nor does he hear the frantic beating of your heart over his own racing in his ears. What he does catch, however, is the single tear that cuts a path down your cheek, and the way your trembling body collapses to the floor.

The moment you touch ground, you go limp, staring vacantly at the wall across from you.

Mingi’s hands drop to his sides, balling them into fists as he stomps over to the door. 

“I’ll be back.”

The last thing he sees before the door swings shut is you supporting yourself with your hands braced upon the floor. He doesn’t give himself time to think as he storms back downstairs and straight over to the bar, ignoring the pointed stares sent his way.

He needs time to think, to sort out the mess that is his head. Perhaps you could use this time alone, too. Besides, it’s not like you can escape the room you’re in. Only he has the key to get in, and it’s not like you can jump out of the window. The glass is too strong for you to break.

You’re trapped, just like you’ve always been since he caught up to you. Yet, for some reason, that simple thought makes his brow furrow.

He doesn’t want you to feel trapped…

Frowning down into his glass, Mingi downs his ale. A few moments later, and his glass has been refilled. What a perfect way to end the day: by drowning his sorrows in a room full of boisterous fae, drinking until even the most proper of them cannot tell up from down.

About an hour into his drinking, he senses a few other fae saddle up beside him. The scraping of the stools on the ground cuts through the noise of the tavern, and much to Mingi’s annoyance, the fae from earlier that were making comments are the ones that surround him.

“So, what brings you to town, General?” The one with muted butterfly wings on his back asks. He was the one who commented on convincing Mingi to have some fun with you.

Mingi takes another sip of his drink. “Hunt.”

“Oh, so that’s why you’re with that human.” Another hums, small horns protruding from the top of his head. His skin has a slight green hue to it, and Mingi recalls the way he spoke about giving you a mark of his own. “Mustn’t have put up much of a fight, eh?”

A scowl mars Mingi’s brow, but he hides it behind the rim of his glass, downing the rest of its contents in a single shot.

“Surprised she’s not torn to shreds.” Another hums, leaning casually against the edge of the bar. He’s a bit shorter than the other two, but Mingi notes the way he bounces his one hand in the air, almost impatiently. “Or are you saving that for later?”

“Oh, you sly general, you,” the one with the horns nudges Mingi’s shoulder. “Lure the human into a false sense of security, then tear her asunder when she least expects it!”

The three fae share a laugh, fangs glinting beneath the light as their lips curl deviously in mirth.

“I thought I told you to not concern yourself with business that is not your own.” Mingi replies gruffly, slamming his now empty glass back on top of the counter.

“It’s not our fault you brought an unclaimed human into our midst.” The one leaning against the counter titters.

“Really, you should share some of the fun with the rest of us,” the winged one laughs, flicking his eyebrows in a suggestive matter.

“And what would your town’s overseer say if he could hear you now?” Mingi turns his sharp gaze towards the two fae on his right side.

If there’s one thing that Mingi can’t fault the pain in the ass for, it’s that he maintains good control over those that follow him. At least, those that reside in this town.

“Seonghwa’s not here.” The fae with the horns hums. “What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.”

Mingi’s jaw twitches. These fae have clearly done this multiple times with humans before, and gotten away with it despite Seonghwa’s rule not to touch any that enter the village under his watch. Though, with that specificity, Mingi isn’t that surprised.

“Come on, General,” the one with the wings taunts. “Think of how satisfying her shrieks of terror will be.”

A flash of you scrambling away from him in terror flashes through his mind, your desperate cries ringing through his ears.

“Humans are such weak, pathetic creatures, anyways.” The one leaning on the counter rolls his eyes as Mingi stands to his feet. “It’ll probably be the only action she ever sees in her life with how ugly she is. She’ll probably be thanking us by the end of it for make her feel desirable.”

An image, soft and pure, of you tenderly gazing down at that wilting stem of spider lilies flits through his mind, and Mingi tenses. A blink, and the once peaceful scene shifts, blood splattered over your face as tears cut fresh tracks through the dirt and grime smeared over your cheeks.

“Don’t you want to feel the warmth of her blood spilling onto your hands as you bathe yourself in its crimson flow?” The fae with the horns grins maniacally. “Taste its bitter scent as it drips down your tongue?”

Mingi’s hands, which are currently clenched into fists at his sides, begin shaking.

“Come on, General,” the one that’s leaning against the bar continues, pushing himself forwards to lean into the silent redcap’s back. “Let us have our fun. We’ll take her off your hands.”

“Yeah,” The winged one smirks, eyes glinting in the light of the tavern. “Don’t you know human meat is a delicacy around here?”

“Let alone one so young, and fresh,” the horned one snickers, his grin widening as he licks his lips. “Oh, I can’t wait to tear into her-“

Blood splatters across the top of the bar, and every patron turns to see what the sudden commotion is about. Not a sound can be heard for several tense moments as realization settles over the entire room.

The horned fae can do nothing but open and close his jaw, blood spilling from his mouth as he stumbles away from the redcap across from him. Horror paints his features for a brief second before anger is taking over, watching as Mingi drops the now severed muscle in his hand, the horned fae’s tongue thudding against the floor.

“I warned you.”

Without another word, Mingi is storming outside the tavern to get some fresh air. The rest of the fae around him immediately part to let him pass, low whispers following him all the way outside. His hand clenches repeatedly, feeling disgusted by the wet warmth that covers his fingers.

Normally, Mingi would revel in the feeling. He loves the way blood coats his skin when he goes in for the kill, not to mention maiming something that annoys him. Sure, he has his morals, but that doesn’t mean he won’t put in the effort when the time calls for it.

Mingi doesn’t quite exactly know why he reacted the way he did. He put up with his men boasting about wanting to do much worse to you while back in the encampment. Yet, how three unknown fae could rile him up so easily only makes the confusion and anger he’s feeling all the more prominent.

It’s only because you’re still technically on a hunt with him. You’re not home free just yet. At least, that’s what he tells himself. He has to make sure you both make it back unharmed, and that includes not letting other fae take advantage of you.

No other reason. 

None at all.

Taking a deep breath in, Mingi lets the crisp night air fill his lungs. He flicks his wrist, more blood splattering against the ground as he scowls down at his hand. His whole body is tense, and he’s surprised his teeth don’t crack from the force at which he clenches his jaw.

He should probably check on you soon. It’s been a long day, and all he wants to do is rest. No more dealing with this stupid shit for the moment. It’s time for him to turn his brain off.

Besides, he could use the downtime.

Heading back inside after about five more minutes, Mingi flexes his hand. The now dried blood cracks over his skin, and a feeling of unease settles inside his chest. The other three fae are nowhere to be seen, and at the way a few of the other patrons spare looks his way out of the corners of their eyes, he can tell something is off.

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

***

For half an hour, you do not move from your spot. 

Your ankle throbs as you curl up on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as best as you can. A familiar position, as you find your tears quickly depleting as your entire being goes numb.

Blankly, you stare at the opposite wall. You were this close to getting him to kill you, and you don’t know if you’re more upset at yourself or him for not seeing it through.

It’s not like you trusted him, nor do you necessarily trust him in general. However, faced with the same scenario you’ve played out so many times before, all you could see was that monster covered in blood, ready to strike you down once more.

There’s a bitterness that builds within your chest, but you don’t know if it’s at yourself, or the fae. You were so close to being done with all of this. Are you that horrible at committing to something, and seeing it through, that not even a fae wants to kill you? Are you that useless that you can’t even do that right?

Taking in a shaky breath, you finally push yourself up into a sitting position. Your whole body groans in protest, muscles aching due to the position you had been laying in on the cold, hard floor. Slowly, you pull yourself to your feet, mindful of the twinge in your right ankle as you hobble over to one of the side doors.

You’re pretty sure you saw a bathroom on the way in.

Time seems to pass languidly, and much too quickly all at once. By the time you pull yourself out of the tub, you have no idea if the redcap has returned or not. You didn’t hear his telltale footsteps stomping through the room, but you’ve learned that he can be quite light on his feet when he wants to be. Who knows how much time you have left to yourself, anyways.

As you’re drying off, you can faintly hear a commotion coming from the direction of the stairs. It seems as if one of the patrons has gotten too rowdy, for all seems to still a moment later.

You shake your head, wrapping the surprisingly fluffy towel around your plush body, and limping back into the main area of the room. The redcap is nowhere in sight, but there seems to be a fresh pile of clothes laid out on the bed. There’s even a clean set of undergarments for you, and as you look closer, you realize that it’s actually your old set. Upon a thorough inspection, they appear as if brand new, washed and dried to perfection.

Such a small gesture, whether through some form of magic, or something else, causes your heart to swell. It’s been a long time since you’ve had anything done for you like this, and to say it means a lot would be a tremendous understatement.

Feeling the material of your undergarments between your fingers, you let out a soft sigh through your nose. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you begin to change, managing to pull everything on quickly. There’s still a faint warmth clinging to the material of the clothes, as if they’ve been left out in the sun for too long, or have rested beside an open fire. It calms you, and breathing starts to become a little bit easier.

Standing from the bed, you can hear muffled voices begin shouting at each other from down the hallway. You figure them to be other patrons staying overnight, so you think nothing of it to walk towards the bathroom to hang your towel upon the back of the door. You’re sure you saw a little hook there before…

Just as you go to reenter the bathroom, the main door to the room swings open. You expect it to be the redcap returning from wherever it is that he went, but instead, what you see, or rather, whom, has you freezing right in your tracks.

Three unfamiliar fae stand before you. One has light green skin and horns, who seems to be bleeding from his mouth. Another has large wings, akin to a butterfly, with a neutral coloured pattern painted over them. The third is very human-like in appearance. He’s shorter than his two companions, with pointed ears, sharp teeth, and claws that adorn his features.

“Well, well, well, look what we have here.” The one with the wings steps forwards, a malicious grin tugging at his lips.

Naturally, you take a step backwards, your heart jumping into your throat. Your eyes dart between the three fae as they creep towards you, matching their pace with each step backwards you take. In the back of your mind, you begin to wonder if it was the redcap that gave them the key to unlock this room.

“Don’t act so coy, Doll,” the human-like fae drawls, his fangs prominent as he smiles wickedly at you. “We’re only here to have some fun. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Please, I don’t want any trouble,” you say weakly, lifting your hands before you slightly in a defensive position.

Boisterous laughter greets your ears as the door to the room swings shut behind them, sealing your fate. There’s no way the other fae is going to come back to save you now. You’re stuck, and this time, you really will die at the hands of three unfamiliar fae who look at you like an object they’re going to enjoy ripping apart.

“You should have thought of that before you waltzed in here without a claim, acting like you own the place,” the one with wings spits, and you can hear the green one gargle out something that sounds like a noise of agreement. Only, more blood escapes his mouth, and he ends up spitting it in your direction and onto the floor at your feet.

“You’re not going to look much different than that pile of blood once we’re done with you,” the human-like one says, a sick, twisted sense of glee lighting up his features.

“Until then, you live to serve us.” The butterfly winged fae adds sharply. “We’ll take all the pleasure we can from this pathetic body of yours, and after each round, you’re going to thank us for even bothering to touch you.”

You swallow the sudden dryness in your throat, skin prickling in disgust as bile builds in your chest. Your stomach drops, and before you can think, you spin on your heel, attempting to make a break out the window.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The human-like fae blocks your path, grabbing your wrists in his hands harshly and holding you in place.

“Let me go!” You begin to thrash around to no avail, tripping over your own feet as you get dragged back and towards the one bed.

“Oh, this one has some fight left in her,” the winged one snickers, leaning casually against the wall as he observes the scene. “Looks like that general was too easy on this one. Guess we’ll have to make up for lost time.”

“You should be thanking us for even looking at a disgusting creature such as yourself.” The one that had dragged you towards the bed throws you upon it, wasting no time in pinning you down upon the mattress.

Your protests and pleas to stop fall on deaf ears. In fact, the more you struggle, the more it seems to delight the three fae closing in around you. Thrashing beneath his harsh hold only earns you a knee to the stomach, and you cry out in pain. 

Tears leak out of the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as you feel hands groping you all over as the fae above you keeps you captive beneath him. This scene is all to familiar to you, and just as with all those times before, no one is coming to your rescue. 

No matter how loudly you scream, no matter how much you beg, struggle, and cry, no one will care.

The only certainty that now awaits you is death.

“Stop struggling,” the fae above you hisses, his one hand pinning your wrists above your head as he adds more pressure to the knee digging into your stomach. “Shut up, and take it like pathetic human you are.”

The moment you see the fae reach a clawed hand towards your shirt, you stop breathing. 

It feels as if time stops. One moment the fae is above you, pinning you down unforgivingly. The next, he’s gone, the pressure on both your wrists and stomach completely having disappeared.

A sickening crunch echoes throughout the room, followed by an immediate scream of pain.

A blur moves through the room, and suddenly, you see a wing get tossed towards the window, followed shortly by another. The tearing sounds resonate through the room, followed almost immediately by muffled screams and pleas for mercy.

Only one figure remains within view, and as he uncurls himself into a standing position, his full height looms over the entire room. His towering form fills the space around you, and as you lay upon the bed, you feel as if you can breathe again. Never have you been so grateful to see that terrifying redcap standing across from you, but still you cannot prevent your body from shaking.

“All this for a fucking human.” A voice from the ground spits harshly.

Looking down, you see the green fae cowering in the corner, and the one with the once beautiful butterfly wings laying face down on his stomach. His back is completely torn asunder, blood coating the entire area as his wings lie in torn heaps upon the ground.

“You’re going to break code just for a stupid mortal?” The same fae hisses, pure anger on his features as he trembles beneath the redcap’s piercing gaze.

“You can’t kill us.” The one human-like fae by the window laughs. He seems to be holding his hands before himself, fingers severely deformed and sticking out in odd angles. Bones peek through his flesh, and blood coats every inch of his hands, but that does not prevent the way his whole body trembles as the redcap takes a menacing step towards him.

“You’re not dead yet, are you?” The general spits, gaze sharp as he pointedly looks between all three fae cowering around the room.

Frantically, they shake their heads.

“That’s what I thought.” He snaps, lips pulled over his fangs in a snarl. “I doubt any of you want to chance a duel against me given the state you’re all in. Not that’d you’d survive, even at full strength.”

Again, the three fae shake their head. Though this time, scowls adorn their features.

“Now,” the redcap’s eyes flash, a low snarl permeating the air. “Get out of my sight before I rid you all of yours.”

All three fae scramble for the door, the human-like one managing to trip over his own feet and land harshly on his broken hands. A sharp cry escapes him, and the horned fae ends up having to pull the other to his feet, soon supporting both broken fae as they tumble out of the room.

You can hear the redcap muttering under his breath, leaning down to pick something up from the floor. Not even a second later, and he’s crushed what appears to be a second ward key in his hand, tossing it over his shoulder without another thought.

He turns to you.

There you lie, stiff as a board on top of the one mattress. The other bed lays untouched to your side, but all you can do is stare with wide eyes at the redcap before you. Your gaze darts over the blood splattered on his skin, the red dotting his clothing in random patterns.

Your lungs burn, and your eyes sting. Yet, still, you do not move. No words escape you, not trusting your voice for the moment as you wait for him to move.

He takes a cautious step forward, but you fail to see the way his gaze softens as he does.

A whimper escapes you, another tear sliding from the corner of your cheek.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he lifts his hands, palms facing upwards to show you he means you no harm. “Breathe.”

Oh, yeah. You should probably fill your lungs with air. No wonder your chest is burning.

A stuttering gasp escapes you as you heave a large breath into your lungs. However, the second you do, a harsh sob escapes you. Immediately, you’re scrambling back on the bed, a hand clutching over your stomach where that fae dug his knee into you. Your wrists throb, more tears blurring your vision as the redcap takes another step towards you.

“Stay away.” The plea is but a desperate whisper upon your lips, chin trembling as you attempt to curl in on yourself.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Still, he keeps his hands in the air, palms facing towards you. “You have my word.”

Your gaze catches on the blood staining his clothes, smeared over his skin, and you shake your head.

For a moment, you swear you watch his brow furrow, only for realization to line his features. He straightens, doing his best to move in the least threatening manner possible.

“Stay here.” His voice is low, an edge of worry lining his command.

Before you can even react, the fae disappears into the bathroom. You can hear the sound of water, followed by some frantic scrubbing. Then, more water trickling along with the movement inside the bathroom.

The whole time you sit on the bed, your gaze is locked on the little opening where the main door to the room and the door to the bathroom reside. You can faintly hear things being shuffled around you, and you swear you catch something dart across the room out of the corner of your eye. It’s small, and quick, but when you shift your head to look, all that greets you is empty space.

An empty room devoid of any of the mess you just witnessed stain it.

The blood splatters are gone, along with the tattered remains of the one fae’s wings. There’s even a fresh set of clothing at the end of your bed by your feet, completely identical to the ones you’re currently wearing.

You swallow thickly.

Turning your head, you begin to look around the room once more. Your eyes search for one thing in particular, and you find it resting beside you on the bedside table. It’s almost as if it had been placed delicately beside you after someone had realized the horrifying events that have just taken place.

The red spider lilies are crushed, the stem broken in two. The flower that means so much to you has been tread upon like it’s nothing, reflecting exactly how you feel in this moment. Only a few petals remain, wilted and dead, clinging to the plant for dear life in a final attempts to maintain what once was pure.

Slowly, you reach over and take the dying stem into your trembling grip.

A choked sob escapes you, and you’re quick to slap a hand over your mouth. Your eyes squeeze shut. The hand you have holding the flower also clutches at your throbbing stomach as your whole body shakes with the weight of your situation.

What you’ve been through - what you’re going through - you cannot take it anymore.

The hand that caresses the top of your head is soft, but the unexpected touch still makes you nearly jump out of your skin. Pain lingers in your gaze as you turn to see the redcap staring at you with an unreadable expression on his face.

No, not unreadable. You just cannot accept that someone is actually looking at you in concern, rather than pity for once.

He pulls his hand away, hesitant in the way he leans the slightest bit over the bed that you’re curled up on. His normally looming figure doesn’t seem so intimidating all of a sudden, almost as if his features have softened beneath the faint glow of the moon.

You watch him carefully, observing his every movement with a wary glint to your gaze. He saved you. He protected you, and you don’t know if that scares you more than if he had sent those other three fae after you like you had originally thought. His actions confuse you, and more than anything, you’re tired. 

Exhaustion doesn’t even come close to the immense fatigue you feel. You’re tired of the life you were given. Tired of the life you’ve been forced into. Tired of living.

Honestly, you don’t know what to do anymore. It seems accepting your fate isn’t going exactly as you thought it would, nor is it as easy as it seems.

“Are you hurt?” Though he keeps his voice soft, the sudden timbre cutting through the silence of the room still makes you jump.

You shake your head, hand tightening around that broken flower over your stomach.

His eyes glance the movement, and his expression falls slightly.

“I only wish to make sure you’re okay.” Again, he keeps his voice soft, tone steady as he meets your gaze.

You bite your lower lip, attempting to keep it from wobbling as a single sob wracks your entire body. Then another, and then another, until you’re breaking down before his very eyes.

Tears stream down your face as you continue to muffle your sobs behind your one hand. Your eyes squeeze shut, simply wishing to disappear in this very moment. You wish you had never been born, where nothing but servitude, injustice, and hell rule your life with an iron grip.

From the very first memories you can recall, someone has always been using you. Whether it be your parents, friends, or other family members, you’ve always lived to serve. No one has ever cared for you, and no one has ever fought for you.

It all feels like one big joke. A lie concocted by the monster stalking you through your every waking nightmare, ready to jump out and laugh at you for even thinking anyone could ever care for you.

Yet, despite the darkness swirling within, a light begins to peek through.

Softly, the bed dips as the fae rests a knee on the mattress. His hand strokes gently over your head, tentatively pulling you into his arms as he settles himself against the headboard.

“Shh, it’s okay,” his voice is calm, soothing. “I’ve got you.”

He holds you against his chest, cradling your head in the palm of his hand. He’s hesitant as he comforts you, making sure his arms are loose enough to allow you to pull away if need be. Only, you do not shy from his touch, instead finding it oddly satisfying that he of all creatures chose to comfort you.

Most important of all, you let him.

“I won’t let anything else harm you,” he says softly. “Not while I’m here to protect you.”

His one hand strokes lightly over your back, and though a shiver caresses your spine at the first touch, you find yourself melting into the warmth of his embrace. It’s soothing, and everything you’ve always needed but have never gotten in your entire life. A safety that shouldn’t be as welcoming as it is.

His body is firm and lean against your own. A solid foundation which holds you steady as you cling onto the fabric of his now clean shirt with your one hand. Your sobs are muffled into his chest, your sadness being absorbed into the material adorning his skin as he cradles you to him.

After some time, you feel his one hand shift downwards, placing itself over your own on top of your stomach. The warmth that you can feel radiating from his skin is welcomed, and it helps to ease the ache you feel lingering within. Softly, he begins to hum, his chest vibrating with the gentle sounds as he continues to cradle your head to his chest using his opposite hand.

The steady sound of his heart pulses beneath your ear, and the constant sound soothes you even further. You don’t realize it, but you curl in closer into him, breathing finally evening out as you start to calm down.

“Why did you-“ You swallow the dryness in your throat, sniffling lightly. “Why did you do that?”

Though your voice is barely above a whisper, you know he still hears you loud and clear.

“I… don’t know,” his brow furrows slightly, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “My body just moved.”

You say nothing in response, unsure of how to reply to such an admission. You know that he cannot lie, but that doesn’t mean he cannot stretch the truth. Really, you shouldn’t be letting yourself be coddled by him, it’ll only make it hurt more when he betrays you in the end. At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

You are so used to disappointment, of having false hope, that anything you believe to be too good to be true always is. Tomorrow you’ll wake up, and he’ll be back to despising your existence, only finding value in what you can do for him.

The same as it always was. The same as it always will be.

[enaelyork]

Could I request a prewar!cooper Howard x fem!actress!reader where he finds out a producer has been making her sleep with him under the threat of cooper losing his jobs! 💓

Hi you !

Thx you so much for this amazing ask. So, here we are, hope you enjoy it.

I resign [PreWar! Cooper x F! Reader]

Ask for Cooper Howard is OPEN

TW: Alcohol, sexual abuse, violence.

Words : 1.9 k

- What's going on between you and him?

- Nothing at all.

You had swallowed your entire drink. You needed that, and a lot more alcohol, to drown out the shameful lie you had just told Cooper. It wasn't your intention to lie to him, but you had no choice.

- Are you sure ? Because he hasn't stopped looking at you since we both talked.

- He is afraid that you will corrupt his main actress…

The word had lightened the atmosphere, just a few seconds which allowed you to glance at Oscar Sullivan. The producer of your last film with whom you were forced to make this sordid agreement. You're due for another chance at Cooper Howard's career. It must be said that since his divorce, things have gone rather badly for him. A long absence from film sets and his image tainted by a marital breakdown earned him several refusals. So, when you applied for this new film together, you were delighted to learn that he had been chosen to play the lead alongside you.

But it was not without consequences.

It wasn't without Oscar's hands on your body, his mouth on yours and the consummation of your contract right at his desk. You thought that your charms would be enough, that once he had a taste of it, things would have improved for you as well as for Coop.

Big mistake.

The suspicion with which Cooper looked at you brought a blush to your cheeks. You put it down to drunkenness – the only way to escape from this situation – but it was an illusion.

It's difficult to admit to your friend that Oscar was waiting for you to join him in his hotel room after this reception, and that it was in your interest not to decline his offer. The features of his face calmed. As if despite his suspicions, he still managed to trust you. This semblance of carefreeness in him soothed you. He soothed you, probably more than he should. But Cooper had always been special to you, long before his divorce from Barbs, and he had brought out things in you that you had buried for a long time.

- You're worrying for nothing. Oscar is lovely to us, isn't he?

He hesitated before answering something much too nuanced for you. Cooper had noticed the way the producer treated you once on set. The way he devoured you with his eyes and took pleasure in making you shoot scenes in scantily clad clothes. The subject had already been brought up more than once, but you always managed to find a valid excuse, especially through the scenario.

- I assure you that everything is fine. But I'm going to go to bed. The champagne is really going to my head and we're back to work bright and early tomorrow.

Without you having time to react, Cooper's lips rested on your forehead and his scent of musk and wood spice spread into your nostrils. The intoxication he provoked in you made you dizzy and in that moment, when your eyes met his, you wanted to confess everything to him. That he was right. That you sleep with Oscar for him, so that he can finally relaunch his career. That in bed with this guy, you thought of him.

That you feel dirty. But nothing came except this awful sad smile which definitely cast doubt on your situation.

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

- He kissed you.

Oscar’s grip on your hips had tightened the moment he came to join you on the threshold of his bedroom door.

- Just a kiss on the forehead, nothing important.

- You really love him, then? Me who thought you only had eyes for me. Maybe I should take it away from you to remind you who you belong to, beauty.

- Of course not. You get ideas. It's only you who matters.

You kissed him, closing your eyes, trying to take your soul out of your body and put it on autopilot. He smelled of whiskey and cold tobacco, a smell the opposite of the one that still haunted you. Once the door closed, you didn't see the shadow watching you further down the hotel corridor and all the consequences that would follow.

----------

Cooper didn't even speak to you the next day.

Yet you had tried to approach him. Asking him if his night went well, if his text made him feel comfortable or if he needed anything. As the day went on, it became apparent to you that he was avoiding you a lot.

Then his eyes met yours and that look broke your heart definitly.

There was darkness in his hazel eyes, a darkness that seemed to slowly absorb him and painfully compress your soul. The day had been a constant torture searching for any sign of peace between the two of you, but nothing. The nothingness and sadness he sent back to you were unbearable. Then, the end of the day turned into a nightmare.

He had been drinking.

More than he should have done at the workplace, but you knew Cooper had that tendency ever since Barbs left with Janey. His life had become so disjointed that he no longer had any defenses to confront his ghosts. How could he believe in himself when the one he loved had decided to let him go too?

- Cooper, you need to go back to your dressing room now.

- And why this ?

He wasn't drunk, just enough to remove all inhibition from his mouth and turn his sweetness into venom. The look of contempt he gave you gave you chills. You waited until he left to take him to task and reason with his self-destructive attitude.

- Because your career is at stake, dammit! You didn't do all this to screw everything up.

- Are you the one who screws everything up? Do you want me to go back to my dressing room and play the whore producer?

You brought your hands to your mouth. Trying to understand how he could have known about this situation.

- Yeah. I saw you last night, sweatheart. It's not very nice to lie, especially to end up with this guy.

You were unable to answer him, frozen, petrified by the nastiness of his words. Outside rang out the bursts of laughter of a team satisfied with their long day of work. But there, in this locker room, chaos reigned between you and him.

- How can you do that? With him ? You're not a failed actress though. And…What the hell are you doing?

You were crying.

There were no other possible options. The sobs could no longer stay where you imprisoned them. It had been there for too long. It built up every time Oscar touched you, penetrated you and whispered vile words to you. But now, when Cooper was behaving exactly like a bastard, you could no longer remain impassive.

-He obliges me.

You realized in that moment that your back was pressed against a wall and that Cooper's body was so close to his that you could smell the delicious smell of mint and cold beer emanating from his breath. His hand hovered above his head, not as a threat but as a shield, protecting you from an unbearable world.

-When...When I signed my contract, he told me it was just one time. Once to allow you to be here.

He didn't say anything. Not a word.

A baleful silence disturbed by his slow breathing.

-I thought it would end there. But he told me that if I refused to continue, then he would terminate your contract. And I can't accept that. This role is with you or with no one.

Your breathing was labored, but you didn’t care because it was now obvious that you were going to die of a broken heart.

-I'm not a slut. I…He disgusts me, but I want the best for you, I want you to come back to the forefront, I want you…

Not another word came out of your mouth.

His lips rested on your forehead.

Tenderly. Impassively.

His finger had slid down your cheek, picking up the tear that fell on your skin before leaving, dragging you with him onto the tray with a firm but tender grip.

- Aaah, here they are, our heroes! Oscar was quick to jump out of his producer's seat when he saw you two rushing in together. Then, his enthusiasm faded at the sight of your eyes reddened with tears.

- What's going on, baby? Did Cooper hurt you? Do you want to talk about it together in…

He didn't finish his sentence.

His collar grabbed by Cooper's firm hands, pushing him back so violently that he knocked over his chair. - What the hell are you doing, you…

- I'm not a nice guy. Your friend began in a dark voice. So I'll tell you one thing. If you're looking for an actor to play good guys, you can find another one. I resign.

It had happened.

He had just said it exactly. Some members of the team tried to separate them, but you remained completely impassive, lost.

-And now that you can tear up my contract, you'll tear up hers too. He said, pointing at you with a jerk of his chin. If I find out that you're touching her again, that you're still trying to fuck her without her agreeing, I...

- She agreed, this little sl…

The fist that smashed his jaw flew without warning. Oscar found himself on the ground, disoriented by the shock of the impact. - Never talk about her like that, understand? He moved away from him, not without giving him a threatening look. Looking for his pack of cigarettes in the pocket of his jeans.

- Burn our contracts and explain to all your fans why you won't have your main actors to finish your job.

Shit. It was incredibly sexy to hear him defend you like that. You were shaking nervously, but it was terribly exhilarating to see him beat the shit out of that poor guy. When he grabs your hand, your eyes meet again and you understand that nothing will ever be the same between you again.

- Come on, Sweatheart. I'll take you to the police station. You have a complaint to file against this bastard.

[uyuartik]

bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader) part iii

tags: angst, fluff, arguments, period typical misogyny (of course not from obi wan), just overall wealthy pricks being little shits, the trope of THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, but not really, do you believe in second chances (i don't) (💀), little smut compared to the rest because originally there was no smut in this (but i HAD TO use that idea), REPOST because i fucked up in the first place

a/n: welcome back for the finale!

well, i can't think of anything to say except this has been a blast for me, and i'm so happy that there are those who enjoys this madness as much as i do. hope you like the ending too. thank you all!

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can’t wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

part one | part two | part three | ao3

enjoy!!!

word count: 8.3K

chapter three: fuck it it's fine!

You don’t board that ship. A slight sickness you excuse, then spend your days sulking at home, still covered by the expanse of your lies. It is not totally untrue, though. You did really wake up with a swollen throat, and that put the integrity of your health during the journey at risk, thus with great grief, canceled the plans. Nobody knew that you’d not even mention the symptom on any other day, just requesting some honey tea and hardly noticing it disappear in the morrow. And it exactly worked out as predicted, more so, without leaving its discomfort for remorse. But after that, the hours stretched out each day, like you were living in a different plane where you were not welcomed. Perhaps you actually weren’t, for if you followed your fate, you’d be eating different foods, and walking foreign corridors. In an attempt to run away from that feeling, you try to socialize just a little, attending even the most dull tea parties. Also, your preference of company has to be specialized now, and that proves difficult sometimes.

So, that’s exactly why you indeed sulk at home, even though all your efforts.

But not tonight. 

Then again, perhaps you should've.

His presence has nothing to do with it, to be perfectly clear. On the contrary, he makes it a little endurable. The forced small talk and empty eyes you once feared dearly are not the case, even after your last encounter. Of course, there's a little awkwardness, an uncertainty about where the line of intimacy now stands, shadows of anger and disappointment still darkening the atmosphere, but the overall sensation comes down to longing. You both lost a great friendship, cast it aside in a blink, but your souls don't accept this new arrangement that quickly, trying to fall into the familiar rhythm once more each time you feel your walls break. You don't allow it, neither does he. Yet, it is about the only thing that turns this night into a not complete waste of time. Even a pleasant one, you'd dare say. 

If it weren't for literally everything else except this.

The hushed little uninformed jokes start during the dinner. It is the lord of the house that says them, to his close circle, barely hanging onto etiquette he had glimpses of. As minutes tick and glasses of wine roll, that glimpse is gone, and even in your seat at the end of the table, you hear him clearly. The pressed lips and masked mimics pretending not to be aware of it soon become apparent on every face, excluding you and Lord Kenobi. You glower the first time another of the guests feels confident enough to make his dirty contribution to the subject. Typical, you try to stay calm, tapping your fingers on the table. The world is filled with the likes of him, and the last thing they deserve is your attention. The reflex doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and he sends a sympathetic smile, showing that you’re not alone and accepting this invitation was a most regretful choice. He uses a few retorts to close the deal, let the dinner continue in different matters- or in silence, that would be fantastic indeed, but his smart wit and slight intimidation work only for a couple of minutes. Now it’s your turn to reflect that sad smile, and you do.

The sadness doesn’t come from the circumstances around you all, though. Your heart feels heavy, for not trying better ways to handle that morning. That guilt will haunt you, drag you into the gloomy pit you’ve been in, and maybe, you should stay there for some time, a penance for your mistakes.  

After dinner, when the ladies and gentlemen huddle around different interests, you get a chance to cool off. The soft peals of laughter and giggles fill the room, a much more pleasant sound than the roar of men. You get to entertain others with your stories of other cities you’ve been to, and they tell their interesting incidents, and make fun of their husbands, people who deserve, as their commotion spills out of the walls. The topic of their conversation, marriage, diffuses out into your circle in such a way, that once again, you’re restraining yourself, trying to listen to the problems one of the ladies is complaining of, and not to hear the crude comments going on on the other side. You’re stopped from rushing out of your armchair simply out of respect you have for the woman speaking when you pick up your name passing in their remarks. Plus, Kenobi’s words, you don’t flatter me by offending the lady, reach every ear in the room, sharper than a knife. Your cheeks burn with anger, then with gratitude, and at last, out of embarrassment, because how are you going to explain he’s just doing an honorable thing, that it’s his character to defy ill minds when he sees one, and this has little to do with his “pursuit” of you? Your breaths are shallow and quick as you focus on the discourse, and dodge every attempt to pull the subject towards your relations.

Though, the snake doesn’t give up on eating, even his own tail, it seems.

In less than half an hour, a joke about abduction is whispered, and you surge from your armchair, the screeching sound echoing. You murmur what resembles to be an excuse (you’re still deciding whether they are worthy of one), and send one glaring gaze at the group, enough to make one flinch, and walk out.

Out of the entire house.

Lucky for you, this is a night in which you carpooled with another guest, meaning you only have your own feet to carry you away in this pouring rain.

But of course, that’s not enough to deter you.

You take big steps, enforced by your fury. Thus, the house leaves your sight in no time, but not their audacity, still ringing in your ears. Implications about your freedom. Complaints of wive-hood. Humor about how perfectly reasonable is to get rich, by kidnapping a young woman… (Honestly, after all that, you don’t have mercy for them of the panic they might experience when they realize their guest is not refreshing in another room, and have left the estate altogether. Alas, that guest is you.) You string curses at them, the only form of thinking you have in regard, and feel the bulk of emotions resonate with every stomp, even spilling out of your tear ducts. Your dampening body, and the length of the road don’t make it any easier, feeding your frustration. Your only anchor is your self worth, the reason you began this path in the first place, and you desperately hope it will turn the tide in a while.

Though now, the picture you paint with those foul words and wet clothes isn’t exactly the brightest.

It is still among these moods, that Obi Wan catches up to you. You’re not exactly surprised to see him, his carriage closing the twenty minute distance you put between yourself and that damned house with a speed that you think can’t be that good for the horses in the long run. They stop abruptly at your side, and you have all those insults readied if it turns out to be that fucked up man or polite declines if it is indeed Obi Wan. 

But, you can’t speak them. The world feels like it freezes, the raindrops slowing down, and carrying away your burdens as they fall to the soil. The small door opens, and Obi Wan rushes out of it, with an expression that is so honest and raw. His fright vanishes at the sight of you, that scared gaze dissolving, eyebrows relaxing… You can actually see his lips move, Thank God. He is totally undisturbed by the downpour, already making his strands stick to his forehead. His hands find yours, and pull you close, almost like an embrace. You look into his eyes, how focused they are on you, as if they could burn you from the inside with their intensity. You have an undeniable urge to kiss him right now, and that has nothing to do with lust, but your wish to undo the last couple of weeks, uphold that strong connection once the two you had. Of course, you don’t, you can’t, thus, you let him lead you inside, and continue towards whatever destination.

Funny, how you feel much calmer doing the thing you thought you wouldn’t. Moreso, you have no woes about it either.

The silence is deafening, but nobody dares to open their mouth, the greatness of the storm of emotions you both are having too heavy on your tongues. He puts his less soggy jacket around your shoulders, you welcome it with a nod. That’s the moment you realize the redness on his knuckles. It’s not hard to guess the scene, and that has your head turned to the floor, processing the entire night. It is also at this moment that you become aware of your fresh tears, still sliding over your cheeks. Even if he notices them, he doesn’t do a thing about it, an indifference you’re grateful for. He just looks out of the window, and contemplates, same as you.

===

The tub filled with hot water doesn’t make you any wetter, but it helps with the temperature. You’re sorry that you exhausted the owners of the inn you had to stay in, (for it was getting impossible to travel in that rain) with this request, but a voice tells you that Obi Wan wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re unbelievably silent as he sorts it all out, staying in your bubble, unintentionally playing the part of the damsel in distress. You listen to his list of requests, for the horses, for three rooms (the best reserved for the lady, he insists), a tub to be prepared for you, and some tea-

“No need.” Your voice is weak, but it is clear. He would’ve protested this answer, but it is the first time you’ve talked after leaving the house, how ironic, and the realization sets deep in both of you. After that, you feel the words pile up on your tongue, but in a blink, you find yourself in a room. Alone.

“So sorry, I thought they gave me this room.” He stands at the door, holding it half open, face turned in the opposite direction.

“Obi Wan.” His gaze hesitantly finds your way again. God, he’s about to kill you with that blues… “Can we talk for a second?”

You name yourself a hypocrite for asking that, in this state, but you can’t breathe with all that untold things if you spend another second without explaining yourself to him, and apologize for all the trouble you’ve caused. And, isn’t this already proof of the trust you have for him, how vulnerable you can be in his presence?

And, there’s nothing he’s not seen before, after all.

He gingerly closes the door, locking it in a swift motion, and makes his way to you. You pull yourself together, and reach for his hand for him to help you out.

“No, stay. Your fingers are still cold.”

You can’t hide the small smile forming on your face as you settle back, careful to keep most of your body underwater. He, ever noble, keeps his eyes straight on your face, which somehow doesn’t help. There’s something about his rolled-up sleeves, the matching three-piece suit down to two for the damp jacket sits behind the chair in your back against the fireplace. His hair is drying up in all defiant shapes, and you have to stop imagining that morning he woke up next to you.

“I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. I- I never intended to cause this big of a mess, and make someone clean up after me. Certainly, not you, of all people. You shouldn’t have tired yourself this much, and I’m sorry for it.”

“You can’t expect me to do nothing.” The sentence begs for a dear to be added in the end, and he has to fight his throat to silence himself. Instead, there’s a kind tug at the corners of his lips.

“You’re right.” You nod. “But the truth is, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I needed to get out, I just couldn’t sit there pretend I didn’t hear all those nasty comments.”

His fist clenches at the reminder, and you once again spot the bruises settling in on his knuckles, filling with the desire to mention them, but you inevitably decide not to. “That asshole-“

”He was obnoxious since the first hour, and loud, but that doesn't scare me, for thus he has proven himself to be just a foul mouthed man. But, that title started not to cover the extent of it- it was too much and I couldn’t take it anymore. You may say it was obvious from the start, but I tried my best to not evolve this into a thing I would regret afterward. And I succeeded.”

“So you don't even regret ever setting foot in that house?”

A tinge of disgust seizes your face, but only for a moment. Even with all those words echoing in your ear, you don't have hatred in your heart, or any remorse. You're not so quite sure about its reason, nor do you wish to be, avoiding all analysis. Like you don't know the basics already. But the sudden change in your expression tells everything. “I don’t think I can ever regret it. At least, not in its entirety.” You say, hugging your knees and lowering your head. Hot steam no longer hits your skin, you realize in your attempts of distraction.

There's a second of silence in the room, despite the thunderstorm raging outside. You are as cold as in the beginning because of it, and you almost contemplate how good of an idea this conversation was, especially under these circumstances.

“I’d say the same.” Obi Wan speaks, and that's when goosebumps rise on your skin. Your eyes meet his, then flutter away quickly, overwhelmed. Does he mean-

Why is him meaning that any different than yours, huh? Why is it any worse when he says it?

“You should get out of there.” He reaches for a towel, and you shyly stand up, turning your back and pressing your arms around yourself. Nothing he hasn't seen before, right? As the coarse fabric is draped around your shoulders, you can’t help but feel afire, the imprint of his hand around your shoulders for a second lingering way more than it should, creating a tingling sensation.

“Thank you.”

“Well, I must return to my room now.” He folds his hands together, like trying to preserve where they’ve touched, and his eyes still stay respectfully up, causing your heart to lose its rhythm. There has never been a scenario that involved nakedness without… sexual intentions, and clearly, it’s not even crossing your minds right now. Your awareness of it takes up all the space in your mind, tosses every other idea out, and leaves you at the mercy of your soul.

“Obi Wan.” Fuck, the way you call his name, it is bound to weaken him every time. “Can you-” Oh, haven't you demanded enough from him? “I- I would like it if you stayed.”

His mouth hangs open for a second, with a subtle sharp inhale. His fingers tighten around each other, then relax all together, hanging free by his side. “Of course.” For all the words that come to his lips, it’s a most simple answer.

Not that you have any complaints.

You’re filled with another kind of thrill, being this open with your wishes, but having no clue whether they’ll take the night, having no clue where you want the night to go, or how to act in this very moment, half covered.  You just know that you prefer him, being in the same chamber as you. You’d prefer to listen to his idle talk or slow breaths, than the silence of the room. You’d prefer him to snore in your bed than to picture him in his own, lying awake. (Because let’s face it, it’d take a while for him to surrender to sleep, if left to his own devices.)

He takes a step towards the armchair, unbuttoning his vest and you come back to your senses, stepping out of the tub in the opposite direction, towards the nightgown the innkeeper gracefully lent to you. It’s slightly large for your body, definitely not tailored for someone close to your size, but if Obi Wan ever heard you commenting on the fact, he’d wholeheartedly claim you still looked like an angel. Since you don’t, he doesn’t too, but it’s obvious in the way he takes in your form, a battle of excess fabric against your movements. He has to bury a groan when your sleeve falls down your shoulder, a simple accident. He knows that shouldn’t have been seen by him, or you didn’t do it on purpose, that tonight is not meant for those activities, and it shouldn’t get him so bothered up, but it fucking does. Does it also make him want to slap himself? Yes.

Walking near the fireplace, you wring the excess water from your hair and run your fingers through the strands before rubbing that towel aggressively, for the fact that it is already soggy enough, and is not gonna do much. You despise sleeping with wet hair, it is an invitation for you to get sick, not to mention that you’ll be sharing the bed, leaving frustrating streaks of wetness on the sheets for them.

“Hey, hey, let me help you.” Is he a little bit scared? The answer is another yes. But he’s not gonna stand there and watch you fight with your hair. He takes the fabric, locating the most usable spots, and slowly massages your strands with them. Objectively, it’s not a lot different in terms of overall results, but it does more than that anyway. Despite the forbidden intimacy, despite the question of “How is he so good at it?”, you’re lulled by the constant movements, the tension in your muscles easing off. He keeps you by the fire longer than you would’ve stayed, and that achievement belongs solely to him. Frankly, he too is not sure how long the two of you could stand like that, or put an end to it. All that matters is that your hair is pleasantly damp, less bothersome, and he did that.

To be honest, with each minute he is in your presence; the task of holding onto his manners, respecting his broken heart, and following your lead is getting harder to manage.

“Thank you.” You murmur, eyelids barely held open, and he feels like a juggler, suddenly losing his sense of balance, and dropping one of his props.

“You’re welcome.” Perhaps he was the one to thank, for the pleasure. That’s the second prop, falling down.

Still, it’s obvious how that sentence misses a darling thrown out after it.

You climb the bed, and he follows suit. You both favor the edges of the mattress, and there’s a ridiculous distance between both of your bodies, but you’re both too timid to use it, even at the risk of tumbling down.

Only after the urge to find a better position kicks in that you move, and end up just a little closer, face turned to his side.

He’s already turned to you, eyes closed but definitely not trying to sleep, or relax if nothing. He opens them of course, after you rustled the sheets that hard.

“What if I get sick tomorrow?” Admittedly, that’s a silly question, but the scenario occupies your mind. All the elemental factors are present, and you only have a formal dress on your back. Also, the fact that it would be all your fault, yet you are the one to complain? You hate yourself for saying it out loud.

“Then we would stay ‘til you got better.” His point-of-fact words, softened with his bedtime voice, must be annoying. Must be. It is not. It is the raw truth, straight from his core. You won’t disrespect it, (again). “I would take care of you.”

(Doesn’t he, always?)

 A shiver runs down your spine.

(He’d name this place heaven, if it allowed you two to stay together a little longer.)

“Obi Wan.” Whispering, trying your best to break that ugly silence, not to crush under the weight of his words, but more importantly to let him know your truths, the alignment of your soul. “I- I never told you how much I appreciated you. Now just today, but especially today.”

He’s trying so hard not to sound rude, or leave you unanswered, but none of them are good enough. Thankfully, you are not expecting one. Your fingers ghost over his knuckles, afraid to hurt him. he’s not even sure you’re doing that, ‘til you hunch over, and press a small kiss over them.

That’s all the acknowledgment he needs, ever. It wasn’t becoming of a gentleman, obviously, but the situation didn’t require gentleman-cy, too. He has no recollection of how his fist ended up in that man’s eye, except for the exact second it happened, feeling his shirt slide from his other hand as the impact sizzled through his bones, and sent the man to the floor. He found himself in the middle of saying God knows what- he still doesn’t have a single clue, and thinks about the possibility of how they’ll resonate, ‘til it reaches his ears once again.

Though, he has no fear regarding that, or the altercation before it. Nor regret.

“I am honored that our names are spoken together, a testament of our likeness.”

The third prop.

It falls, most obviously, but he doesn’t show it. Not under these circumstances. No matter how you try to avoid the subject of love, or a future, he’s burning for it, burning for you. In that moment, it is settled that it’ll always be that way, forever. You’re absolutely crushing his heart, and maybe even crush yours in the process (for which reasons, he’s never sure), regardless of your intentions pointing otherwise, because he knows you’re pushing through your struggles to speak up, select the appropriate expressions, to honor your past. He’s touched by your effort, as well as your words, oh, your words… This is the only compliment he’ll ever accept, and it’s not even meant to be a compliment. Your voice is already etched into his brain, and there will not go a single day he’s not reminiscing about it.

Thus, with such strong emotions, his every muscle twitched with the desire to pull you closer, wrap his arm around your waist, card his fingers through your cool hair as your lips meet. He wants to kiss you slowly, savor your taste and caress your tongue with his, for the sole purpose of being close to you. You, throwing one leg over him… You, falling asleep in his arms as he gets to bathe in your enchanting scent… The feeling of your warm breath against his neck as you take refuge in there… He’s surprised he doesn’t have to chain himself not to act on any of these images.

(Oh, it very much feels like he has done that anyway)

Yet, it is probably the worst night to do so. It has all been too much, and all this on top of that is a recipe for disaster. A disaster he’s been struck with nonetheless, though, perhaps he can spare you from.

When it comes to you, he has always put his heart before his mind, (but never disregarding the latter part. It is the essential element to keep both of you safe, to never compromise your social statuses, to create the optimum atmosphere for your relationship to flourish (by your own unusual standards)). For the first time, he’s not following that code. Even he can’t imagine the consequences if he doesn’t.

You’re glad that nothing has changed. No response from him, no action. His relaxed expression tells you enough; the calmness of his eyes, his slow breaths and the slight curve of his lips… To be honest, you’re relieved to see your words reach their destination but also set with the urge to prove them. To press down your mouth on his, from which you hope for an answer; to hold his hand without causing any discomfort, or simply hug him for a second, eliminating all space between your bodies like your souls.

Alas, the role of the hypocrite is a part you no longer wish to play, and you’re perfectly willing to hurt yourself by not succumbing to your wishes, and refrain him from further confusion.

“Good night, Obi Wan.” You say, fingers grazing over his for the last time, and curl yourself into a ball.

“Good night, my dearest.”

 ===

The morning is unlike the previous example.

You wake up to him getting up, so there’s no way for you to know if your bodies drifted closer during the night, but considering the position of your arm, extended way beyond the middle, it is quite possible to assume some physical contact was present.

Considering you two are not facing each other, thus acknowledgment of the situation is not a matter, your embarrassment is half of what it should be.

Though, your cheeks burn brighter each second you can’t peel your eyes off of him, filling up the rest of that cup. Watching him walk around, the movement of each chiseled muscle on his back as he puts his shirt and trousers on quickly highlights another impropriety. He is perfection, even in that drowsy state of the human condition, there’s harmony to his every motion, the slow steps he takes, the way the fabric glides against his skin, the subtle fine arrangements of his fingers to make sure it looks decent, even how he breathes causes him to blend into the room, but also bedazzle it in his grace, make him stand out like a crown jewel, a masterpiece of arts that name the place.

You can only stop your ogling once he leans in and stirs the flames, which were already going strong since they were last fed before you went to sleep- wait, that doesn’t seem possible, did he actually sever his sleep to tend to it?

Is there any other explanation you need?

Your heart may flutter out of your chest after this realization, so you skirt out of the blankets. Of course, the sound draws his attention, and you’re caught, forced to react.

Yet, the unstoppable smile forming on his lips inspires a similar response on yours so easily, so naturally that you don’t feel obligated at all. On the quite contrary, that simple mimic banishes any pretense, showering you with reassurance and bravery, the motivation to act on your own true terms, not society’s or the ones you pressured onto yourself.

“Good morning.” The simultaneous greeting pulls a giggle from both of you, and it is all so small, yet so much. You sway away from his direction, casually reaching for your clothes, hoping he doesn’t notice the tremor of your legs when you shed the nightwear and put the chemise on. Because you know, he’s watching you. Divine justice, perhaps.

“Be careful, Obi Wan, I might start to think you enjoy watching me get dressed too much.” The snarky comment, fighting its way out of your mouth further softens the atmosphere, and it is like the first days of spring after a harsh winter, soothing your souls with relief.

“Guilty as charged.”

You shake your head, consumed by his usual forward banter. A scene taken straight out of your past. You shimmy into your dress instead of coming up with a cleverer response.

“You don’t sound sick.” He says, indicating that he’s been paying attention. 

Biting your lip, you turn away. “Actually…”

“Is there something wrong?” He ends up right beside you in a blink, as if the world changed by your unfinished sentence. 

Your heart picks up a different rhythm, hands raised in position to tie your ribbon but frozen. “It’s nothing, my throat just feels-”

“Do you want me to call a doctor?”

That was the exact reason why you started with it’s nothing. Alas… “No, it’s probably just my overthinking and coming up with strange sensations.” And if not, it depends on how well you spend tonight, so there’s not much room for intervention. Definitely not in medical terms.

“Pity.” His comment makes you scoff. After that, you can’t reward him with your concerns, can you? It is funny, ugh.

“Let me help.” 

Your heart can’t get any rest as the tension simply changes garbs, his fingers trailing over yours and leading a 180° turn, leaving a blazing line along your skin, to tie the ends of your ribbon together. Your arms tentatively fall to your sides, not sure what to do with their freedom. His breaths lick your neck while he attentively, slowly smooths his creation, and you’d probably freak out if you weren’t so focused on the sheer range of his skills.

(Also the mystery of how he comes to acquire it, but it’s only the deep, dark parts of your mind speaking. Moreover, you do not pride yourself in a position to be jealous. You absolutely are, on that tiny level, and no, you’ll never admit it.)

Though, you’re not gonna comment on that, not when your heart threatens to fly out of its cage. The sacredness of the action brings back the echoes of your concerns, not a single one strong enough to overtake you, but the cacophony of them loud enough to occupy the entirety of your capacity.

All that talk of past times… Coupled with a little hesitancy, and how the tables turn…

“T- thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Like he just didn’t flip the dynamic, he carries on with his outfit, tying his cravat. His beautiful hands work expertly, effortlessly, and the result is perfect, even without a mirror, eyes on you the entire time.

“Is it looking fine?”

“Yes.” You meekly answer. It is decent, like he always is. Somehow witnessing that feels as sensual as the previous scene, pulling you further down the whirlpool.

Embarrassed enough already, you busy yourself with your hair, accepting the mess that it is, and decide on a simple bun, as much as possible. The practiced moves bring you some sense of calmness and control, even if the result isn’t perfect. The silence helps too, along with his occupancy of tidying up the room.

“Do you want to have some breakfast?” He asks. God, how does he still sound that cheery?

“No, thank you.” You don’t want to keep your father worrying any longer, and it’s not like you’re going to faint. The memory of your last food in the most unpleasant company is still strong enough to expel any thought of hunger.

That answer may be the clearest thought you’ve ever had this morning, yet it is the one that whispers doubt into his heart. You are silent, turned away from him, and far too engrossed in whatever unnecessary thing you’re doing. Because now, he fears that if the two of you leave this room, this building, all your lives in it will be a part of the history, never to be repeated or worse, mentioned again, lost in the torn pages. The joke about residing here for however long- seems awfully bitter, perfectly demonstrating he’d rather hold on to the possibility than put an end to this.

How could that be love?

Perhaps you were right, accusing him of madness.

That’s the only reason he walks out of the room to prepare the carriages, instead of cocooning the both of you in.

===

“Father!” You wrap your arms around him, who’s standing by the main entrance to your estate, waiting anxiously. He does the same, unaffected by the eyes that watch, the staff, and a mere acquaintance, Lord Kenobi.

Now Obi Wan knows who you got your bravery from.

He stands quietly, hands folded in front of him, not sure what to do but damn sure not to leave. He had plenty of time to think about his madness on the road, and decided it was not anything pathological- it was pure love and desperation for you. Isn’t that the nature of most of your meet-ups? Consoling each other in the positively dreadful situations, and utilizing everything to spend a second more together?

He hears you reassuring him of your well-being, and summarize the thing in pretty understated phrases. Even that makes him stutter over his words in a fit of rage. Obi Wan agrees. You distract him by speaking of the help you’ve gotten from a valiant friend, and that’s how he enters the conversation.

“Good morning, Sir.”

How he keeps it all cool, sharing and shaping his anger, silencing any doubt that may arise in him is a surprise, though he’s called a great negotiator for a reason, right? His work in various cases in court has earned him the title. He’s not overtly a fan of flaunting it. Though, it helps him a great deal in this instance.

At least, enough to have a pleasant exchange in these unpleasant circumstances, and secure permission to talk to you again.

Alone.

It is weird enough as it is already, you and him spending the night at some inn, him casually chatting with your father like his clothes haven’t benefitted from the merits of ironing, not to mention his hair being on the wild side after a slight treatment of rain, and now he is requesting your attention? Not only yours, but your father’s too in extent?

His plans have never been so crystal clear.

“No.” You declare your objection so clearly, in one word as the door closes behind him, giving you the privacy of the room. “No, no, no, no.”

“I haven’t even opened my mouth!” He objects, though it is more of a principal thing, than an actual defense. He knows you’ve worked it all out already. God, could he expect anything less from you? Your watery eyes and trembling hands break his heart into a million pieces, reactions so strong even before he has a chance to utter their cause. He caresses his beard, reevaluating if he should continue-

He can’t live with the consequences if he dares not. He can’t live with what-ifs, or not knowing the reason why you are so repulsed by the idea or would you still feel the same, if he told you about his love for you. Of course, that would require some magic, considering the magnitude and intricacy of it. How is he supposed to put the purest feelings he’s ever had to mere words, the origin of the butterflies caged up in his chest, the wires of his brain getting tangled up whenever you’re not around, and the constant intoxication from the strongest liquor he’s ever consumed? He’d rather die than sober up, and a part of him already recognizes that it’s not a possibility. It is his poison and antidote. There’s not a moment that passes without either of them.

And surely, he has no complaints about it. Never will. It is a brave choice, but what’s braver is this moment.

“No.” You repeat, hands clasped together to stop them from shaking. Your voice is low albeit steady, as much as it can be.

Because you do not lift your eyes to meet him. “You can’t propose to me, because I can’t refuse it. But I will. Then the whole country will wonder what is so wrong with you, and me, and they will talk about it all the time, for years to come. The whispers will be the first thing that you hear in every room you enter, and you’ll see the mischievous glint in the eyes of every person you meet, them scrutinizing whether those rumors are true. Our reputations will be tarnished forever, and we will hate each other for it.” And you can’t stand that.

You don’t sound like this is the first time you’re putting these words together. In all your distressed state, you sound awfully logical in your own way, so focused on one improbable, insane possibility (damn those reputations, he can never hate you), but devising every little detail.

“Why?” He basically hollers, running a hand through his hair. Why does that potential is the one you envision? “Why can’t you marry me?”

One can only dream that someone outside isn’t listening.

“Because- I don’t know!” You take a desperate step closer, showing him your honesty. You truly can’t quite name your aversions, and isn’t that already enough of a reason to stay away, spare the person you’re facing?  “I don’t know how to be a wife! And I am scared. All my life I alienated myself from the idea of a marriage, I methodically dismissed every chance claiming it wasn’t the time, all the way ‘til I would say it was too late. I was content with that idea. Because I love- loved my life the way it is; I get more than I need from my father, and that is to remain unchanged when my brother takes over, and I am free as a bird, unbound by society’s expectations, traveling wherever, wherever and trying new things. I was, I am so happy about it that anything that may alter it I shun from immediately. And now I find myself in a place I never imagined, and I am scared. I don’t know what happens now. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know what that future looks like for us.”

He moves towards you, his head tilted sideways in understanding, arms reaching for yours. Finally, finally hearing your justifications, the basis of your attitude, fills him with pride and compassion, and most importantly, gives him an opportunity to help you solve those problems, together. But, you hush him, squeezing his wrists in gentle guidance, with tears streaking across your cheeks. “I just know that I love you. I love you so much that my heart will always feel like a weight in my chest when I’m not with you, like a ship sinking, but never reaching the bottom. And I will continue to love you even if you stop loving me back, but I would rather lose you on my terms than by the burdens a marriage brings.”  

“Why do you so believe that a mere contract would change my feelings? Do you think my affections for you are that fragile?”

You frantically shake your head, causing the drops to fall faster. “No, I’m not saying that-“

“Then what?” He snaps, though not because he’s angry. He wants to learn every single reason that’s keeping you away.

“You don’t know what that will do to us.”

“No, I don’t! And I don’t care! It will never change my feelings.” This, he can shout freely. This is the simplest truth for all his remaining days on this earth.

You don’t know that, you want to object. “Obi Wan…” Is the response that comes out of your mouth. “I am not a good bride.”

“No.”There’s acceptance in his tone, a punch to your guts. “You’re the love of life, my companion, my everything.” When he pulls you even closer, and cups your cheeks, you let him. “Haven’t we been through all the struggles a couple could share already? Haven’t I seen all of you, and let you see all of me? Haven’t you claimed my entire soul, and occupied my every single thought? You made me break my rules, and painted a picture I never thought was suited for me- and I came to like that picture very much. In fact, it’s all I ever want my future to look like, with you in it. You, exactly in the way you already are, with all your unsusceptibility to the norms and striking habits. I know that can be scary. I am afraid too. But, anything worth doing starts like this, I know it. And we’ll be the biggest idiots in the world if we let our fear rule us.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, the joyful sound making his breath hitch. It is reflected on his face too, and it is something you’ll hold on to, alongside the tears that begin to form on his eyes. Fortunately, they sit there, despite him kneeling in front of you, his fingers never leaving the bend of your arm, only to follow the route they create, and hold onto both of your hands. “Please, marry me.”

You’re convinced, but your tongue is still tied, so you nod. Your entire upper body shakes with the gesture in seconds, making you look like an overexcited child, on the verge of losing their balance with the restlessness of their legs. You barely feel him kissing your knuckles before he stands up and embraces you, stabilizing both of you in both physical and emotional terms. Let’s be real, if he kissed you instead as he desperately wished to, you’d fall on the floor (and continue there- ‘til somebody discovered the two of you in very indecent terms). His chuckles quickly become your favorite song, you feel blessed as they delight your ears, and make your chest vibrate like his. He revels in the newfound proximity, despite the fact that you’ve been much, much closer in the past. This is new. This is raw love, uncombined with other emotions, strengthened by the absolute truth that you two are meant for each other, and with the promise of you’ll do something about it. He holds you ‘til your sense of balance is restored, for he now has urgent matters he has to attend to. He’ll get to hold you forever soon, and that revelation doesn’t change the herculean feat of letting you go now. He can’t help but wipe the streaks of wetness on your face, though it forms again. He solely doesn’t repeat himself because of the widest grin on your lips. You press yourself to his palm, eyelids closing for a moment, then place a small peck on it.

 “I- I’m now gonna go and talk to your father, get the papers right- and find a-” oh, that’s not “a”, he is going to require many others even if he keeps everything minimal, “I’ll be back in three, fuck, four hours, okay?”

“What? No!” You exclaim, almost giving him a heart attack.

“What’s wrong?” His fingers tighten, a slight tremble taking over them. You have to smile to get him to relax once again, and raise your eyebrows wittily, as if he is a fool for not imagining it already, reminding him of your nature.

“I’m only doing this once. I want everything to be right.”

He squints his eyes, grasping your chin. There’s a few seconds of silence, the time it takes for his nerves to settle. When it does, you’re struck by the intensity of his blue irises, the condensed calm before the storm. “So you want to stay as my fiance ‘til the next season starts, in eight months, succumbing to waiting as we get no freedom to ourselves, always in the center stage, enjoying the last of our bachelor states, the lonely nights and beds bigger than you can ever occupy.”

His other hand, wandering across your waist tells you exactly what he implies. While you actually weren’t planning on such a thing, it causes a surge of rush to overtake you, burning you from the inside. Pursing your lips as you free your face from his grip, with a contradicting shaky breath, you say. “I was always fond of winter weddings…”

To this, he laughs, echoing in the room, and you join him.

One can only hope whoever outside listens to this too, this moment of pure joy preserved in one more mind.

 === 

 “I couldn’t be happier to be married to you.” Obi Wan whispers, but the sentence is loud and clear to you, etched into where he takes nest in the crook of your neck, hot breaths burning your skin.

“We’re still not- ngh“ Yes, this is supposed to be the rehearsal, the night before the main event. You two should be at the reception downstairs, among your many relatives and friends and other members of the society, all gathered for tomorrow morning, when these words of yours will be invalid.

Of course, you are further making a hypocrite of yourself by the way you hold onto him, legs wrapped around his waist, arms locked around his shoulders as he burrows his cock into you. It was impossible to wait any further, as you were separated by the whole ordeal of preparations and the watchful eyes. The moment you found a clearing, you two slipped away, cue to now, where your back on the wall as he supports you against it. You didn’t even get one meter away from the door, you could basically reach the knob with a simple extension of your elbow, but in the end, who cares? Who cares when he fills you so deliciously, scratching the itch that has been building for some time, peppering you with all the love in his heart?

Still, your sentence is cut abruptly as he drives his hips faster, rougher- very much an act of pedantry, advising not to get lost in the details. It works, the correction dies on your tongue, though a quite loud moan takes its place. His hand flies to cover your mouth, and your eyes pop open, meeting his. The pressure of his palm against your face almost forces another sound out of you. Fuck, you adore those blue storms, even when they are focused elsewhere, turned to the door as if it can see past behind it, scanning for intruders. You do actually whimper when the danger dissolves, the vibrations running among his bones, and he keeps up his pace, hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

However, it is getting harder in terms of balance as he now has one hand to stabilize you, and despite your best efforts, it is quite hard not to slide off of the smooth fabric of his clothes. Remorsefully, you push on his shoulders, and he understands, pulling his cock out of you and burying his mouth on your skin. He stifles a sob in there, the frustration getting the best of him.

“Oh, you definitely had too much wine.” Look at who’s talking, you with those wobbly legs and bitten lips…

“No, I just had too little of you.”

Your heart flaps its wings out of your chest, as it does after his every cheesy compliment. You still cannot figure out how he makes you blush harder with those words, even as he ravages you in the meantime.

You reach for a kiss, it is always a good idea. He hums contently at the touch, grateful at the most basic form of contact. Obi Wan rocks against you unintentionally, and that’s how the unsatiated desire wages war, with desperate groans and roaming hands.

Then, his fingers tighten around your waist, and you find yourself supported against the vanity with your open palms, depositing most of your weight there (thank God, because you couldn’t trust your feet much longer). He pulls your hips back to his. Your back arches in a way that is most complementary to his chest, and fuck, it is a vision.

It literally is.

Fluttering your eyes open for only a second (that was your intention at least), you’re struck down with the image of the two of you in the mirror, faces contorted in the prettiest way that is possible in this dirty position, heavy lids and open mouths, fingertips whitened by the strong grasp you have on each other, the matching colors of your outfits…

Yes, even with that detail, you’re still on his side, agreeing you’d be idiots if you weren’t doing this.

Deciding to take the sight from its direct source, you turn your head to the side a little, looking at the adonis of a man you’ll soon call your husband, with his neatly trimmed beard and prominent cheekbones and long eyelashes you are slightly jealous of and so much more…

He meets your gaze, breathless with similar thoughts, that little tug on the corner of his mouth telling you all you need to know, but then he nudges your face to its previous state by a small clasp of your chin, and you’re watching him through the reflection, leaning forward when he starts to fumble with your skirt once again.

The moan that leaves you is totally incapable of being unobscured as he enters you anew. The change in the angle along with the visual stimulation has you teetering on the edge quite easily, like him, but he denies it, maintaining slow movements and choking out any noise that dares to leave him.

Of course, all is impeded when the door is knocked-

“Occupied!”

“Occupied!”

Your voices are synchronized, high and tight. The clock stops for a moment for your bodies, as if the stationary status makes it any less scandalous, and both of you fixated on the doorknob.

It never turns. Never.

Still, the dilated pupils remain a little longer, joined over the mirror, with big puffs of breath and shaking hands.

“Do you think they-“ There’s not an exact word that you can find to explain what has just occurred, but the sentiment is clear.

“Probably.” And the answer too is just as clear.

Well, the only thing lost is the trivial achievement of never being discovered before the wedding.

A wedding which is hours away.

So, you push back, wiggling your hips. His unrestricted sound is all you need to regain your spirits back, and you do it once more. Just like that, the wheels are turning. 

“You realize there’s a bed behind us, right?” He asks as he slowly thrusts into you.

“Yes, but I like the view better here.” 

[theautisticwriter]

The Owl House characters being paired with you for a school project

Characters- Luz Noceda, Amity Blight, Willow Park, Gus Porter, Hunter, Young! Edalyn Clawthorne, Young! Raine Whispers

Show- The Owl House

Genre- romantic, crushes 

Summary- you are paired with the owl house characters for a school project

Warnings- reader gets referred to as "pretty", usage of the word "hell", usage of the acronym "wtf", that's it I think??

Word count- 1.7k+

Extra notes- these are headcannons

———————————————————

✧Luz Noceda✧-

✰ when she found out she was partnered with you for the school project she ran home and dived onto her bed

✰ screamed into her pillow like there was no tomorrow

✰legs flailing and everything

✰ part of her was dreading working with you incase she did something wrong

✰ and the other part of her was swooning at the idea of spending more time with you

✰ eda was giving the worst advice ever like holy-

✰king declared himself the 'king of wingmen' and decided to help Luz in her flustered state

✰Luz asked around the school what your favourite food was so she could have it ready for when you came round

✰hooty was banished from speaking to you

✰poor fella

✰gave you a house tour and rambled on about all the intricate details due to her nerves

✰she got that neurodivergent swag

✰could not sit still the whole time you two were studying

✰was very interested in the topic but would bounce on the bed whilst you read out loud to her

✰king kept appearing in the room to try and wingman

✰was kicked out before he could make significant damage

✰lots of blushing and awkward giggles

✰you told her she was smart and she just broke

✰was fumbling over her words so bad

✰"haha yeah- thank you, you're uh, pretty too- PRETTY SMART- pretty smart too..!" bless her soul omg

✰eda did in fact make your favourite food and it warmed your heart that Luz put in so much effort to make you feel comfortable whilst you were there

✰eda was spying on you both to make sure you were suitable enough for Luz

✰she approves

✰all in all you two barely passed bc you both either got distracted or were interrupted by the other residents of the owl house

✰definitely got closer to each other though and you both are excited for the next school project

☾Amity Blight☾-

✰she was so ready for this

✰school was her thing, and doing something school related, with you?? she was thrilled

✰planned the entire evening so you both would have time to study, complete the project, eat and engage in conversation

✰wouldn't mind doing the project at her house, but would much prefer doing it at yours

✰if you both went to her house she would grab your hand (bold move, her heart was racing) and literally run to her room to avoid contact with her family

✰could not avoid her siblings however, as they were waiting in her room for you two

✰they teased the two of you like crazy

✰amity literally tackled them out of her room and barricaded the door

✰rough start, but we perceiver

✰you two 100% passed with top marks because our girl was not letting you fail on her watch

✰got briefly distracted as she thought about maybe asking you out for future study dates

✰she tried to ninja her way down the stairs to with you to get some food and take it back up to her room but her dad caught you both

✰just nodded at you in acknowledgment and instructed that you both didn't stray from the task you'd been given from your teachers

✰ate in her room and talked for a good while

✰she had conversation starters on little flash cards

✰"so, y/n, what is your favourite subject?" listens so intently at your answer

✰gave you a kiss on the cheek as you left

✰10/10 would study with again

✰and that kiss sparked a blossoming relationship :)

✿Willow Park✿-

✰told her dads about her nervous she was about you coming round for the project

✰they were excellent hype men

✰when you entered her home it was a very welcoming atmosphere

✰she gave you a bouquet of your favourite flowers

✰"I got you some flowers, I hope you like them :)!"

✰you spoke to her dads for the first 15ish minutes

✰guided you to her room with a hand on the mid-section of your back

✰she gave you her comfiest pillow and blanket

✰put the flowers in a vase while you two studied

✰you both had a pretty good balance of working and having fun talking

✰definitely passed with at least a B+

✰once you both finished the project you laid down on her bed and you both just stared at each other as you spoke about whatever was on each others minds

✰her dads helped organise a future hangout between the two of you

✰gave you the biggest bear hug before you left, and gave you the vase and flowers

✰very wholesome experience, it went very well

☘︎Gus Porter☘︎-

✰had his fists clenched to his chest and a very wobbly straight lipped expression on his face when he found out

✰he was trying not to look flustered

✰very awkward organising process, but it was cute watching him move his hands around like an insane person as he forced words out of his mouth

✰was stood outside his front door waiting for you to arrive

✰opened the door for you and stood to the side as he gestured you in

✰a true gentlemen

✰his closet was bursting to open because he'd thrown all his human nicknacks into it beforehand so his room would look less messy

✰pulled your chair out for you at his desk

✰he's trying so hard to impress you it's so cute

✰info dumped about the subject and you were astonished at how much information he knew

✰he did a lot of research before you came over to appear smart

✰you two would get distracted a lot but always found your way back to the project

✰passed, and that's all that matters

✰checking every five minutes that you're comfortable

✰"are you sure you're comfortable? I can get you another pillow if you'd like!"

✰just an absolute sweetheart, when you left after giving him a hug goodbye he collapsed onto the floor and just melted into it

✰phoned Luz and Willow to tell them every little detail

✰squealed once or twice whilst talking about it

✰'twas a lovely experience, 10/10

乂Hunter乂-

✰had no idea what he was doing

✰look he's just getting into this whole 'school' thing, and now he has to work with you?? how will he prove himself a worthy suitor if he's in uncharted territory

✰literally barged into the owl house in full blown panic mode

✰Luz told him to just be himself, and gave some good advice about how study sessions and projects normally go

✰eda teased the hell out of him and he was RED

✰went round your house cause he's kinda homeless

✰was stood like this🧍‍♂️when you opened the door

✰forgot how to breathe a good few times

✰he was determined to impress you with his knowledge, and would literally beam whenever you slightly complimented him

✰after a while he got more comfortable and was able to have some good banter with you and ease up a bit

✰was still very aware of his movements and actions, but was able to calm the tension in his body down and speak more freely

✰you both did that cliche where you reached for the same pen and your hands collided in the middle

✰"ah-! I'm sorry, no, you take the pen, I didn't mean to invade your personal space like that or take your things." give him a hug wtf

✰his fingers felt all tingly afterwards

✰you reassured him that you didn't mind at all, and found his apology to be really sweet

✰you both passed!

✰as he left your house for the night he blurted out "we should do this again! soon!", nodded his head quite violently and then bolted

✰you guys did do it again and it was great :)

⁂Edalyn Clawthorne⁂-

✰this is the only time she actually did her work istg

✰was unbelievably nervous but did not let it show

✰when you arrived at her house she opened the door, put her elbow against the frame, put one leg in front of the other and smirked at you

✰she then lost her balance and fell but we don't talk about that

✰gave you a tour of her home, and you said hello to Lilith before going up to her room

✰was really struggling to focus but she tried so hard cause she didn't want you to fail because of her

✰if you have hair, she would end up randomly grabbing a bit of it and messing with it absentmindedly

✰or she would grab your poke you at random times and then smile at you when you looked up, denying that she ever poked you in the first place

✰a menace

✰used many pathetic pickup lines on you, with full confidence it would woo you

✰it did but that's a you problem

✰you both barely passed tbh, but she was chuffed with herself when she heard about your grade

✰asked you on a date at the end and you said yes

✰almost cried out of joy to Lilith when you left

♪Raine Whispers♪-

✰very calm and collected when they found out they were partnered with you

✰just very happy abt it

✰stares at you whilst you work out who's house you'll be going to and what time you'll get there with love in their eyes

✰very willing to just follow you around wherever you go

✰just like with willow you both find a good balance between work and fun

✰nods and smile whilst you ramble on about the project or your interests

✰plays you a little song at the end of the evening

✰they wrote it for you

✰you both passed!!

✰shows off their magic and the tips of their ears go pink if you compliment them about it

✰100% attempts to make you join the bard covern

✰you both hang out a lot more after that :)

[6ix9inewiturmom]

Broken Melodies (part 2)- Christopher Sturniolo

Summary: go read part one if you haven’t.. does Chris and Y/N meddle their broken relationship? Does he just forget about it?

Warnings: none that I know of

A/N: honestly I wasn’t gonna make this a part 2 but I had fun writing this!

Weeks passed, and Y/N found herself listening to Chris’ song every night. It became her lifeline, a bridge between the past and the future. Each time she pressed play, she felt his presence, a bittersweet reminder of their love and the battles they both faced.

Determined to heal, Y/N decided to channel her pain into her art. She took out her canvases and paints, and this time, each stroke felt purposeful, imbued with the emotions Chris’ song had stirred within her. She painted scenes from their happier times: a sunset walk on the beach, their laughter-filled dinners, the quiet moments when they simply held each other. The apartment slowly transformed from a graveyard of memories to a gallery of love and longing.

One evening, as Y/N was putting the finishing touches on a painting of Chris with his guitar, she heard her phone buzz. It was an email from an unknown sender, with the subject line: "A Chance to Reconnect." Curiosity piqued, she opened it.

"Dear Y/N,

I hope this message finds you well. My name is Olivia, and I'm Chris’ manager. He's been in a difficult place since your separation, but he's been trying to find his way back. Your forgiveness meant the world to him, and it's given him the strength to seek help. He wanted me to reach out to you because he has something important to share.

Chris will be performing an intimate concert next Saturday at the Blue Note. It's a small venue, and he specifically requested it to be personal and meaningful. He wants you to be there. If you're willing, please come. It would mean everything to him.

Best,

Olivia"

Y/N's heart pounded as she read the email. She wasn't sure if she was ready to face Chris, but she knew she had to try. She replied, accepting the invitation, and spent the next few days preparing herself emotionally.

The night of the concert arrived, and Y/N found herself standing outside the Blue Note, her heart racing. She took a deep breath and stepped inside. The venue was cozy, filled with a warm, intimate atmosphere. She spotted Olivia, who guided her to a reserved seat in the front row.

The lights dimmed, and the murmurs of the crowd hushed as Chris took the stage. He looked different, more grounded, yet his eyes still held that familiar depth of emotion. He spotted Y/N in the audience, and a flicker of relief passed over his face.

"Good evening, everyone," Chris began, his voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. "Tonight's set is a little different. These songs are a reflection of my journey, and there's someone very special here who inspired them. Y/N, this is for you."

He strummed his guitar, and the first notes of a new song filled the room. This one was different from the last—it was a song of hope and healing, of finding oneself amidst the chaos. As Chris sang, Y/N felt tears streaming down her face, but this time, they were tears of hope.

After the concert, Olivia escorted Y/N backstage. Christopher stood there, his eyes searching hers. "Y/N," he said softly, "thank you for coming. I know I hurt you, and I can never take that back. But I'm working on myself, and I want to be better—for you, for us."

Y/N stepped closer, her heart pounding. "I can see that, Chris. Your music... it helped me understand. I'm healing too, and I want to move forward, with or without you. But I do hope we can find our way back to each other."

Chris nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "One broken melody at a time?"

Y/N smiled, reaching out to take his hand. "One broken melody at a time."

In that moment, amidst the echoes of his haunting songs and the promise of new beginnings, Y/N and Chris found a spark of hope, ready to face whatever came next together.

A/N pt 2: AHH THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READINGGGG!!! I hope you guys enjoyed it and I hope you guys have a great night/morning/evening!! I love you as always

XOXO,

Gabs 💋

[childrenofcain-if]

C's backstory made me curious about V too. How were they both as kids? By the way, I love the concept of this IF and I'm so glad to have you back 🥳

C LACROIX

they were the type of child who kept to themselves, not because they didn’t want to engage with others, but because they had already learned that the world was a place where vulnerability was dangerous. during the period that their mother was back in seattle from new york, they’d be the happiest because it meant that their father wouldn’t be laying his hands on them.

after their mum would go back again, they tried to be hyper-aware of their surroundings, tiptoeing around their father and trying to avoid any behavior that might trigger his anger. this made them mature beyond their years, understanding the extremities of adult emotions long before they should have.

in school, C was a model student—polite, well-behaved, and studious—but always slightly aloof, as if there was a barrier between them and the other children. they saw others’ intellect as something beneath theirs, and therefore, found it useless to hold a conversation with them. this arrogant indifference was only broken when MC entered the picture in middle school and shook them to the core by being better than them in everything they’d taken pride in.

as far as friends went, C was part of the student council in high school and almost everyone there only sucked up to them because of their position and money. they never considered those people to be their friends anyway; D has been the only person they’ve bothered to call that in the past decade.

V NÆSHOLM

they were the kind of child who saw more than others did, perhaps noticing the things that others overlooked-patterns in the way people spoke, subtle shifts in the atmosphere of a room, or the unspoken whispers that haunted the orphanage. this heightened sense of perception made more isolated from their peers because they considered V a freak. this was further encouraged because the nuns would pick on them and call them “possessed” and whatnot for their hallucinations.

while other children were absorbed in games or toys, V would read the bible or other mystical texts that they bought through their woodworking money. from a young age, they were drawn to questions of existence, morality, and the nature of reality. vivid dreams, visions, or auditory experiences that confused and frightened them would be either dismissed as overactive imagination of a child, or be the reason they were subjected to countless ‘exorcisms.’

V believes the reason why they were adopted was because they kept praying to god about it, and that made them cling to christianity even more. friendships were difficult to maintain, not because V didn’t care about their peers, but because they found it hard to relate to the ordinary concerns of children their age after what they’ve already went through.

V was a source of both concern and frustration for their parents, but they never gave up on their child and tried their best to provide them with the help necessary. the diagnosis and medications have helped them a ton, let’s hope it stays that way 👀

[cyberl33ch]

Birthday Girl💋

summary: it's your birthday so you decide to go to the club not knowing the real true intentions behind your girlfriends behavior.

tw: SMUT MDNI, sort of weird ending idk..., a little angsty kinda

pairing: Douchebag!Ryujin x BirthdayGirl!Reader

You looked at the club atmosphere around you, scouring the crowd for your girlfriend of 2 years Ryu. Taking in what’s happening around you, seeing a big orgy in the corner and a couple sniffing something in the other, finally seeing her girlfriend and you guys’ group of friends at the other end of the bar already with their drinks. You make your way over to them perhaps stepping on a couple toes but who cares it was your birthday after all. In the wise words of Ryu “It’s your birthday baby you rule the world.” And when she said that you might’ve let it get to your head a little.

But besides that you greet Ryu first, “Hello my loyal subject.” she smiles at the comment referencing what she said earlier while kissing the back of your hand. “My royal highness” she responds, taking you by the waist and giving you a quick peck on the lips before you greet the others.

You greet Yeji, Lisa, and Yunjin with the usual squeals and tight hugs followed by the “It’s your birthday!”. Before you can even get a word out to your loyal subjects they’re already shoving drinks in your direction. Ryu said earlier it might be the girl's determined goal to get you completely black-out drunk on your birthday but, she really must have meant it definitely was their goal. And before you even can hit the dance floor you’ve already touched down on 2 shots.

That’s before you heard your favorite song (and Ryu’s might I add) start to play. Besides the fact that you two made complete eye contact when it started playing you dragged her onto the dance floor. When you guys arrived right in the middle of the dance floor despite her cute giggles from being practically dragged she had her long arms and slender fingers around your lower waist. You obviously dance with your eyes half shut, notice how she’s really soaking you in at this moment.

You’re interrupted from the moment when she says she’ll be right back and just disappears into the crowd so you just grab one of the girls and start dancing with them. You never realized that you never saw Ryu again that night if not at the bar and you were just utterly consumed by the amount of alcohol intake the girls were feeding you.

As the night is growing older and older, you grow drunker and drunker, your feet getting even more tired from the back and forth from dance floor to bar. every. single. time. All this with only one restroom break is lowkey taking a toll on you. You try to order water and realize you’ve hit the drunk pinpoint. However, you cannot be drunker than Lisa because she seems to be all over Yeji in a sort of lusty way which is very confusing because last time you checked she had a boyfriend.

You whisper into Ryu’s ear that you need a bathroom break. “Sure yeah we can go.” She responds, before words even spill out your mouth your face responds for you looking at her with a raised eyebrow. “We? I’m a big girl, no thanks!” You somehow slur out of your mouth. “But-…sure go ahead” She says nonchalantly…a little too nonchalantly Ryu would never let you walk in a place as crowded as this where you’re VERY prone to creeps. I don’t know if it was the alcohol in your system but you shrugged it off rather quickly which she definitely noticed considering her body language. “Fine.” is all you need to say after you turn your back and start to shift your way through the crowd to get to the restrooms.

You walk into the women's restroom and start splashing cold water on your face trying to get yourself to sober up at least a little bit. You reach to your side hoping to pull out your lipgloss when you realize you left your emergency makeup at home because a particular someone (Ryu) said they would work out everything tonight. You sigh and just try to spread the remaining lipgloss you have across your lips. But before you can even turn around to leave the restroom you're approached by a very attractive woman who is also very drunk. She does nothing but stare at you for what seems like centuries until the silence breaks. “Hi…” You stumble out awkwardly trying to break the silence. Unfortunately, before you can even learn what her voice sounds like she’s trying to force herself onto you?

You push shove past her and hurriedly make your way back to the table. Only to be welcomed warmly by the sight of Lisa sitting quite comfortably on Ryu’s lap. And to add the cherry on top you see Ryu rubbing her back very…lovingly. Being that the perfect sundae is complete you just decide to finish your night in bed not in Ryu’s for once. Ryujin, barely seeing you pass her at first, slips a couple dollars to the bartender and rushes after you leaving Lisa in her chair confused.

While walking and also trying to remember where you parked when you feel a firm but gentle grip on your forearm. “Where are you going mama?” You hear this voice and immediately know it's Ryu. You shake her off and keep walking “Don’t you have a friend to comfort?” You almost snicker, which Ryu definitely did not like. She grabs you firmer than before by your forearm turning you around so you can face her. “What’d you just say?” She peers into your eyes looking for a response. You almost gulp at the way she’s glaring down at you. “I said don’t you have a “friend” to comfort.” You say with a smirk making little quote signs with your fingers. Ryu almost drags you to your car and basically womanhandles you into the passenger seat, kind of against your will but also attractive?

The drive home wasn’t the awkward kind of silence, it was suspenseful, nowhere near empty just like before you get to the climax of a movie. You arrive at your condo surprisingly which throws you off guard and also throws you into overthinking. As Ryu turns the car off she looks at you spacing out and rubs the back of your neck which makes you jolt. “Why do you test me like you do?” She admits with an exhale. You just look at her with low hung eyes as the tiredness seems to be really hitting you.

She lets go of your neck stepping out the car to get you very much unlike the way she put you in the car. The walk up to your apartment was very silent and cold. You were going to say something but you realized she wasn’t holding onto you like she usually would. Unlocking your apartment and letting her in you close and lock the door. Ryu takes off her jacket and boots sitting down on the arm of the couch. (manspreading RAAAAH) “Ryu…” You almost mumble barely catching her attention. “Yes baby?” “Why are you being distant?” You immediately regret saying this so bluntly realizing that liquor was like truth serum for you. “Why are you?” And before you can even respond she pulls you by your thighs towards her lap making you straddle her. She takes you in a breathtaking kiss, her hands helping you remove your socks and her shirt. She carries you to the bedroom leaving a trail of clothes, leaving you two in your underwear. She sits you down on the edge of the bed, her in a kneeling position in front of you. She starts taking off your bra and my gosh did she love your boobs. Practically worships them so she starts leaving kisses and bites across them and your collarbone. Finally she gets to your arousal so of course you think she's going to take everything slow.

Your thoughts are once again interrupted by “Get on your knees” She practically demands You're stunned to be quite frank but not more stunned than when she grabs you and places you on your knees in front of her. “I don’t remember saying the Birthday Girl doesn’t have to listen.” You feel slightly intimidated by her saying this and she caught that in your eyes. “Stop actin’ like this isn’t what you wanted with that bratty attitude earlier.” She barks out like she’s informing you as if you weren’t there. She wastes no time stripping herself out of her boxers throwing them somewhere in the room leaving her full precum dripping length on display for you to gawk at.

However this time she didn’t let you stare for too long as she harshly grabbed your jaw, shoving her thick shaft into your mouth making you gasp. Which gives her even more room to shove herself deeper into you. “Yeah, take it like a good girl.” You hold onto her thighs and look up at her with tear filled eyes making her slightly cock her head to the side. “Well someones gotta fix that attitude baby.” She says rubbing your cheek slightly then moving her hands down to your neck. Considering the situation you're in you start licking the base of her cock. To which she grunts heavily throwing her head back in pleasure as she starts to fuck your face. “There ya go” She mindlessly mumbles out. As she starts to pick up the pace fucking your jaw like a dog in heat her thrusts become sloppy rather quickly. Followed by multiple grunts and praises you feel her cum sliding down your throat. She still keeps a hold of your jaw and pulls you up to stand and she takes you into another breathtaking kiss. You see her walk around the bed picking up her boxers which makes you raise your eyebrow.

“What are you doing?” You question “To go take care of my friend.” She says blankly before walking out of the bedroom.

my masterlist

[oneshotnewbie]

Hii hope you're doing ok?! Just wondering if you're gonna write a new chapter of the Rabbit Hole story? I've been dying to know the end 😁 your stories are amazing by the way ☺️

Authors note: You've waited too long for the next step in the story and here it is. It doesn't seem to be as exciting as the last chapters, but the storm is brewing. (Thanks for the compliments ♥)

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes the topic of life-threathing wouds and trauma. The plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

„Life-threathening knife wounds in the right kidney and stomach. That bastard almost killed you,“ Olivia mumbled quietly and with a broken voice to herself while sitting at your hospital bed. A dim light filtered through the curtains, gently illuminating the bare room. She sits there restlessly, with a book on her lap that she had long since forgotten. Her eyes are only focused on your pale body, smeared with tears as she held your hand tightly in hers and gently stroked your fingers. You laid there motionless with bandages and medical equipment all around you, your gentle breathing the only sign of life that came from you as your chest was moving up and down.

The normally tough detective breathed in and out slowly, trying to stay calm even though the room was filled with a tense atmosphere. "I wish I could go back in time, put a bullet between his eyes and prevent this nightmare," she whispered and felt sick instantly, her chest like there were a ton of rocks sitting on it to prevent her from breathing. You had barely survived, and she swallowed hard at the thought of losing you while gently stroking your arm, feeling the cold of your skin through the fabric of the hospital blanket.

Her fingers gently grasped your hand as she loses a quiet tear that slowly rolls down her cheek. "It feels like everything exploded in a second and I was not able to offer you any protection,“ her expression reflected concern and desperation as she listened to the beeping of the monitors in the background, the quiet whirring of the equipment filling the room with a calming rhythm. The brunette lowered her head as she tried to control her emotions, her thoughts seem caught in a jumble as she struggled to stay strong.

But her brain took her back to the previous day, where Olivia stormed into your apartment with the help of Elliot and the SWAT. As soon as her boots landed with a cracking sound on one of your carpets, soaked with shattered glass and blood, she felt the heaviness of her stomach press against her heart. The blood had stained the fibers of the once cream colored carpet and as she gradually pushed her way further into your apartment before your bound and motionless body appeared in front of the couch.

These images seared themselves into her mind, leaving wounds too large to bear. A small sob escaped Olivia and she removed her hand from yours to touch your forehead, as if she wanted to feel your temperature, hoping for some sign of improvement. But everything remains unchanged. "Please wake up. I miss your laughter. Your voice. Your presence. It is like a part of me is here in the hospital. I keep wondering if you can hear me. If you know I am here and that I fight for you because I love you" she straightened herself in her uncomfortable chair, sitting up straight and looking at you with a mixture of hope and despair as she confesses her love for you to your unconscious body for the very first time.

Olivia pressed her lips together to suppress another surge of emotions. The head of the Special Victims Unit looked exhausted, but her eyes showed determination and deep concern for you. She gently kissed the back of your hand to show you closeness. "I am scared, y/n. I am scared for you. I do not want to lose you. I can not stand the thought of a future without you so please fight. Fight for your life, for us." Leaning back once again, she wiped the tears from her face as she continues to hold your hand and stare into space, lost in thought. The brunettes gaze fell on the surroundings of the hospital room and lingered in the quiet calm.

The minutes passed slowly, with Olivia's gaze often returning to your facial features before she had to let go of you. Work called, she still had a lot to do to complete your case. After all, your ex-boyfriend escaped through a back door and got away. „I will be back tonight, sweetheart. Do not fool around while I am gone,“ she spoke softly with a slight smile on her lips and just as she was about to lean in and give you a gentle kiss on the forehead, a twitch stirred in her hand and she jumped back into the chair.

Pale and purple bruised skin touched her tentatively and her heart started to skip a few beats. Olivia´s heat lifted itself carefully along your arm, her sight landed on your open, red tainted eyes. With a gulp, she felt relief well up in her as a look of hope and joy crossed her face. „Liv,“ you mouthed with a gnarly voice, your vocal cords feeling like rusty chains struggling to get going. You were audibly under the influence of painkillers and heavy drugs. But what Olivia heard as flat in your voice was not medication. That was the sound of a person who had experienced so much suffering, that along with all the bones and organs in their body, the soul was broken at the core. In a thousand separate pieces. „I am here, y/n.“

„Is it over?“ you asked quietly, weakened and tired from the unspeakable pain you had to endure. The addressed lowered her gaze back to the covers, barely able to meet your begging eyes. Olivia could almost feel the storm brewing in our head when she did not answer that question firmly and clear within seconds. You seemed stunned to her and she was sure that it was a sign of the overwhelm that this unexpected news must have triggered. She shook her head almost visibly and silently.

„He tricked us. Henry got away from me,“ she shook her head almost invisibly to express her remorse. You turned pale, your right hand gripping your hospital gown nervously and your boss was afraid, you were disappointed in her. After all, she had made a promise that she could not hold. You blinked as if something had caught in your eye, but instead you tried to lure the tears, that were forming, back to their source. „Every cop in Manhattan is looking for him, he will not get far. We set up roadblocks and his face is on every news channel.“

„Henry always finds a way,“ there were wounds, which could never be seen on the body. They were deep inside, hurting harder than anything that could break or bleed. Olivia knew very well that these wounds were racing through your soul like a train at this given moment. "Next time our paths cross, I will be dead."

Before the older one could encourage you that she would not allow something like that to happen again and would protect you with all her potential, a gentle knock on your door tore you out of your conversation, followed by the sudden creak of a plastic chair, on which Olivia quickly turned around. Her hand already on the holster of her gun out of reflex and protection. You both glanced across the room in surprise, looking like caught lovers.

Elliot had carefully pushed open the door to the room, his steps slow on the shiny linoleum floor. There was a hint of fear on his face, mixed with the faint hope of improvement. "Hey, can I come in?" He asked, smiling happily when he saw you awake. He waited respectfully for an answer from you and slowly pulled a bouquet of flowers in front of his body, which he had recently kept secret behind the door. "Of course."

The bald-headed man hesitantly approached, his heart pounding violently in his chest. He had just come from your apartment, where the forensics were securing any evidence relevant to Henry's arrest, and immediately made his way to you after the team had left. "Are the flowers for me?" Olivia asked, trying to lighten the mood in the room, knowing your mind was still stuck on the past crime that was done to you. You tried to smile, trying to pull the blanket tighter to your body as a cold rush of air passed through the room. "No," he commented, looking at the visitor at the edge of the bed who had been his best friend for several years.

Olivia smiled, and she did it even more unsurely than you, which was probably because she did not know how to act. You could tell she wanted to get up and hug him. After all, he helped her save you, but she did not want to let go of the human's hand for which she had stood up in fear of death. "The flowers are for the lovely lady in this bed,"

He stayed close to you, talking to you about whatever stuff to distract you from your thoughts. Time seemed to stand still before the door opened once again and your doctor entered the room, followed by a nurse carrying a tray full of medication. "I am sorry, but you have to say goodbye now. There are still a few tests and follow-ups to be done," the doctor said calmly and in a familiar voice. Olivia wanted to resist leaving you, but Elliot took her hand and pulled her from her seat without saying a word. "We will take care of her, she can receive visitors later that day."

The brunette nodded in understanding, reluctantly leaving your presence. One last loving look was exchanged between her and you before she left the room, with a heart heavy with worry but with happiness for the return of your familiar soul.

[captainjamster]

hi i have a request Price gives stress relief to reader

if youre too busy thats fine

i absolutely read your username instead of price and started writing for graves until i realised, so uhhh... this idea but with phil coming at some point! also wasn't sure if you meant stress relief or stress relief, so this gets nsfw!!

thank u for the ask my little sunshine i hope you enjoy, i am never too busy for a request, especially not from a fellow graves lover <3

Pairing(s): Price x AFAB!reader (no gendered nicknames or pronouns) Warnings: NSFW, fingering, light dirty talk Wordcount: 2.2k Summary: Price gives you a hand winding down after a frustrating day at work, though mutual satisfaction is on his mind. AO3 Link: Right here <3

Full fic is under the cut <3

The pages rustle as John flickers through them, smoothing out with the tapping of your phone to create a peaceful, white noise. Yet despite the atmosphere, a heavy weight presses on your chest, brow furrowed and shoulders tight as you scroll through your apps. You can feel John's eyes on you, taking in your sullen form as you glare a hole into your screen.

"You're quiet, love."

John breaks the silence, looking down at his book again. You take a moment to compile a response, debating whether to delve into the frustrations of your week.

"Just a day, I guess."

He takes in the short, avoidant answer, thumbing the pages of his book. "Don't want to talk about it?"

"I don’t know. Not really."

John looks at you again, and this time, you turn to him too.

"Can I hold you?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. The moment your head inches forward, the book thuds onto his bedside table with a careless toss, immediately spreading his arms open. "C'mere, sweetheart."

You crawl into his lap, curling up and sinking into him. His arms wrap around you reflexively, bringing your head to rest against the bristle of his chest, the other arm rubbing up and down your back. He doesn't press the subject, just sets a steady pace to inhale and exhale with, rocking you softly with each breath.

After a few minutes, you initiate conversation yourself, mumbling against the skin of his sternum.

"So... Shit. Everything is so shit."

"Shit, love?"

You rub your cheek against his chest hair as you nod. "I hate people."

"Yeah?"

Drawing in a sharp breath, the feeling of burning frustration reignites in your lower stomach as you spill out an angry tirade. "God, I just want to tear their fucking heads off sometimes! I want one day, just one day, where I can speak my mind. I could ask them "oh, I'm sorry, is your fucking price wrong? Okay, now is it MY fault or YOUR fault that you didn't check the coupon was in date before you used it?" Maybe their fucking brains would start working if I didn’t have to just smile and say “yes customer, no customer! Whatever you want customer!” like the stupidest shit didn’t just come out their mouth!”

You turn, back pressed to his stomach as you gesture agitatedly. "I can't stand it! "Oh, oh! I dropped this jar and now it's cracked! Can I get it for free? Oh, my kid ate half of this apple, but he doesn't want it, so I'll just put it back on display! Let's berate this minimum-wage worker because the line was slightly long at midday, like they have any control over that!" Like, why do people become such monsters whenever they step foot into a store? My friend from that clothing shop down the street? She said someone tried to return a whole bag of dirty underwear, like what the fuck?"

Huffing, your jaw clenches tight as you cross your legs, flopping your head back against his shoulder dramatically.

"I'm sorry, baby." He murmurs lowly, running his hands up your arms, digging his thumbs into the tense flesh of your shoulder. "S'not fair, you deserve to be treated better than that, your friend too."

You soften into his arms, biting at the inside of your cheek. “I just wanna quit. Management sucks, everyone else working there is just as miserable. No wonder their turnover rate is so high.”

John’s hand drops down from your shoulder, running past your chest to rest against your midriff. "Always can, doll. Put in your two weeks, live off what I've got in the bank 'til y'find a better position. Y'know I'd let you never work a day in your life, if you'd let me."

His tone is gentle and passive, content in his reminder with your desire to keep financial independence and stay busy when he leaves for deployment. The room falls into silence again as you nestle into an arm, manoeuvring it to rest over your chest like a seatbelt and clip between your legs. His other arm rests along the length of your leg, and you feel him lean his weight back against the bed’s head as you continue thinking, playing with his arm hair absent-mindedly. John is content to let you fiddle away, his hand caught in the grip of your thighs comfortably, thumb traces little circles against the skin it rests between.

His body shifts underneath you after a few minutes of quiet, readjusting to move closer. You’re suddenly flush against him as he sits up, pulling you tighter against his soft, sturdy chest and pressing a kiss to the back of your head. The movement surprises a squeak out of you, squirming before a pressure against the crotch of your underwear stills you. Warm air brushes against your hair as John huffs in amusement, readjusting the hand cupped against your sex in an effort to tug you closer, intentionally positioning his hand to spread and fully cover your mound.

"John..."

He hums in response against your neck, lips pressed into the skin.

"Your hand."

"My hand, dove?" He pulls away, leaving one last kiss behind your ear.

"It's, ahhh...”

He flexes his fingers tighter for a second, the increase in pressure barely stimulating the sensitive nerves beneath. “What? Just movin’ you closer, ‘n my hand’s nice and warm down there.”

The playfully avoidant answer earns him an exasperated groan, though the desire seeping into you leaves it breathier than you’d like.

“Want me to stop?”

You shake your head before he can finish the sentence, grip tightening on his forearm. The vibration of his chuckles jostles you against his torso, warming your cheeks. Before you can exclaim your embarrassment, he shifts under the blankets and nudges your legs open, his feet hooking round your ankles to pin them apart. “How about some stress relief, hm? Get all those yucky feelings out for the night.”

His fingers trail teasingly against the hemline of your elastic, running his nails over the soft fat that meets the cotton barrier. All it takes is a “yes, please” for his fingers to breach the elastic, honing to your entrance only to glide back up the damp skin of your lips. At your whining insistence, his fingers deftly pull your lips apart, using his middle finger to collect the slick gathering between your folds and lather it against your clit. Your hips jerk at the contact, and John tuts, chasing your hips to flick his thumb over the sensitive button. “Askin’ for it, but y’won’t sit still, huh? Jus’ wanna help my baby feel better.”

Moving his arm to cup your chest, his hand crawls under your shirt to pinch your nipple, sending shivers down your spine as he rolls it between his fingers. Your whimpers only egg him on, emboldening him to trace little circles around your clit as he works to build the delicious tension growing between your legs.

Warmth flushes through your body, combining with the body heat radiating from John’s chest against your back, leaving you burning up in your own desire. It only takes minutes of John’s ministrations to draw wet squelches from between your legs, filling your ears as your eyes flutter closed, focusing on the way John’s fingers curl and tease around your most sensitive spot.  

“John, please…”

He takes your unspoken request without argument, leaving the begging for another night as his fingers leave your swollen nub to graze against your needy entrance. Your hole twitches at the slight contact, clenching as if to draw him in, eliciting a chuckle from John that goes unchallenged in your distracted state. Catching a line of slick dribbling down your perineum, he guides it back up, coating his fingers before he dips a digit into your hole.

You hiss wantonly at the sensations, hips bucking up to urge his finger in deeper, and John tuts. “Keep still, needy thing. Tryna play with this pretty cunt properly.”

He teases you with a sole finger, crooking it to stroke against the spongey muscle that has you leaking with each pass. Despite the stimulation, the single digit leaves your needy cunt feeling empty, fluttering against the intrusion with a desperation until you’re mewling for more.

“I know, y’need more, pet,” he murmurs into the skin behind your ear, dropping kisses down to your jaw. “Let me take care of you.”

The thick finger retreats from within you, leaving you whining in complaint as your hips chase his touch. Your eager hips are met with a firm spank to your folds, leaving John’s fingers trailing with slick as you gasp and retreat to the mattress, back against the protruding bulge in his lap. The compliance is rewarded with a soothing swipe of his fingers along your stinging lips, collecting arousal against his calloused skin. His fingertips circle teasingly at your entrance again, tracing the quivering muscle as he chuckles at your reactivity. Sensing the protest rising in you, he silences it with a swift thrust of his fingers, filling you up again.

His fingers work like they were designed to coax the stress from you with each drag, replacing the tension with a buzzing need for release that has you flexing and relaxing in waves against him. The pressure builds in the pit of your stomach as his fingers pump in and out of you, his other hand abandoning your breast and travelling down to reclaim its spot nestled against your clit, rolling tight circles around the nerve ending in harmony with the drive of his digits. He masterfully orchestrates your undoing, timing each thrust with each involuntary grind of your hips, kissing the salt from your neck as your head lulls against his shoulder, panting.

“Fuck, right there, m’so close John,” you moan, hands fumbling to find something to grip, finding purchase in his hairy thighs. The way your nails sink into the meat of his muscle has him groaning in your ear, breaking his smooth rhythm with a particularly deep thrust as he struggles to contain his enthusiasm. “Fuck, sweetheart, my god.”

Your cunt tightens so fiercely around his fingers that you’re sure they’re being crushed together as your orgasm hits you, squeezing the digits like you could milk the life out of them if you tried hard enough. John hums praise against your neck as he waits for your walls to relax to resume lazily thrusting in and out through the last sparks your climax, his own breath laboured as you tremble in his embrace.

His hand remains between your legs, fingers snug within you as your breathing evens out, the other travelling to trace small circles on the inside of your thigh. You float on the high of your orgasm, sweaty and satisfied as the strain dissipate from your legs, relaxing against John’s.

“Any improvement?”

You give him a breathless giggle, pulling your eyes open to tilt back and look at him. “Yeah, don’t feel like decapitating someone anymore.”

“Good.” He gives you a pleased smile, dotting a kiss on the corners of your lips. His face is warm and flushed, eyes still hazy with lust as he looks down at you, which brings a thought to your mind.

“Do you want me to take care of you…?”

His expression flickers to something guarded behind the smile, gently disentangling himself from your body. “I’m fine, don’t worry,” he announces gruffly, clearing his throat as he ducks into the bathroom. You frown, gazing at his retreating figure as you shuck off your soiled underwear, waiting for his return. He re-emerges with a damp cloth, crawling across the bed to kneel between your still spread legs, wiping delicately at the mess of arousal sticking to the sensitive surface of your skin.

The cloth is slightly warm as he pats at any excess water, collecting your dirty underwear as he pulls away. Walking to the closet, he discards the used fabrics in the laundry basket, grabbing another pair of underwear for you. Readjusting the sheets and blankets, you watch him quickly tug off his boxers, grabbing another pair that he manages to pull around his knees before you gasp in realisation.

“John, you didn’t?”

He turns around with a bashful expression, tucking himself into the crotch as he grins. “What? Pretty thing like you grinding up against me like that, can’t help myself.” Giving up with discretion, he chucks his own soiled boxers into the basket, returning to the bed with your underwear in an outstretched hand.

You pull them on as he climbs in next to you, tucking himself under the covers as you turn off the lamp and join him. He raises his arm, holding the blankets up like a cave as you grin sleepily, shuffling across the sheets to scoot into his embrace. The covers descend on you as John takes care to tuck them underneath you, entangling your legs between his as his hand finds home in your hair.

“Thank you, John. Was feeling really shitty about that.” You whisper into his chest, blinking your eyes closed as a sleepy warmth grows heavy in your limbs.

John grunts, patting at your hair. “S’what I’m made for, lookin’ after you. Get some sleep 'n we’ll work everythin’ out in the morning.”

A smile tugs at your lips as the last whisps of consciousness fade from your mind, and a gruff I love you is the last thing you remember before falling asleep.

[midgarddaughter]

Witch Princess

Chapter 2

Draco x Y/N Morningstar

Thank you so much for the Support everyone. I hope you guys like the next chapter as well.

Draco Malfoy was many things. Proud, arrogant, confident, mean. But shy was not a word one would use to describe Draco Malfoy. Yet, there he sat. For almost half an hour, too intimidated to speak to the pretty girl across from him. After inviting her into his compartment with a casual "Sure," a tense atmosphere settled in. Draco was struggling to figure out if he knew her from somewhere. She must be his age; then he should have classes with her. But such a beautiful girl would have caught Draco's attention long ago. Was there an exchange program he wasn't aware of?

"I'm Y/N, by the way," her voice pulled him from his thoughts. Oh god, had he been staring at her this whole time? Without saying anything, he just looked at her with his stormy blue eyes. What was he supposed to say? What did she expect? Everyone at school knew him. "And you are?"

Confused, he blinked at her. Was she serious? "Malfoy," he answered curtly.

"Do you have a first name?" she giggled, trying to lighten the mood.

"Draco," his cheeks grew warm, and was his voice always this husky? He cleared his throat and sat up straight. "Draco Malfoy."

"Pleasure to meet you, Draco Malfoy," she warmly smiled at him. Rarely had he felt so unsure talking to someone. Was it because he was afraid of saying something wrong? Did he not trust his own voice? Could Draco Malfoy embarrass himself?

"It's unusual that you don't know me," his curiosity eventually outweighed his hesitation.

"Really? Are you famous or something?" she looked at him with interest. What should he answer? He was indeed famous, but was he proud of what he was famous for? Yet, her gaze, her curiosity. Draco couldn't help but let a small proud smile form on his lips.

"You could say that," he replied. Suddenly, he found his shoes more interesting than the girl's face.

"I'm new here," Y/N confessed, looking out the window. Draco lifted his gaze, puzzled. "Which school did you attend before?" he asked, getting his confidence back slowly.

"I was homeschooled," Y/N said, looking at him again. "My father thought I should learn family traditions first. So, I studied from home and sent everything to Hogwarts with an owl."

Her cheeks turned red, and she looked at her hands in her lap. Would people consider her a weirdo because of that? Uncertain, she looked up from her hands.

"I can't believe Dumbledore allowed that," Draco mumbled, leaning back casually.

"Oh, it was his idea, actually. Otherwise, my father wouldn't have let me come to Hogwarts at all," she reassured.

"Fathers, huh?" Draco murmured, lost in thought. She frowned but didn't press for more. Eventually, Draco snapped out of his thoughts and focused on her again. "Well, I guess I'll have to show you how things work at Hogwarts."

Her eyes lit up, and she leaned forward eagerly. "Really?"

Draco felt that pull at the corner of his mouth again and couldn't suppress the smile.

"Of course. After all, I'm famous," he winked. Finally, the self-assured and arrogant Draco Malfoy was back.

So, Draco started telling her about Hogwarts—the houses, with Slytherin being the best, the teachers, and the subjects. Y/N, with shining eyes, expressed her excitement about Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. Draco, of course, couldn't hide his disdain for those subjects, and he was surprised that the young girl didn't take it personally. Instead, she asked with interest about his favorite subjects.

"Potions, of course," he answered with a grin. "The best teacher at Hogwarts is the Potions Master. Also, my Head of House. It's a demanding subject that requires natural talent."

"As confident as you sound, you must be really good," the blonde girl laughed. Draco noticed his cheeks getting warm again.

"But of course. After all, I'm a Malfoy," he tried to maintain his confident facade.

"So, it runs in the blood, huh?" she smiled mischievously.

"Exactly," he replied, returning the smile and wondering how it felt so natural. He didn't have to be Draco Malfoy with her; she had never heard the name before. However, she didn't seem like a Muggle-born, and the Malfoys had a sixth sense for that. "Do you play Quidditch?" Draco asked after a comfortable silence. She looked at him confused, unsure of how to tell him she had never heard of it. Draco laughed. "I guess you grew up on the moon."

"Maybe," she laughed shyly. Without waiting for her invitation, Draco began telling her about his favorite sport. He didn't mind demonstrating the maneuvers he liked with animated gestures. Sharp turns, free falls, pulling up just before hitting the ground. It was somehow sweet, how enthusiastically he talked about it. Engrossed in his voice, she didn't notice the commotion outside the compartment.

Draco did. With a venomous look that went unnoticed by Y/N, he signaled to his friends to leave him alone. They had searched for Draco when he didn't show up at their usual compartment and were surprised to see him talking to a girl they had never seen before. A knowing grin appeared on Blaise's face before he nodded to Draco, and the others returned to their compartment. Pansy couldn't resist shooting daggers at the girl, but Y/N remained oblivious, too occupied with something Draco was saying.

This continued throughout the train journey until Draco and Y/N put on their robes and arrived shortly after. Draco made sure to help Y/N with her luggage.

"I can't accept that. You need to take care of your own luggage," Y/N politely tried to decline.

"Friends take care of mine," as if Draco Malfoy ever carried his own luggage. He casually took her suitcase from her hands and even attempted to carry the cage covered with a blanket. However, she pulled it closer.

"I-I'll take that, though," she said with a raised eyebrow. "We wouldn't want it to bite you."

"Okay," Draco got onto the self-propelled carriage and lifted the suitcase. Quickly, he turned around, just in time to extend his hand to Y/N. She looked at him with wide green eyes and hesitantly took his hand.

"Thank you," she mumbled shyly as she settled on the bench across from him.

Throughout the entire carriage ride, they remained silent. Y/N noticed that although they were alone in their carriage, there were two or three times as many students in the others within her view. With shiny eyes, she saw Hogwarts for the first time. Draco observed her with a small smile on his lips.

"Thanks for your help," Y/N said to Draco as they reached Hogwarts. "I have to wait for Professor McGonagall now."

"I guess I'll see you inside then," Draco replied, bidding her farewell.

Salazar, hopefully, she'd be sorted into Slytherin, Draco inwardly prayed as he joined his table and was greeted by his friends.

"There he is." Theodore greeted him with a grin. "Who was the girl with you on the train?"

Draco rolled his eyes irritably. This boy had never heard of tact. As Draco walked past him to his usual seat, he bumped into Nott and shot him a stern look.

"That's none of your business," he growled as he settled into his seat.

"Which troll got on your nerves?" Blaise raised an eyebrow at him. "You were in a great mood on the train. Or did she reject you?"

"To be rejected, Draco would first have to be interested in her. Which he's not, right Draco?" Pansy looked at him desperately.

The heir to the Malfoy name ignored the two and impatiently waited for McGonagall. The possibility that Y/N might not be sorted into Slytherin was significant. She was a ray of sunshine. What if she ended up in Hufflepuff or, even worse, Gryffindor? Could he still talk to her normally? Would people think he's crazy? Could he even be mean to her? Why was life as a Malfoy so complicated?

Professor McGonagall didn't keep them waiting, and she entered the Great Hall shortly after Draco, looking around in awe, much like the first-year students. Oh no, that tugging at the corners of his mouth again. A murmur of questioning spread among the students. Why was someone their age here? First-years were sorted first. Y/N's gaze found Draco in the sea of students and was surprised to see that he was already looking at her. That just made her more nervous. When it was finally her turn, she sat on the chair with a pounding heart, biting her lower lip as she listened to the talking hat.

"Oh, royal blood. Your family embodies all the ideals of Hogwarts houses. But where do I put you? Brave, no doubt, you had to prove that at a young age. Also intelligent, yes, yes. Oh, but you can be sharp-tongued too, one should not challenge your pride. But what do I feel? A warm and soft heart. Generous and understanding. Then you belong in... HUFFLEPUFF!"

The hat called out, and the yellow table erupted in cheers. Smiling, her first glance, however, was directed at Draco, who looked at her in shock. Why did he look so shocked? She went to her table and from there looked back at her newfound friend. But he sat there with his head down the whole evening, not looking at her, while unrest stirred around her.

[dirtwatchman]

PARTIES: @dirtwatchman and @nightmaretist TIME: First week of May WHERE: Dance Macabre SUMMARY:  Two undead meet up for a drink that was owed months ago. The night gets interesting for Caleb and Inge as they both start to realize what the other is. WARNINGS: Eludes to domestic abuse at times

Clubs weren’t his usual scene. Caleb much preferred a quiet restaurant over the lively atmosphere of a dance bar but there were two things that had made him suggest Dance Macabre that night; the girl he’d promised a drink to was there when they’d started their conversation which meant he knew she liked it and the unusual presence he had started to feel around him was motivation to be in the middle of a ton of people. Something dark, almost sinister, was on his tail and he didn’t know why. It would come and go, the dark presence surrounding him one moment and then gone the next only for him to feel as if he were being watched again a day or two later. He just hoped that having more people around would deter whatever it was following him around from giving him the reason.

He sat at the bar, his own drink in front of him untouched while the weight of everything sat on his shoulders. People around him were laughing and having a good time, none of them paying attention to the anxious man in the corner as he waited for Inge. Hopefully, she wouldn’t notice anything off about him either. There was no need to scare away a possible new friend before they’d even gotten the chance to talk.

When he looked up and saw her making her way through the crowd, he let the worry slip away and waved to her. Caleb’s smile was forced, barely lifting in the corners, but he’d managed one at least. “I didn’t know what you wanted so I went ahead and got my own. Feel free to choose whatever you like.” He had promised it for her birthday after all. “Happy Birthday…a few months late, that is.”

If this life was still to be called that – a life, despite the accusations of being a walking corpse – then Inge found only value in it if there was still spontaneity. Sometimes she was, as everyone, overrun with a desire to become something of a recluse. To be alone with her astral, her nightmares and her sculptures and nothing more. But she’d never done well with solitude and most importantly, she never felt dead until she gave into loneliness.

So even if she was in pain and angry, even if she felt something dark and ugly unfurl within herself, she went out. Dance Macabre was a favorite, as was the club in New York she astral projected to from time to time. She didn’t dance as fervently as she once had – her back and gut still aching – but she drank and she flirted and she talked. She went out to meet a stranger, because why not? Without spontaneity, she might as well be dead. Truly dead.

She approached the semi-stranger with a smile on her lips, sitting down next to him at the bar. “Why, thank you,” she said. Inge wondered – as she did with all patrons at this club – if he was undead or just simply willing to go to strange places. “Better late than never, right?” She gave a wink, leaned to the bartender to order herself a glass of white wine. “So when is your birthday? Maybe we can pre-celebrate that too, tonight.”

His eyes were on hers as she spoke but he looked away as she asked about his birthday. It was a day that he never really cared for but it had gotten so much worse after he’d died. Most of the time Caleb wouldn’t even tell what day it was, finding ways to keep others out of the know so that they wouldn’t bother with it at all. It only brought back bad memories of the past and dread for the future he now had. “It’s already passed as well. Guess it’s a late celebration for both of us.” Which wasn’t a lie. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice that he’d not said the date. He didn’t want that conversation.

So, maybe changing the subject was for the best. As he glanced around the club, he noticed that things were a little out of the ordinary. Or at least this place wasn’t what he imagined most clubs to be like. Strange dark red drinks were being served at another bar, what he assumed were fake fingers being given to a few people who actually looked familiar, and there were quite a few ghosts lingering around on the dance floor. Was it Halloween themed like Hallow’s Eats?

His gaze went back to Inge, confusion clear on his face. “Wait, what is this place? I didn’t take much of a look before you got here but it’s kind of strange.” She’d been the one who was here the night of her actual birthday and this was the perfect opportunity to change the subject so Caleb didn’t have to talk about his least favorite day of the year. “Are those…fingers? They don’t look gummy…”

He didn’t seem excited to speak about his birthday, which was often an indication of something. Inge wasn’t the type to pry into people’s sensitive and personal business, though, as she thought those things depressing and not her area of expertise. She went to places like these to indulge, not to therapize. So she paid it no mind. “A late celebration! Perfect. Better late than never.”

She gave the bartender a smile – glad that it wasn’t that Mack Ross girl who’d taken a bite out of her – when he handed her her drink and took a nice and hefty sip. Dance Macabre had a wide range of drinks, but they also just had good wine. They hadn’t found a way to liquidize nightmares and turn them into a product just yet. For the best, she figured. Commodifying something like that would be very depressing.

Caleb seemed unfamiliar with the club’s wide range. Inge blinked at him, innocuously. “Oh, it’s a little … avant garde, you know? Edgy.” She looked at the fingers. The human fingers. She didn’t often wish to be a different flavor of undead, but being able to munch on those while staring someone dead in the eye would be very amusing. “Attracts a certain kind of people. And those? Oh, yes. They’re fingers.” She smiled. “Look very real, don’t they?”

She seemed perfectly okay with dropping the subject in favor of the new one and for that Caleb was so grateful. There were a lot of nosy people around, it was nice to know she wasn’t one of them and in spite of the uncomfortable feeling of being watched he was starting to relax enough to enjoy this for the good time it should be. 

But then he kept staring at the fingers, one having been slid to someone closer to the two of them than the previous orders had. The zombie had seen enough detached fingers in his life to be able to tell if they were real or not and those were definitely real. Suddenly the night had brought on more mystery even if it made more sense that he recognized some of these people; they were clients, people that he fed regularly. Did he somehow stumble upon a zombie bar? How had Caleb never known this existed?

Oh, because he didn’t have fun.

Then his attention was turned back to Inge, wondering if she was the same as him or if she thought it all very niche. He glanced at her wine and then back to her eyes, deciding to go along with the charade just in case. “A little too real. It’s kind of disturbing.” But he was smiling into his drink as he lifted it to his lips. “Are you into that kind of thing? I feel like some of your paintings could indicate that you are but I don’t want to assume. Maybe you just like this place for the music.”

Though the imagery of eating another human was fascinating in a way – there was a reason shows and stories about cannibals took off – Inge was glad she could sate her cravings with nightmares. It was more refined. And if she wanted to she could gorge on a human being in a dream without all the mess anyway. (A part of her also appreciate that it didn’t require murder, but that was boring and moral.)

She was bemused by the other’s reaction, by the way he brought up her paintings as if they were any indication that she’d like to chew on severed fingers. She decided it was a compliment. Inge figured the other was human, or at least mortal — which was a little unfortunate, but did not mean this was to be a complete waste of her time.

“Oh, I’m not into munching on dead fingers. Alive ones, maybe,” she said, “But I have a few friends who like those along with their beers. You don’t?” She blinked at him as if she’d asked him what his friends did for work as she sipped her wine. “Maybe you should order one and see if it’s your kinda thing.”

He honestly wasn’t sure if she was being serious or not, the deadpanned way she’d mentioned liking her fingers live and well making him reconsider whether she was undead or not. Caleb was staring at her when she asked, his head starting to shake slowly once his brain had recovered from the short circuiting the reply had caused. Was she serious? “Not much for fingers myself, no.” He’d never liked the bony part that came with eating the human body and it was very hard to eat around them in a finger. 

Her suggestion to get one of his own was about to be denied until that unease came back to him from the shadows. It started to infiltrate his mind, push him towards agreeing, towards chaos. Again, he was afraid to say no. Something about this thing, whatever it was, was so menacing that even from the shadows it had a tight hold on him and Caleb found himself nodding slowly.

“But I guess it couldn’t hurt to see what the fuss is about. They look pretty popular.” It was a stupid decision and he knew it even as he placed the order with the bartender but defying this entity seemed stupider in the long run. What was he going to do though? Eat a real finger in front of someone who appeared, by all accounts, normal? Something told him yes. And he didn’t like it. 

“Not even for sucking one off?” Inge asked it innocuously once again. There wasn’t really any ulterior motive there — she wasn’t as interested in random hook ups any more, which was because of her newly gained scar and definitely not because she was hung up on some fae. But she was in a bar and she was flirty by nature because she could be and so she gave Caleb a small smirk. “Pity.”

She would understand it if he rejected her proposal. It was quite ludacris to order a decapitated finger if human beings weren’t part of your diet and even Inge wasn't particularly fond of holding the mushy things. They reminded her of knakworsten, dutch sausages that would snap when you broke them. Those were actually tasty, though she didn’t eat them any more because they contained too much salt for her to not feel a little sickened by them.

There was a stir in the shadows, but she didn’t think much of it. This was a club after all, with moving lights and strange dark corners. “Alright then,” she said, leaning forward towards the barkeep, “One of your fingers, please. A long one preferably.” As the employee busied herself with getting one of them, she eyed Caleb curiously. Was he just a human, doing something just for the heck of it, just to see if those were actual fingers? Or was he undead like her, aiming to get a snack without seeming too suspicious? “First time for everything, right?”

“Oh.” His eyebrows raised at the forward question, surprise shining through as he stumbled over it in his mind. He really hoped this hadn’t been what their interaction had been leading up to. Not that she wasn’t beautiful or fun or anything he just wasn’t available….maybe. Caleb still wasn’t clear on that part and was too anxious to bring it up with the one person he really needed to bring it up with. Still, looking back on it all, he might have misread the intentions with the back and forth on the internet. “That's uh….I'm not saying that I don't like that part.” He really should have kept his mouth shut. Not only was he stumbling in his mind but he was stumbling over his words now too. 

Thankfully he was saved by the arrival of the drink. Or was he burdened with it? It was hard to tell when he glanced over at her again, still not sure if she could tell this thing was real or not. It certainly was, that wasn’t the question. The question was if she would start screaming when she realized it was. The woman did seem to be taunting him as she ordered but he could already tell that was something she enjoyed no matter the situation. He cleared his throat and put his hand over the glass as if that would stop her from truly seeing his garnish but he made no moves to get rid of it. 

He hated fingers.

Smiling softly, Caleb shook his head. “A first time doesn’t mean a good time. Is it weird that I’m nervous about a strange gummy finger?” Was that even working? “What if I changed my mind…?” He trailed off as a grumble struck him deep in his mind. So much for that idea.

He was flustered. It was endearing. Inge chuckled a little and took a long sip from her drink, waving with her hand as if trying to wave away his nervousness. “I’m just teasing you,” she admitted. “Whatever you like you can keep to yourself.” She could push now, tell him that she’d looove to find out, but she wasn’t planning on making this ordeal painfully awkward. A little bit of discomfort was fine, though. That’s why they were ordering the finger.

She looked at the finger with mild interest, wondering where it had come from and how Dance Macabre sourced them. Was it from the young goths that wandered in here? Or were it other people that were dissected and put up for sale? There was something very morbid about it all, especially now that she had actually seen what it was like when someone’s toes were chopped off. A pathetic part of her hoped the people who had once owned these fingers had been dead after the separation.

Apparently Caleb was having some hesitation as well. Understandable, if he was a human. Inge shrugged. She pinched the finger. The sensation made her feel a little uncomfortable, which she hated. She did really have friends who ate these things, but that before Rhett’s toes. “Nope. It’s on my tap. I won’t see it go to waste. Eat up.” She took a hefty sip of her wine. She was glad, for once, that she didn’t have heightened senses. “Plenty of people here snack on ‘em.”

The zombie was glad that she wasn’t someone who was going to pick at the subject that clearly made Caleb uncomfortable. It wasn’t often that he came across people who would willingly give up the playful torture of intimate discussion, their curiosity and amusement taking precedence over another’s comfort in his experience. It made him like her that much more as he relaxed his shoulders, made him comfortable enough to throw a teasing remark back. “I have to keep my air or mystery, right?”

It wasn’t until she reached out to touch that very real body part sitting in his drink that the discomfort returned. She had to know that she’d just touched actual flesh and not the gelatin candy he had been trying to push it off as which made his own curiosity about what she knew, what she was, grow. He couldn’t refuse. She was right, she had ordered the drink herself and the people pleaser in him wouldn’t let that go. Not to mention the darkness that surrounded the two of them pushing for him to take the bite that he was so hesitant to take. He just didn’t know if it was wise to reveal this secret to her so shortly after they’d met. 

She had to know already if she was pushing for it, right? 

Caleb reached out and took the finger, biting into it the best he could around the bone. The bite only proved to him why he hated these things so much and made him wonder what the other zombies ordering these things were thinking. Placing the finger back, planning to munch on it sparingly for the rest of the night, he did feel a little satisfaction after he swallowed…whether that was because it satisfied a little hunger or the entity who had a grip on him was anyone’s guess. “Happy? Or do I have to finish the whole thing?” He was smiling but his eyes showed the nerves that were coursing through him now that he was pretty sure she knew what he was, awaiting her reaction with bated breath.

His air of mystery. Right. Inge thought the other looked quite unassuming and he would be plain if it wasn’t for some of his more striking features. Still, she didn’t quite think him very mysterious — aside from the entire debacle of whether he was undead or not. She had that kind of doubt about plenty of people, though. She indulged him, though, “Certainly, we don’t want to reveal too much too soon.”

She wasn’t sure what she expected from Caleb once faced with the finger. Hell, she hadn’t expected to be met with her own complicated feelings about the matter — but that was something that happened more and more these days. Surges of emotion, of nasty memories trickling in. She’d have to start singing a different tune in her nightmares, incorporate these thoughts of factory floors and being stuck on walls into the dreams she offered others so she could see the memories in a different context.

Maybe this would help, too. She watched Caleb take a bite and did not bother to hide her surprise when he swallowed. It wasn’t the kind of horror a human might feel at the sight of someone eating a finger, but it was still something. She took a sip of her drink, eyes wide and intrigued. “I mean, only if you’re hungry,” she said casually. “Do you do that often, Caleb? Eat human parts?” She glanced at the finger, seeing the bone protrude. It was a nasty sight, which was why she kept looking. Nightmares were really a more refined diet. “I know a few people who do. That, blood … dreams?” She took another sip. “How long ago did you die?” It was a gamble. But she tended to live on the edge, anyway.

There was a weight lifted from his shoulders. Her reaction, though surprised, was definitely not as bad as he’d been expecting but there was also something else that had been lifted. The air wasn’t as…heavy. That presence that Caleb had been feeling for the last couple of days wasn’t near anymore. It was as if her lack of screaming didn’t interest the menacing presence at all and it decided to move on. Was that all it had taken? To reveal what he was to someone who didn’t already know for it to leave him alone? 

No, that was too easy. It had to still be there somewhere. 

For now he would just focus on his companion though. There was no need in fretting over something that wasn’t there, not until it came back. He shook his head at her first comment, pushing the finger to the side onto a little napkin before pulling the rest of the drink closer. What exactly was it served in? “I’ve never really liked fingers much.” He pressed his lips together as he nodded at her question, eyes locked on the drink in front of him so he didn’t have to look at her. “But only as often as I have to.” He knew others who ate humans like it was their day job and, while he understood, he’d never been able to…overindulge. 

Caleb looked up at the dreams comment, eyebrows furrowing as he wondered who she knew. His concern for certain people in his life started to grow but he hoped he wouldn’t have to worry too much. With her reaction, she seemed used to this. “You mean nightmares?” He finally took a drink of whatever the finger had been served in, pleasantly surprised when it turned out to be an actual cocktail. “Just over six years. It’s been a bit of an adjustment. What about you? Are you in the same boat or do you just like hanging out at bars catered to the undead?”

So the truth was out, laid on the table amidst their drinks and the half-eaten finger. Inge felt a level of relief at the final revelation that Caleb was like her — a person who had died and transformed. Wicked’s Rest came with many disadvantages but this was something she liked about the place: it attracted the undead. And though that meant the town also attracted slayers and other dislikeable figures, it almost made it tolerable. It was just better, she found, to surround herself with people who did not age. 

She had figured out a while ago that there was to categorize the undead into two categories: those that abstained and those that indulged. She fell into the latter category, making an art of her nightmares and creating more than she strictly needed for survival. Plenty of others fell into the first category, though – only eating as often as they needed to, as Caleb put it. Inge couldn’t relate. She’d long ceased to feel guilt over the nightmares she spread around. Maybe it was different if your diet required human parts, though. (She thought of Rhett’s leg without wanting to.) “Fair enough. Fingers don’t seem especially nutritious.”

She nodded at his conclusion, “Yes, nightmares. That’s my diet.” It really was more refined than brains or blood, she thought. She looked the other up and down, figured that it made sense that he was still new to this. Inge chuckled. “So I’m like you. It’s been about half a century for me, now, since I died.” It felt wrong to put it like that. “And transformed, of course. It’s why I celebrated here, you know? Most mortals don’t understand — the complications of birthdays when you don’t physically age any more.”

“They aren’t.” It was said with a breath of laughter, Caleb finding it funny but at the same time feeling the weight of this conversation thick in the air. The fact that he knew that was horrifying in itself and every time he laid out the details of his diet, no matter how small, it felt like he was discovering the horrible reality of being a zombie again. It laid heavy on his chest, images of all the bodies he’d ransacked over the years flashing in his mind until the two faces of the people that died by his own hand popped up. They were always side by side, their features locked in the horror they had felt during their final moments. He ground his teeth together as he tried to push those images away and focus on her.

But he did finish the drink in hand before he spoke again, the glass tipping up with a clink as he gulped it down. Not that it would do much good unless this bar had ways of making their drinks stronger for the dead as well. “So you’re a mare then.” It was on the tip of his tongue to point out that at least she only caused fear and it didn’t always result in death but he also knew that didn’t matter. Mayhem came with both of their diets, his just came with the physical whereas hers was more phycological. Both ways did their own catastrophic damage. 

“Transformed?” That was an interesting way to put things. The word could hold different meanings in this context but he got the feeling that Inge wasn’t ashamed of what she was or how she had to survive and that definitely piqued his interest. Not to mention how long she’d had to live this way. “I can’t even imagine being alive that long. Somehow I still think my body will find a way to give in to nature even though I’ve lived through things I shouldn’t have at this point. Are you-” He wasn’t quite sure how to pose this question so he continued the only way he could think of. “Are you happy?”

How had she even felt, six years into her transformation? Inge struggled to recall it — but time played a trick on her memory. It was back in Amsterdam, when Vera had been a teenager and she’d still been trying to figure out how to exist as a mare, as a sleepless creature of the night. She’d felt shame then, she must have … but she preferred not to think of it. Not of that, nor the time she lost, nor the child that was gone, nor her partner in all it. She was a woman of her own future, living in the twenty first century and proud. What she had been in the past was gone.

But she did recall it, the shame. How it had once been there, for the way she had to feed. How it had been replaced by her pride, now. She saw it in Ariadne, who had only been undead for a year or two. She saw it in Leila, who had centuries on her. She had even seen it in Richard, who was older than any other undead she had ever met. She felt bad for them all, these creatures like her who did not think of consumption as a form of self are. “Maybe we should find you something better to eat, then.”

She chuckled mildly. “It’s still perishable, but … not as easily maimed any more, is it? For you, at least.” Vampires and zombies had that advantage over her – their ability to heal with speed. Inge had to wait human weeks and months before pains left her body, before scars were formed. “I’m only in my seventies, Caleb. I’ve hardly outlived most humans.” His question was met with another sip of her drink, too heavy to answer without contemplating it over a sip of alcohol and a little bit of procrastination. “I am, most days. Happier than I ever was as a human.” She smiled. “Not always, but most of the time. Why?”

“I’m okay right now.” He gave her a smile, hoping that she wasn’t worried about the state of his…appetite. There was no need to be. Caleb liked to think he was responsible with his consumption even when his supply was still dwindling to a dangerously low point spurring him to work harder or cut some deals. Inge’s hesitation was understandable though. Not everyone was responsible with their diet, not everyone had the means to be. Which might be why he tried not to eye a random drunk man trying to sneak the tossed finger out of the napkin next to him. At least some poor dead souls digit wasn’t being wasted even if he still felt the need to give her the money for her purchase. 

His attention was back on her after the drunk zombie walked away giggling, clearly thinking he had gotten away with his heist. “Right. It’s wild to me that mares don’t heal the way we can even though we’re all…dead flesh. But at least you guys get to astral. That always sounded kind of cool to me.”

Raising his hands in mock surrender, his smile started to fade quickly. “You’re right, it’s not that old. I guess I just…never thought I’d make it past my teens so the idea of getting that far in life is strange to me. Add to that people calling me old in my forties, it’s a little surreal.” Caleb didn’t miss the way she took a drink before answering him, the zombie taking that as a bad sign even as her words suggested otherwise. He couldn’t say for sure whether she was feigning happiness for his benefit or if she was even doing it for her own peace of mind but he understood that it wasn’t the whole truth. “I think I just wanted to know if I had something to look forward to. Everyone’s different, I know, but a little hope is nice.”

“Good,” she said, not bothering to press the subject any further. When another – presumed – zombie stepped by to snatch the finger, she did raise her eyebrows in amusement and a hint of judgment. The finger was part of her tab, after all — but if Caleb wasn’t going to finish it, then it might as well get eaten by someone else in need. Inge looked back to the sole member of her party, “Well, that’s one way to get by.” 

Her face split into a look of pride, if not something close to that happiness he’d been asking after. “Very true. I’m not sure if I’d swap it for quicker healing or higher tolerance for injury. It makes for a quick get away, too. And it is cool.” Yes, mares were truly the crème de la crème of undead. Except for the healing, of course. “Wish we’d just bleed regularly, though — it’d definitely make hospitals easier.”

The statement was said so plainly, as if it wasn’t a devastating thing in and of itself. If Inge was a more compassionate woman, if she was more sentimental, she might have searched further. “Well, here you are … You might push past two hundred.” Though not all undead made it that far, especially not in a town such as this. Slayers liked to shorten lifespans, even before they’d lived a full human year. “Of course you do!” She sounded more convinced now, because it was certainly easier to speak of the future as something promising than it was to speak of her current happiness or lack thereof. “There is so much to live for. You will look like this forever — and it’s not a bad look to have!” He was handsome, and no lines marred his face. No gray hair in sight, either. “The world is your oyster, Caleb — that much is true for each and everyone of us.” And with us, she meant her fellow undead. Not humans. “Come, let’s have another drink. Fingerless, this time. And we’ll toast to those oncoming years.”

There was a brief moment where Caleb considered asking the zombie if he needed a steadier supply for his diet but he figured this was supposed to be a fun night out so he let it go. He did have a new place to network though. Now if only he could figure out his supply shortage. “Not the smartest way but as long as he’s not rampaging…” Another reason to ask the man, Caleb wanting to make sure that he could prevent that as much as possible. 

Again, this was supposed to be fun, so he tucked those thoughts away in the back of his mind along with the shadows that were stalking him before. Smiling at how much she actually enjoyed the aspects of her…situation, the zombie wasn’t sure whether he wasn’t to argue with it or not. Healing came in handy, especially when the weird stuff really started going down. Volmugger acid most likely would have taken him out if it hadn’t been for his ability to eat a brain and be brand new again. But he had always thought the astral projection was cool, ever since he’d found out about it from Aria. “Not a believer in the grass being greener in someone else’s world, I take it.” It was a statement more than a question since Caleb was already sure he knew the answer to that one.

Inge’s confidence was admirable and he had to wonder why he always seemed drawn to people like that. There was always some kind of pull to them, some awe he held in their presence, because he knew he’d never be able to achieve that level of…well, loving himself. He was too damaged from years and years of being told he would never be good enough. “I hope not.” The statement was said under his breath, the idea of two hundred years on this earth harrowing. 

There was something about people who were confident; others would tend to believe anything they said. Inge spoke with such conviction that Caleb felt like there was no choice but to smile as he thought about what could be in the years to come. His life wasn’t that horrible at the moment, it was true, he just needed to learn how to navigate what he was with ways that made him comfortable. Six years wasn’t long enough to do that. It was what he thought about with new drinks in hand, the zombie tipping his glass to her as that familiar chill of being watched started to return. He would deal with that tomorrow, tonight he’d learn to let loose with a new friend and see where life took him.

“To the world being our oyster.”

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

As for your prompts... either Endearments or Outdoor Sex for Emhyr and Lux please!

Center of the Universe

Emhyr/Impera, 3118 words, Explicit

A myriad of stars shone brightly above them, but Lux only had eyes for their reflection in the amber glow directly in front of him. It was hard enough to have the emperor to himself for even a single hour, even harder to persuade him to dispense with his other guards (So you think you're superior to all your men, Lux? We'll have a chance to find out). However, what Lux had achieved tonight seemed almost impossible. Emhyr had settled down next to him in the dust-dry grass, at the far end of the extensive gardens of his summer palace, near a pavilion. The statues that supported its roof had the beauty common to all ancient elven architecture; tonight, however, they seemed nothing to him next to Emhyr's own marble-like beauty. He was careful not to say anything of the sort. This was not an occasion to counter Emhyr's sometimes sharp tongue, at least not with words – and he had little hope for the rest, even if his occasional (forbidden, Lux, be honest) lover seemed quite at easy tonight.

“Where are your thoughts headed?”

Lux blinked. He had obviously been lost in thought for too long; a typical consequence of staring at the figurative sun for too long. Lux's gaze followed Emhyr's elegant neck down to his collarbones, apparent beneath his thin, yet ornate robe.

"The usual," he claimed, "matters of Your Majesty's safety.“

"My safety from what, exactly?“

Emhyr's tone was light, almost amused. Loc Grim was hardly less secure than any other place he set foot in, its location strategically chosen by those who had once built it. He wasn't expecting an attack here, just a little distraction from the summer heat that had Nilfgaard in its grip. Lux sat in silence for a moment, content to simply look at the object of his unseemly and rarely reciprocated desire. Most of his subjects were not even granted so much as a simple glance.

Everything else, even a friendly word, was in Emhyr's power alone. He was usually sparing with the display of his satisfaction, although Lux had come to realize that it was less often shown through a word of praise than through a subtle action. Tonight, however... perhaps it was the strangely peaceful atmosphere that lingered over the evening. The stars, the mild breeze, the gentle chirping of crickets... It was as if they were in a place removed from time and the rest of the world. At least for a single hour.

“I believe,” Emhyr continued as he wiped a cheeky strand of hair from his forehead that humidity had loosened, “it’s not my safety you’re concerned about, it’s rather your own. You don't want to be caught by my guards - your own men.”

“Caught doing what?” asked Lux, who was usually rarely so obtuse, but he could tell by the flash in Emhyr's eyes that he liked it. He always liked it when he saw his effect reflected in Lux's reactions.

"This," Emhyr said, reaching for Lux's shoulders.

They were only sitting so close to each other because there was actually little danger of them being surprised. It could never be close enough for Lux, he always felt like a moth attracted by a flame that would inevitably burn him. Now, however, Emhyr's firm grip ensured they were even closer; and while he searched his eyes for reassurance he didn't even need, he pressed his lips to Lux's.

In the deepest corner of his soul, Lux was not only a heretic, as Emhyr claimed, but also a romantic. A man who believed in soul mates and true love, and yet he was convinced that neither was available to him. Not only was there no place for his kind in the classical concept of love, he had also given his heart to a person he was not allowed to desire, at least not in this manner. That's why a kiss from Emhyr was always bittersweet: a pleasure and yet a reminder that this affection could only ever remain a physical passion. Every single time, he gave in to temptation, and every single time he lost another piece of his heart. Perhaps one day there would be nothing left of it, and Lux himself would have preferred an agonizing death in the arena; hopefully that day was still a long way off.

Emhyr tasted of wine, the rosé from Nazair. An exotic blend of fruits and, strangely enough, the famous Nazairian basil. Lux had never tasted this wine, but he knew the description, and Emhyr's lips confirmed it. He returned the kiss and lost himself in it, and for a while they just sat there and tasted each other.

“Would you like to touch me?”

What a question from those slightly swollen lips, which had now finally parted from his. How could he not want that? It was a privilege, a distinction; something that was granted to very few people. Even the women who bathed Emhyr only touched him with sponges and the velvety towels they had warmed over coals for him.

In the summer, during the long weeks in Loc Grim, Emhyr's complexion took on the tone of ripe olives. He never dispensed with black robes, but their fabric became thinner and lay loosely on his muscular thighs and shoulders.

“I would," Lux returned raspily, and that was the truth; he wanted nothing more than to let his fingers wander under the hem of that gold-embroidered tunic. What you want is to touch the sun, even if it burns you. But that was fine. Many things hurt until you got to their core.

He held out his hands, and to his surprise, Emhyr took them, placed a fleeting kiss on their knuckles, and then breathed, “Wait.”

Perhaps he had overindulged in wine that evening. Not so much because he liked it, but because his retreat to the summer palace in no way meant that the everyday petitioners and emissaries did not haunt him here. In addition, the weather got to him. Although he was Nilfgaardian, and thoroughly proud of his heritage, he did not tolerate the heat well, and on busy days his mood could be worsened by headaches.

Whatever it was, Lux decided not to question it, but to accept the gift as Emhyr now relieved them both of their clothing. First he removed his tunic, then he tugged impatiently at the straps of Lux's light armor, needing his help to fulfill this task. His impatience had as much to do with knowing that his soldiers would be looking for him after a reasonable amount of time - Lux knew both the orders and his men - as well as the fact that he had built up cravings over the last few weeks.

Emhyr scourged himself in the name of his own cult and position, using a complex web of guilt and duty instead of leather whips. As he was still not remarried, against the advice of his counselors, he seemed to assume that chastity was expected of him. Lux found this idea peculiar; he was sure that there was an astonishing tolerance at court for love affairs and even concubines, including men. Yet it was impossible to imagine Emhyr var Emreis, whose occasional outbursts of rage in the middle of a trial were as legendary as the harshness with which he passed many a judgment, as someone who indulged in meaningless affairs.

Instead, he kept approaching Lux, often out of the blue. The captain of his own personal guards was not a suitable candidate for a paramour, not only because he was a heretic whose views contradicted his own in many respects. And yet, the emperor’s eyes were now on his bare skin, while his skillful fingers combed through his hair for the ribbon to untie it. He buried his nose in the flaxen mane, as he often did, inhaling its scent.

“I want to forget,” he murmured into Lux's hair, almost sighing. “Help me forget.”

This was an almost alarming display of vulnerability. If they were both in a different position, if they were both someone else, it would have been easy to share the worries, whatever they were. Instead, Lux knew his words would hardly be met with honesty when he raised a hand to gently Emhyr's caress cheek and asked, “Forget what?”

Emhyr's amber eyes were soft as he looked at him now, and of course he didn't go into it. Instead, he said, “I asked you a question earlier.”

“And I answered truthfully.”

“Then consider the consequences if you keep me waiting too long.”

There was a hint of a smile on Emhyr's face, for once free of any irony.

“I'm here to serve,” Lux murmured.

Now his hands followed his eyes, which had already seen more of Emhyr's body than he was entitled to, stroking hardened muscles that desperately needed loosening. Moon and stars cast a soft, silvery glow on Emhyr's tanned skin. He was a man more suited to gold, but in this somehow unreal light, he was perhaps even a touch more desirable. Lux made a bold advance, placed his lips on Emhyr's and repeated his previous kiss. It was reciprocated with a passion driven by impatience that made Lux overconfident. Gently but firmly, he pushed his ruler into the grass. There was no resistance, on the contrary. Emhyr's hands clung to Lux's hips, and he returned his kiss as if to suck in his breath.

Touching him was always liberating, a carnal reminder that Emhyr was human, not a statue or even the shining light that many of his subjects seemed to think he was. Lying on top of him, skin to skin, was a difficult test of self-control. Still caught in the kiss, Lux's hands gently brushed Emhyr’s body, restless and indefinite, for there was so much to discover and so little time. Now that he was granted to touch Emhyr, he didn't know where to start. Emhyr's impatience came into play again. He grabbed Lux's neck with one hand, slipped his tongue between his lips and dominated the previously tender, if passionate, kiss. He used his other hand to direct Lux's own. Intertwining their fingers, they both ran down Emhyr's hips into the waistband of his light, by his standards almost casual breeches. Then, purposefully, their hands slid together through his curly pubic hair.

It was only here that Emhyr loosened his grip, released his lips and looked Lux straight in the eye. Now there were no more questions. Lux tugged at the strings and pulled Emhyr's pants down his knees. His arousal had already been tangible, now it was fully apparent. He cupped the expectantly erected cock before him; this was the motion Emhyr had waited on, revealed by an involuntary muscle twitch.

As Lux leaned down, playfully sliding his tongue around the tip – its taste even more interesting than Emhyr's lips – he realized that it was not so much Emhyr's cock that he craved, but his desire. A desire that lay dormant beneath a façade of toughness and aloofness. It was a rare privilege to experience it and an even greater one to ignite it.

His tongue play became bolder when he succeeded in eliciting the first rough sound from his emperor. The latter’s hand wandered into Lux's hair, but this time not just to feel it or to dig in it with the joy of a gardener reaching into fresh soil. This time it was the demanding grip of a lover who knew what he wanted and, above all, how to get it. 

A clap of thunder could be heard, still far away, but the dull rumble seemed like an impetus to Lux. He gripped Emhyr's shaft, intensifying his efforts to coax more of those delicious sounds from him, while he deeply inhaled the tangy scent of his crotch.

"Stop it," Emhyr finally breathed, "I want all of you before the rain hits us – or my soldiers."

This time he smiled, giving his otherwise stern face a flawless softness. Lux pulled back, brushing his hair from his heated forehead. He returned the smile because it was attractive and infectious, and said, “Whatever you wish.”

It was much easier to regard this as Emhyr's wish, which he – quite willingly – complied with, than to admit that he himself harbored such wishes. He had lain awake many a night, caressing his own hardness, imagining Emhyr’s hands on it. Yes, he often wanted to feel him, even in impossible situations. Armor was not made to capture men’s lust, and Lux had often stood aching beside the throne for many hours, consumed by his own desires.

He quickly stripped off the rest of his clothes. Crouching down, he turned around; his hair brushed the ground as the first drops of rain fell on the two men. Emhyr, however, grabbed him by the shoulder, turned him again, only to push him gently into the still completely dry grass.

“You're rarely so obedient,” he said, his mouth hungrily searching for places on Lux's body whose mere touch made him shudder.

“Do you want me to resist?”

Emhyr arched a brow, his gaze back to a hint of his usual seriousness, “What I want is for you to want me, that's all,” he returned. “Of your own free will, not because your emperor called you.”

“Of my own free will,” Lux confirmed softly, ”and only for the man you are at this moment, Emhyr.”

They exchanged a smile. Fleetingly, Emhyr let his hands roam across Lux’s body. Many a night he had praised his beauty, in words so unbridled that they had gotten Lux through many other night when he had stood alone on the battlements, completing another of his not so rare punishment duties. Emhyr covered him with his body as the raindrops became heavier; Lux hardly noticed, for now skillful hands teased his member with an echo of his own touches from earlier. Arching his neck, he looked up into the sky with a veiled gaze as Emhyr's thumb moved agonizingly slowly over his glans.

Emhyr's passion always fluctuated between solicitude and roughness, something that often drove Lux to despair. Not because he didn't enjoy it, on the contrary, but because all the tenderness reminded him far too much of what he couldn't have. There had been times when he had let himself be taken by dispassionate thugs in some dark alley, just to get rid of some tension. Such encounters were quickly forgotten, they were cold and calculated and only served the purpose of satisfaction. And of course he was grateful that Emhyr granted him a completely different passion, but it awakened emotions in him that were confusing, desperate and forbidden. 

Emhyr's hands slid down his thighs, gently pushing them apart. With a firm gaze into his eyes, he brushed two fingers over Lux’s lips, and he sucked them in willingly. The rain grew heavier as Emhyr pushed his fingers into him, and as he steadied his breathing and arched his back against the gentle pressure, a light breeze ruffled Emhyr's hair, revealing his dark locks. Lux would have loved to reach up and run his fingers through them, but the captain of the emperor’s merciless guards suddenly lacked the strength to do so.

The rain was warm, just like Emhyr when he finally entered him. Catching his breath, Lux searched for Emhyrs eyes. He was a large man in every respect, taking him in was never easy, but this was a sweet pain. Emhyr above him smiled, brushed a strand of wet hair from Lux’s forehead and began his first gentle thrusts as the thunder above them became more threatening. 

Every now and then, a flash of lightning flashed across the sky, where there were now no stars to be seen. Lux tried to count the distance between lightning and thunder, but Emhyr had begun to suck on his neck, right above his carotid artery, and he whimpered and forgot his concerns about Emhyr’s safety.

“I like you like this,” Emhyr whispered in his ear. “You never allow yourself to be weak, not even when you are being punished. But here-” he thrust harder, and Lux clasped his hands on his hips, ”this is your weakness.”

How true this is. You are my weakness.

Lux did not answer. He pulled Emhyr closer for a bold kiss, and the man responded by thrusting him deeper into the now damp grass, until all thoughts disappeared and their mutual panting became almost louder than the thunder.

Emhyr released into him with a sighing sound as the sky became almost as bright as day with a flash of lightning. For a few seconds, his body trembled on Lux with his final, erratic movements; then he reached for Lux's painfully hard cock, and he came just from the mere touch. Emhyr laughed. It was a choppy, rare sound, but a liberated one nonetheless. He kissed him again, and Lux could feel the fulfillment on his lips.

The rain was still warm, but it had also become quite heavy, and when Emhyr slipped out of him and rose to his feet, he said, “We should probably get dressed quickly. Your men will be beside themselves if they don't find me.”

“Oh, they'll find you,” Lux replied as he reached for his shirt and breastplate, “though they will look in the usual places first. But once they realize you might be outside – in this weather – they'll hurry.”

They were on their way back, already approaching the back entrance that led to the gardens, when Lux's prediction came true. Two Impera came running through the rain, he recognized them; they were the fresh recruits who had only recently joined the guard, the sons of nobles who had yet to earn their spurs. Lux kept the fact in mind that his second-in-command had decided to send these two, for a few words of warning later.

“Your Majesty,” one of them called out, then became aware of Lux's presence. “Captain?”

He saluted briefly, which Lux found almost amusing.

“You have found His Majesty. We were worried about the thunderstorm.”

“You'd better try harder to find me next time,” Emhyr replied with an ironic undertone. His gaze rested on Lux, and something in it warmed his heart. “At any rate, your captain has once again proved himself to my complete satisfaction tonight.”

He pushed past his guards into the palace, and Lux followed him, as he always did. Emhyr’s words, however, echoed in him, and probably would for a long time.

[AO3 version]