#i think daylight should be higher

[lokisgoodgirl]

Daylight Orgy: The Rite (IV)

Masterlist for The Rite is HERE My regular Masterlist is HERE Summary: (4) You confront Loki about Fandral - and the rules of the Rite are bent to breaking point. (w/c 4.1k) Warnings: 18+ only. Minors DNI. Asgard Loki! x FReader. Smuttish (+ 3rd party smut). Jealousy. Loki being a naughty prince.

Had you been expecting Loki to follow you?

That he’d thunder down those spiral steps and throw the bronze door open? Tear across the market square half-naked and yank you by the shoulders to say, ‘Stop – that scoundrel is a lying vagabond…’ ?

Yes, obviously.

But he didn’t.

You couldn’t settle back in your chambers. Picking things up, putting them down, moving to the window - always on edge for a knock that didn’t come.

‘The pleasure of the subject is only one part of the ritual. You cannot possibly fulfil the second.’

The fuck was that supposed to mean? Loki never mentioned a second part. As far as you knew, all you had to do was lie there and let him eat you out, not contain any enthusiasm, and try not to die from overstimulation. Sure…there might be other weird shit, it was the Asgardian Royals after all – but this seemed important.

If Fandral’s telling the truth, that is.

You frown, staring at a wiry bird shifting over the rooftops. Clearly, Fandral's a shit-stirrer. Clearly, he’s jealous, Loki had said as much. You’d be pretty jealous too if you were the only person in the inner-circle Loki hadn’t fucked over the past five centuries. An unexpected wrench of envy twists your stomach.

But the prince you’d seen in the Weaving Rooms was entirely different to the one that stared down from frescos and observed his worshippers with cool disdain. A smile that lit up his eyes, the inflection of a breathless chuckle as you caught him by surprise, a faint blush that could be mistaken as humble, the hesitant lust which thrummed beneath his skin as you’d pressed to him –

‘I need to see you,’ he’d said. ‘Every day from now until then.’ Like you meant something to him, and it felt…real.

Was it really a game? Would he pull the rug at the last minute before the ceremony? It was very on brand, you’d admit. The thought sends a violent shudder up your spine.

The next morning, there’s no knock at the door from Loki’s apprentice. No letters, no nothing. Anxiety creeps to anger, and with every inch the sun moves up the sky, your feet get itchier. Does he think I’m just going to sit around and wait for him? Fucking gods. Maybe I should just tell him no – then he’ll have do the Rite with Fandral, see how that works out. Serve him right.

But then… the thought of Loki crawling on top of that smarmy, coiffured arsehole invades your brain. Shit. You shift down the corridors of the court towards the interior palace. No one looks at you today. The golden doors of the main entrance to the royal quarters loom, and you swallow, heart loud in your ears. A guard side-steps in front of you with a cock of an eyebrow as effective as a raise of his hand. “I’m here to see Prince Loki,” you say. The eyebrow cocks higher. “You know how many people try that every day?” He looks down to your feet, and back to your face with a sneer. “Most of them dress better for the occasion. Or at least bring a bribe.”

You stare at him with heat creeping up your neck. “He knows who I am.” He laughs. “I bet he does.” “He does!” “Look…” The guard cups your elbow and ushers you to the side, glancing towards his peers at the other end of the door. “I don’t want to embarrass you, love. Just do yourself a favour, and leave.”

Your eyes narrow. “I’m here to see Prince Loki,” you say again, harsher this time. “Can someone just go and tell him I’m here? He’ll be pissed if he finds out you turned me away.” The guard flinches fractionally, studying your face. Eventually he leaves, and five minutes later, he’s back. “Come on,” he says gruffly. No apology, very nice. The gold door slams and the bustle of the outer court disappears. The air is cooler in here, a strange stillness hanging like perfume. More marble carves in large arches along the corridor, open to garden running up the middle of a courtyard. Somewhere, water trickles - but you can't see it. “He’s drunk,” the guard says without looking back. “Excuse me?” “The Prince. He’s drunk, and he has company.” You frown. It isn’t even midday. Suddenly your throat feels very tight, and you feel very small. If Loki had wanted to see me, he’d have asked. He’d have sent for me. So much for being aloof and interesting. Your irritation towards Fandral blooms with new fervour: not only has he ruined your excitement; he’s ruined your hot-girl-mystery.

The guard stops abruptly and you collide into his shoulder-guards. He clears his throat, stamping a staff twice.

You roll your eyes, shuffling around him. Through an open set of doors is a room like something from the whispered tales of olden Asgard. Chiffon flutters at the windows, long plush cushions lining the floor draped with blankets that shimmer in sunlight. In the corner, some blindfolded guy is plucking at a lute. Platters of nuts, grapes, sweet cakes lie half-demolished across the floor, and twice the amount of goblets as people. And then...your jaw goes slack.

Bodies shift in the room, two dozen, at least - all moving to their own rhythm like waves rippling to shore. A woman sits perched on the windowsill; you can’t see her face, only her legs wrapped around a man’s arse as he slowly thrusts into her. Her hair shimmers like spun gold; lips stained with rich juices while she pants to the ceiling. On the cushions, a man and woman lie side-by-side, kissing languidly as two other men busy themselves between their respective thighs. People are fucking…everywhere: sets of two, three, four. Norns. You’re trying to find somewhere to set your eyes that doesn’t involve breasts, or glistening body parts, or faces twisted in pleasure that you definitely shouldn’t be witness to. And then, they land on Loki. He's looking directly at you with a lazy, dark delight. The Prince lounges across a gilded chair in the corner; one thigh hiked over the armrest and the other stretched to its full length. His boots look more obscene on him than usual, today – sprawling like that.

The laces of his shirt are undone, dark tangles of hair spread over his shoulders and pearls of sweat glistening on his collarbone. With a mildly horrifying lurch of your stomach, you notice the ties at his groin are loose, too. But he’s not got someone squirming around his cock, and that’s something, at least. His lips move, but no sound comes out. You frown as he waves a hand, beckoning you through the doors. Dangling on the precipice of a flee, you feel one foot move in front of the other – and then your face feels like its slathered in jelly: cool, wet slime sliding over your skin. You lurch out the other side of the doorway with a gasp...and then the sound hits. Moans of pleasure ring to the high ceilings: grunts, mewls, groans of names you’ve never heard as they wring pitched ecstasy from each other. Loki’s smile grows. “Just a small silencing enchantment.” He shrugs and clicks his fingers. The door slams behind you. A few pairs of eyes flicker in your direction before re-focusing on their work. You can’t blame them – you’re entirely overdressed. Picking your way across the floor, you come to a stop beside him.

This…isn’t what you’d expected. He rests his head back, half-lidded eyes clouded by whatever’s swirling in his goblet. “You realise it’s not even midday?”

An impish smile lifts Loki’s lips, a flash of tongue nipping over the bottom one. “I am a second son of the crown, famed for hedonism and the sensual pleasures…how else should I fill my days?” Your eyes rise to the couple fucking on the windowsill. “Could we talk somewhere?”

A frown ghosts his forehead, and Loki reaches for your hand. His eyes have sharpened, and he looks almost sober. “We’re all friends here, it’s just…a release. A club, if you will. We can talk here, unless you’re uncomfortable.” Your tongue pokes against your cheek. You have no right to ask this, and yet, “Have you ‘released’ today, then?” One of Loki’s brows rise, lips rippling in a closed smile. “Yes.”

That jealousy you’d been fighting settles like a stone. Loki’s eyes slide between yours, slivers of sapphire sparking beyond deep pools of black. “Although not with any interference from another,’ he adds huskily. “I’m…saving myself, it seems.” “Oh?” “Mmm. Delayed gratification is a powerful lure.”

As the hum leaves his lips, Loki shuffles on the chair: back straightening and the leg hoisted on the armrest shifting. You try not to let your gaze drop to his crotch, but it’s a moth-flame situation. He’s hard, of course. Behind you, someone orgasms.

Heat pools in your lower belly, arousal blossoming like liquid shadow, and you know for a fact if you move – there will be a slip between your thighs. You’ve never been somewhere like this – sex has always been private, quiet. Loki’s looking at you with something close to innocence. Perhaps it’s the way you know there absolutely no way you can fuck him – no way for him to touch that hot mess gathering between your folds, and no way for you to suckle the head of his cock as he tangles those long fingers in your—

“Did you hear what I said?” You clear your throat, swallowing. “Sorry, I was…somewhere else.” “Mmm,” Loki hums again, brushing a finger by his lips to stifle a smile. He lowers his thigh from the armrest and pats it: once, twice. Like a magnet, you slide onto his lap. Across the room, a woman being fucked against a pillar frowns at you over her partner’s shoulder. An arrogant thrill soaks up your spine while Loki’s nose brushes down your cheek; lips lingering on the curve of your neck, his breath gloriously cool against the heat of your skin.

“What did you want to discuss, little owl? Here, in my den of debauchery.” His fingers dance up the folds of fabric at your midsection, cupping a breast and beginning to toy at the nipple. It feels so fucking good: too good. He pinches it gently, rolling against his thumb, knowing exactly what he’s doing; you exhale against his cheek, and it makes it almost impossible to whisper, “Fandral.”

The fingers still, and you can feel Loki frowning without even having to look. “What?” he growls. It’s all you can do not to grind against his thigh. He’s wearing a tight pair of leather trousers, so at least none of the mess between your legs, probably soaking through your dress, will get on his skin. But he might touch me. He pinches your nipple, eyes narrowing. A hiss erupts from your throat, tapering to a moan. “Fandral,” you say on the exhale. “If it’s not too much trouble, desist from moaning that rube's name in my presence, darling.” You frown. “He said you’re messing with me; said you don’t have any intention of us doing the Rite together, and that he’ll be the—”

Suddenly you’re airborne, Loki’s strong hands scooping you like a bag of feathers and manoeuvring you to one of the long pillows on the floor. He looms over you on his hands and knees; one set on either side of your left leg, a wild veil of black hair hanging around his jaw. His lips part, and the impossible muscles of his shoulders shift beneath the drape of that slutty shirt. “He will not,” Loki says. “Did that cunning little mouse say he was visiting Lagertha for any other reason than to have his doublet mended?” His breath is tinged with the sweetness of primrose wine. “You are my chosen partner; he has no sway in it – and certainly no say in it.”

The gravel of his voice is bass to the continuum of groaning that sings between pillars. Desire scorches your skin, tightening your thighs and twisting your stomach so taut it might snap. Your gaze shifts fractionally to the side, catching sight of a beautiful man with bronze hair glittering like a copper coin as his cock sinks inside against another man’s ass: again, again - a hand fastening to the back of his lover’s neck. The second man moans: guttural, primal. “Do you like that?” Loki’s breath licks the shell of your ear, his hands shifting the skirts of your loose dress up your parted legs like water. The digits slide down your arms, guiding them above your head. You can’t look away: the men are poetry together. The one taking everything the other has to give grips the back of a chair, his knuckles white, his jaw trembling and cock hard at his stomach as the fingers cradling his neck tighten.

If Loki can’t ravish you, if he can’t touch your cunt which aches for his tongue – then you’ll settle for his voice. And the heat radiating from the collar of his shirt. And anyway, you’re pretty sure his voice alone will make you climax in 3…2…1— “I want to know everything,” Loki says: dark, filthy, and…honest? Your pussy clenches so hard you almost whimper. “You’ve told me about your life, but now I wish to know your desires…your deepest fantasies. I crave that knowledge like an orgasm I cannot sate.”

His husk lingers heavy over any other sound, filling your mind with strange, inadvisable, thoughts of forever. “What you like,” he hums, “what you want…how I can pleasure you beyond anything you’ve shared with another, and how I can haunt every moment your mind wanders from now until eternity.”

The god’s lips graze your pulse point, and you can feel the thump of blood beating against his skin. “So, I ask again,” he says as the figures fucking in front of you blur, “do you like that?”

A stab of air rips down your throat as you gasp, “Yes.” Norns, right now you’d let him flip you over and sink into your ass in a second.

Without warning, one of Loki’s leather clad thighs presses against your clit. Sparks explode from your centre, tendrils of utter desire rippling across your body like the drag of a lit match. Fear widens your eyes, and amusement dances in his. “Your arousal cannot touch me through these,” he says coolly, taking his time over every syllable. “My hands remain here…” Loki’s eyes dart up to his fingers encircling your wrists, and squeezes. “My sword remains sheathed, and my leathers are merely...” He presses the flat of his lower thigh against your clit again, “A tool.”

“That’s cheating,” you say breathlessly. Loki’s lip twitches in a knowing smirk, a half shrug conveying, ‘What did you expect?’ “Don’t you want to play with me?” His eyes narrow, and another lance of need spears through your core. Your lips roll together, stifling a moan as your brows draw tight. “You’re drunk,” you say. But you don’t believe it. Loki’s pupils are still wide and deep enough to drown in, but it’s not the primrose wine. Unbelievably, it’s you. For now, you decide to let yourself imagine he doesn’t just need you for the Rite; that it could be more – that he could be yours.

The weight of his attention lies heavier in the air than the aroma of sex, and his thigh grinds against your pussy; catching the spot above your clit with each, gentle tug.

“Fuck…Loki,” you whisper, back arching off the cushion. His chin rises, smouldering beneath half-lidded eyes. “Talk to me,” he breathes. You want to dig the heel of your palm against his solid cock bound beneath the crotch of his leathers. You want to feel his animal god-lust pulsing under your hand - more fuel for the violently dirty fantasies you’ll create in your head later as you writhe beneath the sheets alone.

Loki tuts, squeezing your wrists again. You offer a weak, breathy struggle. “No, little owl. Not today, not yet. I want to be destructively engorged with the sight of you…denied what I want while I hear you come undone.” “Loki,” you whine again, face hot and a hum growing in your ears. This is crazy. And yet…

Loki’s thigh moves in wicked waves against your clit; his eyes burning into yours, those thin lips parted and flushed, and ragged exhales scraping from his throat like he’s sinking inside your cunt. “Talk to me,” he says again, but this time, it’s a beg. A silky voice sounds from behind his broad shoulders, accompanied by an immaculately shaped set of nails sweeping across his collarbone. The woman who was glaring earlier. She lowers to his ear. “Can I offer you relief, my prince? Since this one cannot?”

It’s hushed, but you were meant to hear it.

Loki doesn’t even look at her; his fingers stay curled around your wrists. “No,” he says through gritted teeth. She slinks away and the flames licking up your belly burn brighter. The meat of his thigh muscle stills, and the ache of its absence makes you frott against his knee.

“Talk to me,” he commands with an air of finality, chin lowering. “Tell me what you like, what you want.” Even if he let go of your arms, that stare would pin you in place. Every inch the prince; every inch the god – even in the middle of a daylight orgy.

“I want your mouth on me,” you whisper; squirming beneath his mischievous smirk. “I want it…slow, then heavier…then slower.” “Slow?” Loki hums, titling his head. That tongue darts over his lips. “And firm, but…soft. Wet. And loud…I want to hear you taste me.” Gods’ bones, has anyone ever been this ineloquent? But Loki doesn’t seem to mind. His face tells you he knows exactly what you mean; exactly how you like it. He’s imagining it, just as you are.

Your eyes dart to his crotch and the thick outline of his manhood strains against heavy creases. His hips shift, a small hiss filling the air between you. “What else?” he asks in a breathless voice that’s so unlike him. You bite your lip as his stare falls down your chest - flimsy drapes of silk threatening to expose your breasts. You wonder if he’ll let go of your wrists. And if he can control himself if he does. “And I want your cock, too…obviously.” “Obviously…” he goads with the spectre of a smile. The god leans forward, nudging the silk aside with his nose and capturing a nipple with a firm suck. Loki’s thigh begins to shift against your pussy again, and a strangled moan rattles in your throat. The groans of the men fucking a few meters away reach crescendo and they tumble over the edge in a sweaty, groaning slip of sex.

“I want you everywhere,” you gasp, losing any shred of remaining modesty with the smear of your heat against his leathers. “My cunt, my mouth, my ass—” “—Like them?” he stammers, thick brows drawn together. “—Like them. I want you so deep inside me I forget my own name, want your skin smacking my shoulders, want you pulling me onto your cock as you fuck me like I’m in heat and you can’t control it—” “—More,” Loki gasps, and your eyes fly open. His face is twisted with furious need, lines deep in his forehead, strands of onyx hair buffeting at his lips. His thigh slips against your slit – it’s absolutely soaked, and his hands tremble where he’s holding you in place. The words that shape your lips are calculated in their depravity: aimed to kill. “I want your cum dripping between my thighs; dripping between my breasts…” At that, Loki groans. “I’ll lick it off myself…before I suck you clean, and swallow everything you have left…my prince.” Loki’s jaw slackens like the orgasm shattering him is an unseen foe with a knife to his neck. The jolt in his hips sends the thick thigh driving against your clit and you crumble right alongside him with a garbled cry of his name. He falls on top of you in a mess of ferocious need; lips working, breath gasping from your lungs and the beat of his heart strong against your ribs. But still, his hands don’t leave your wrists.

“You are a wonder,” he breathes, galaxies swimming in his pleasure-drunk stare. And for a moment, you forget that you’re a means to an end; that after the Rite you’ll go back to being a nobody - and you believe him.  

Loki barely has his wits back when someone clears their throat at the door. “Your brother - Prince Loki.” “My what?” “Your brother, the crown prince. He’s outside.” “Nine hels. What does he want?” Loki didn’t wait for the man to respond – he’d save the wretch that particular misery, and Loki’s misery at having to listen to the bluster of his explanation. He dips to your cheek, drawing his nose down the line of your cheekbone, inhaling against your sweat-damp skin. “I’ll return shortly,” he whispers. And below him, you shiver. A thrill spreads in sharp veins under his flesh. Loki strides past the guard looking at the ceiling while his cheeks flush an alarming shade of scarlet – and the door shuts quickly behind them. Thor stands with his arms folded, one ill-groomed eyebrow rising as he says, “Are the reports true? That your Rite partner is in there?” Loki can’t contain the eye-roll. “If you think I’m so foolish as to compromise myself at the eleventh hour before my ascension to the royal line; then truly there is no hope for you, brother. And she has a name, you know.” Thor’s gaze drops sceptically to his thigh. “What’s that?” He gestures to the glistening slick down one of the leather-clad quad muscles. Norns. “It’s not breaking the rules, I checked.”

With a flick of his fingers, the slick evaporates. And even though he’s sure (almost, sure), Loki rubs his fingertips together. Nothing. He breathes a secret sigh of relief. It would just be like Thor to ruin everything without actually intending to. “Of course you did, Loki. How studious of you.” “Can you spell that?” He snorts. “Besides, your partner was Lady Sif – you had centuries to cultivate the bond. And father and mother were partners…it’s a completely different situation. I must do what I must within the confines of the ceremonial rules.” “And whose fault is that, Loki? You could’ve had your pick of partners had you not rutted through them in a jamboree of wine and carnal gluttony.” Loki’s lip twitches, and he sucks the bottom one between his teeth. “I couldn’t have selected better if I’d had the centuries to spare, actually. Not all of us need hundreds of years to woo someone.”

The bemused crunch of Thor’s brow makes a flutter of satisfaction blossom in his chest. “I assure you, brother – all aspects of the Rite of Successional Pleasure will be fulfilled, I’m sure of it.” Thor's eyes narrow. “She’s been told of the second requirement?” “No, but I believe doing so will make it unnecessarily…challenging. She doesn’t need to know, she only needs to feel.” “You realise her feelings for you must come willingly. Un-influenced by magic?”

Loki glares, spine stiffening. “I shan't need to use my powers to wring pleasure from her body, why should I require it of her heart? Is that so hard to believe?” “In such a short amount of time? Yes, brother. I’ve known you over a millennia, and most days I still don’t care for you.” Loki’s fist flexes at his side as Thor, regrettably, continues. “The Rite is an expression of our benevolence to bestow pleasure on another freely, but it is also a test of our means to win their affections; their loyalty.” “And I will not fail,” he snaps. He and Thor stare at each other, unblinking, until his brother breaks first with a long, whittling sigh. “I hope you’re right, brother,” he says. “And be more careful, it would be unfortunate if you were to be undone by your own…passions, as usual.”

Heat prickles beneath Loki’s skin. “What would you know of my passions? Thor’s cape flutters as he turns, before glancing over his shoulder: ignoring him. “As much as it pains me, choosing Fandral as your partner for the Rite may be the wiser choice…it’s not too late. You know he already harbours those feelings for you – the deep ones the ritual requires. If there is any doubt, brother—”

“—There is no doubt,” Loki lies, fingernails digging in to the soft flesh of his palm. “I still have two moons until the ceremony– wars have been won in less.” He keeps his expression flat as Thor’s eyes soften. “If only love was as simple as war, brother,” he says in one of those rare displays of wisdom that make Loki want to punch him in the face. “She’s not one of us. I would say try not to break her heart, but it’s inevitable, is it not.” It isn’t a question. Loki swallows as his brother’s footsteps fade, glancing back to the golden door. He waves his hand, releasing the enchantment muffling the guard’s ears.

“Get her out of there,” he murmurs. “Escort her, offer my apologies; instruct her to change, and meet me in the gardens at sunrise.” "My prince, she will ask—" "—Sunrise," he snaps. A pain throbs behind his eyes.

The guard nods, and Loki tries to ignore the pulse of his heartbeat in his throat, and the unfamiliar itch of guilt spreading with every echoing thud of his boots around Asgard’s gilded halls.

Next Chapter: Illusion & Truth The Masterlist for The Rite is HERE Comments in tags ❤️ Plz be silly with me 🍰🥳

[tonowarii]

Yawne

Pairing: Tsu'tey te Rongloa Ateyitan x Fem! Dreamwalker! Reader

Request: Tsu'tey with a dreamwalker reader were they come up with human nicknames for him when they are training become one of the na'vi, and he's confused and asks jake. So when he finds out he starts calling her nicknames that are meant for mates or something in his language. Something that makes the reader flustered. If you want to.

Word count: 2.3k

Warning/s: none really?? just fluff bc tsu'tey <333

Note: tsu'tey i miss u man come back <3 Anyways, likes, reblogs, and feedbacks are much appreciated! Let me know what you think!

GIF is not mine, credits to the owner!

yawne - beloved

tìyawn - love

You face planted. Hard.

Groaning, you prop yourself up with your elbows. Your face was caked with mud from falling off your direhorse.

“Glad I’m not the only one falling off my ass.” You could hear Jake playfully say as he walked with Neytiri, going somewhere to teach him how to use a bow.

You could hear Neytiri smack him on the arm, muttering something else.

“Yeah, yeah, piss off.” You say with a light chuckle.

“You are not taking this seriously.” Someone spoke from above you.

Looking up, you spot the usual scowl on the man’s face, Tsu’tey. Soon to be olo’eyktan of the Omaticaya clan. The man you wanted to choke the living daylights of, at the same time he was also the man whom your heart started to beat for.

It was stupid, really, falling in love with your instructor, you knew your stay here would may as well be temporary, but you were going to make the most of it.

“I am, give me a break I just fell off my horse.” You grumble, standing up to meet his eye, well, you still had to look up from the difference in height.

“There are no breaks. How are you going to learn? You Sky People should just go away.”

You knew of his distaste in the Sky People, and you couldn’t blame him. You hated your own kind too. For now, you just played with him.

“I can’t, I know you’d miss me, Casanova.” The edge of your lip curls up in a smirk at the nickname you gave him.

Tsu’tey’s brow knitted together at confusion for the said nickname, yet he ignores it, jerking his head towards the horse. “Again.”

All you could do was sigh and hop on the direhorse again.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

As you got used to Tsu’tey being by your side, the nicknames you gave him started to get worse. However, you enjoyed the grumpy look on the warrior, it made you laugh.

“Where are we going now, Romeo?” You asked, trailing behind him through the forest, holding your bow.

You could hear his tall figure let out a ‘Tch’ before he kept going.

“Not even going to answer me, Romeo? Oh, you pain me.” You giggle.

“I do not understand what you are saying, woman.” Tsu’tey said, stopping and finally looking at you.

“That’s why it makes things more exciting, don’t you think? Since we’re spending all this time together.” You speak nonchalantly. Tsu’tey couldn’t believe how lively you were being.

And the worst part is? He’s enjoying it.

None of the young hunters he had trained had the personality like you, no. It was either they were too focused, which Tsu’tey liked, but the others were too scared or often other female na’vi would just flirt with him.

But he would rather feed himself to a viperwolf than let you know that he’d been enjoying this little game of nicknames of yours, even if he didn’t know what it meant. It made all the time spent with you more fun, like he said, lively.

Still, he was always reminded that you were one of the Sky People, another dreamwalker on their planet. But why was he feeling a certain way when you smile at him?

When you perfected something he taught you, why does he want to go to you and congratulate you by holding your hand and smiling at you?

Instead, what he does is nod at you, before making you do it again to make sure. He must remain professional, but why does his instinct crumble when it comes to you?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Hold it.” Tsu’tey said to you as you held your drawn bow.

“Higher.” Tsu’tey commanded, but you didn’t follow. He bites the inside of his cheek before grabbing your elbow, your body inches away from his as he raised your elbow at the height it was intended. He never failed to notice the slight dark hue to your cheeks.

He backed away again, wanting to see your form. “ (Correct).”

You smile at him, and he almost smiles back at you.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The game went on and soon you’ve called him a bunch of names.

It ranged from honey, sweetie, sweetheart, honey bun, and a bunch more that Tsu’tey couldn’t keep up with. It made him curious, why were you calling him like that?

So, there he was one night after a feast, his eyes trailed to you. You were wearing their clothes and you looked even beautiful. You were currently laughing about something with Neytiri when the curiosity of his mind got the better of him.

Thankfully, Jake was just right beside him.

“I have a question, JakeSully.” He said to the man who seemed quite busy stuffing his mouth with food.

“Oh, sure. What’s up?”

Tsu’tey suddenly debated whether he should really be asking Jake. But as since the two of you were from the same kind, he figured he knows much more a lot about it than the others.

“(Y/N) keeps calling me things- things I do not understand.” Tsu’tey said.

“Oh? What things?” Jake replied.

“What does ‘honey bunch’ mean?”

At that, Jake could swear he inhaled some of his food as he broke out into a laugh.

Tsu’tey frowned, does it mean something bad? Were you making fun of him the whole time?

“Man, didn’t know she had it in her.” Jake laughed.

“What does it mean?” Tsu’tey said, slightly tightening his grip on the strap of his holster, awaiting Jake’s answer.

“Well, it’s a nickname, I know you know that. But its you know, something you call your… how do I put this?” Jake thought. “Like its something you call your mate only.”

Tsu’tey then felt his grip loosen at Jake’s words. All this time you were calling him names that were meant for your beloved.

Tsu’tey’s mouth went agape for a moment, before gulping and nodding. “Ah, I see.”

“Its also a way for her to tell you that she likes you, trust me, I know her.” Jake said before going back to eating and talking with the other na’vi.

He inhales, his eyes finding their way back to you, to his surprise, your eyes met his.

Then you smiled and waved at him.

He didn’t know how to respond, so he moves away from your gaze, busying himself with his thoughts that he missed your frown at being ignored.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You and Tsu’tey now sat in front of each other, under one of the highest branches in hometree.

He was teaching you how to speak na’vi.

“Nam’ake.” Tsu’tey said.

“Namate.” You repeated but Tsu’tey shook his head.

“Nam’ake.” He repeated.

“Nam’ake.” You said.

“Good.”

There was that smile of yours again. “You are learning well, tìyawn.” He smiles smugly at your confused face.

“What does that mean?” You ask him as he shrugged, smirking. “Hey, no fair, since when did you also start calling me names, huh?” You spoke.

“You started it first.” He was now being playful with you, which was a new thing , still, you enjoyed it, getting to see this side of Tsu’tey.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You just finally had your first kill as you closed your eyes, thanking a silent prayer to Eywa before mercy killing the hexapede in front of you with your dagger.

Tsu’tey watched, a proud smile on his face as you learned well from him.

“You are ready, yawne.”

You open your eyes again to look at him. “You got to tell me what that means.” You say, standing up, sheathing your dagger back into its holster.

“Maybe one day.” He replies.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

After countless days, you were now ready to be signified as one of the people, one of the Omaticaya.

Tsu’tey and Neytiri traced the white liquid onto you and Jake’s body.

You could feel yourself shiver as Tsu’tey’s hand dips into the bowl then traced a line down your lips. You could feel his concentration. You didn’t miss how his fingers lingered on your lips before removing them.

Tsu’tey was proud of you. Once you walked out with Jake, you could see all of the Omaticaya turn their heads towards the two of you. It made you shiver, you heart spiking as you made your way down.

You and Jake were still beside each other as Eytukan was in front of you. “You are now a son and daughter of Omaticaya.” He spoke in Na’vi. You stare at his gentle gaze. “You are part of The People.”

Eytukan both laid a hand on yours and Jake’s shoulder. You could feel yourself becoming one with them. Not just a person in an avatar body, but as truly one of the people. You see Neytiri clasps her hand on Jake’s body, a proud smile on her face, making you smile too.

Then you suddenly feel two rough, calloused hands rest their place on your shoulder and you immediately recognize who it was.

Tsu’tey.

And then a big feast was yet again held, celebrating becoming one with the people as you and Jake were now warmly welcomed by the others.

“Come, come dance with us!” Neytiri said, pulling you up from your sitting position. Your eyes widened as you gasped. “Neytiri, I’m no dancer!” You said, dark hue tinting your cheeks.

Neytiri smiled yet she was persistent as you already found yourself standing and being pulled along with her.

Tsu’tey didn’t miss the scene as his eyes followed yours, he watched as you began to dance along with the Omaticaya women. His eyes only focusing on your figure. He watched how you went from doing small moves into finally feeling yourself as your hips dipped and swayed to the drumming.

His eyes were only pried away when one of his friends talked to him.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

After finishing the dance, you laugh, out of breath as you and Neytiri conversed, making your way back to your original spot. You had a few drinks in your system that you didn’t even realize was possible, leaving your face lightly flushed and feeling confident.

Reaching the destination giggling to yourselves, Neytiri playfully shoved you against Tsu’tey’s front. You gasped as your hands placed themselves on his broad chest to stop the impact as his arms instinctively reached out to catch you.

“Enjoy (Y/N).” Neytiri teases before going to Jake, pulling him up from his seat and dragging him somewhere. You gasp at her, laughing to yourself, not realizing a certain warrior was now holding your almost intoxicated self.

Your attention was now turned to Tsu’tey as you looked up at him. “Hi.” You greet with a sheepish smile, your hands still on his chest., lingering there for a few seconds before you retracted it, the same with Tsu’tey’s arms.

You then tried to move beside him to sit when he suddenly grabbed your arm, making you stop and look up at him again, your breath hitching in your throat.

“(Y/N).” He said your name with his thick accent, his voice almost lower than its usual tone. “Hmm?” You inquired. Before you know it, he was leading you somewhere away from the people… somewhere secluded yet beautiful as the bioluminescence glowed and you could hear the trinkling of water somewhere nearby.

Tsu’tey did not know what he was doing, but he guessed it was time to say it, before everything was too late.

But he feels his words melt away as he saw you standing there, your hair was down in cascading waves from them being trapped in a braid for too long, you were wearing a top adorned with little flowers and vines as they littered your chest. You were looking around, your face in awe, admiring the flowers that glowed and the ground beneath you glow as you stepped.

Think straight. Tsu’tey tells himself.

Moving towards you, he reaches for your arm.

You glance at him with a smile. “It’s beautiful here.”

“(Y/N).” He speaks again. You listen.

“You are one of the people now. You may make your bow from the wood of Hometree,” He began, but the next thing he was going to say felt heavy on his chest. He looks into your eyes to find you staring at him. He opens his mouth.

“And you may now choose a man. The Omaticaya has made men into fine warriors, protectors, like Atsìì.” He spoke.

You recognized Atsìì, also one of the fine warriors in the Omaticaya clan.

But the way your face lit up at the mention of his name made Tsu’tey regret mentioning him.

“I know him,” you say, making Tsu’tey’s ear twitch but he ignores the gnawing feeling in his stomach. “But I don’t see him that way.”

He instantly felt relieved that he almost let out a sigh, he almost gave himself away.

“But there is this fine warrior.” You spoke, never taking your eyes off him as he listened.

“A very fine warrior who has a strong heart.” The drinks you had were really taking its effect on you as you slowly smiled at him.

“And he has taught me many things,” You decide to push your luck and place your hands on his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart as you inch your face close to his. “He taught me how to love.”

Tsu’tey’s hand rests themselves on your hips as he fully realized who you were talking about. You were talking about him. Him.

A proud smile slowly makes its way to his lips, his fangs showing as his tail flicked behind him. “I taught you how to love, hm?”

You nod, smiling at him. “You did, tìyawn.”

Tsu’tey’s head tilt at you upon hearing the word. You giggle, coming closer as he leaned down, your lips almost brushing his.

“Two can play at that game.” You whisper before his head dips and your lips connect.

[nightdivinity]

Drink Responsibly: Chapter 1

ABO!Vampire!Batfam x reader

Minors! Do! Not! Engage! +18 only!

Platonic!Alfred, Bruce x reader, Possessive! Batboys x reader

Warnings: Bad life choices, possessive behavior, a/b/o, they're vampires, loooong age gaps, no proofreading, reverse harem.

Writer's Note: I am so tired. I exist only because of caffeine and spite. So here you go, Chapter 2 is done as well. It will come out Friday hopefully.

Grey eyes stare into yours as you try your hardest to not squirm under the intensity. How did you get to be where you are? You have no clue. Honestly, there shouldn’t have been a callback. You should not have landed this opportunity for the second interview. The initial screening process should have weened you out in the first place.

From what you had gathered from the chatty chauffeur in the town car, (the town car! They knew you had no car to get to Wayne Manor, let alone to your job. Yet they still sent you someone to go pick you up from your ratty apartment.) This was all ordained by someone much higher than Mr. Pennyworth in front of you. The talk with the chauffeur had almost put you at ease until you looked out the window and saw the heavy iron gate open to Wayne Manor’s winding driveway. There’s no doubt in your mind. You shouldn’t be here. In more ways than one.

It made your bandages itch the more you thought about it. You couldn't scratch them like the feral animal you were deep down inside. At least, not when you're being as heavily scrutinized as you are now.

“I’m not sure you know what you’re getting yourself into my dear.”, the butler says.

“I want this job.”

He sighs then and reaches for the cup of tea sitting on the table next to him. When you got to the Manor, Mr. Pennyworth had met you at the front step. He still ushered you through a side entrance and a winding set of narrow hallways until you reached the sitting room you were now in. Not that you were complaining about being treated like a servant when you were trying to like hell to land the job.

If ever there was an excellent place to kill someone, this was it. You find yourself thinking as you look away from him and study the art on the walls. The manor itself was far removed from society and the small windowless study with the ornate crackling fireplace was oppressive as much as it was impressive. No one would ever hear you scream.

“The issue is not a matter of want. The issue is a matter of need.”, he says.

You watch him take a sip as a bead of sweat collects at the back of your neck. It was getting too hot in here, and the bandage around your wrist was itching.

“I need it. No one wants to hire me”, You reply.

You’re not sure what you expect after you say that. Half of you were expecting him to start grilling you like he did during your interview two days ago. That one had taken place in daylight, in an ostentatious conference room at Wayne Enterprise's.

You were still waiting for him to pick you to the bone and say, “Why is that?”. The other half feels like the admittance makes you guilty. Guilty of going out that night. Guilty of getting caught in a crowd surge while blackout drunk. Guilty of the infected thralls that were unleashed by the Scarecrow goons. Guilty of killing the infected that had started ripping you to pieces. Not that you remember any of it, frustratingly enough. No one, not even the news, gave enough information on that night. Why was I there?

“How are you doing dear?” Pennyworth asks.

You blink. No one has asked that yet. Not by anyone that you feel genuinely wants to know the answer.

“Good. Sore, and I believe honesty is the best policy. I can’t dance like I used to.”, you joke.

It falls flat in the cramped space as you give him a tight grin. His grey eyes dart momentarily to the crutch that was resting next to the chair, and to the cast going slightly above your knee.

“Yes, honesty is such an important quality nowadays. Might I say, it is fortunate that you survived.”

“No one else thinks that. I’m just thankful that Duke was there. I was told he was the one that got me to the hospital. Now he’s gone and got me this interview.”

It’s funny. Time from that night seems disjointed. While you were black-out drunk, you do feel as though you were only in the club for five minutes. The attack happened at 12:45 am. You remember waking up in the hospital and finding your chart on your way to the bathroom. It said you were admitted at 2 am. The next time you managed to grab it, it had said 12:59 am. Not to mention your wounds were healing at a faster rate than most Omegas. Something was picking deep inside your skull.  

 “Luckily this job is not strenuous if you are up to the task.”

You nod at him. You need this.

“Well, there are rather strict rules. Breaking them is a breach of contract that will be handled severely. This isn’t like a regular job out there. Any problems that arise will not result in a simple firing.”, he pauses before continuing, “For example, personal electronic devices are prohibited in the Manor. Your bags will be thoroughly checked by me upon arrival. You will be allowed devices that are monitored by security.”

“I can’t just be cut off from my family”, you protest.

“We don’t want you to. You may make phone calls during your allotted time off. They will happen here, or in Master Bruce’s office with either him or me in the room. Your predecessor was fond of skirting her duties and we have found the need for such restrictions.”

“While excursions are discouraged, they are not prohibited. We will go over those security measures at a later time. You are to be readily available when called upon at any time they require something. While day workers are employed here, at no point are you allowed to interact with them.”

You can’t help the way your brows furrow. This was going to be a long year if you were to take this opportunity. With each rule, you wondered if this was why the position was empty for so long.

“I tend to the bedrooms, and at no point should you enter them unless invited by the occupant. You will be given a room as well, and I would appreciate cleanliness. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are all served at the same time, tardiness is prohibited.”

“Will I be helping in the kitchen?”, you ask.

“No. Not unless you want to, if you are going to cook, please notify me accordingly.”

“So, wait. I’m confused. Just what is my job here?”

Alfred sighs and for the first time since you’ve met the prim and proper gentleman, he seems a bit haggard. Which did not make you feel good.

“It gets awful lonely here in the manor. As I’m sure you are aware, Alphas live for a long time. Particularly ones infected such as those in Wayne Manor. Now and then it is refreshing to have something that brings more life into such a place. The children have taken an interest in you, and that is enough for Master Bruce.”

“I’m not a toy.”

“No. You’re fortunately not. What you are being offered is room and board, all you have to do is adhere to the rules. In exchange, you have to be a friend. Surely you know how to do that”?

If he had asked your friend, he’d have been met with a resounding no. After that night you had found yourself crippled in the hospital with no friends to speak of. Your friend had been peeved, rightfully so, that you had just packed their wasted butt into a car with a stranger. You had been miffed because hello?? They weren’t the ones chomped on by a deranged rabid Beta. They had made it home in one piece, even getting past the front door and into their bed. Both of you had been wasted, so why act like it was all your fault? You were getting tired of the world treating you like you were the root cause of life’s issues.

“I won’t be doing any of that”, you ask.

Now he just looked downright uncomfortable. You were almost embarrassed, but the question needed to be asked. Being hired to be a friend to Alphas that were at least a century old likely resulted in you waking up in a bed that’s not yours.

“Only if you consent to it. You won’t be reprimanded for not doing it, or if you do find yourself in that position.”, he clears his throat, “Healthcare and dental is provided. Due to your circumstances as an Omega, blockers will be provided along with your daily vitamins. Your health and safety is paramount to us.”

You had nothing more to say. Silently you sat there, running through any alternative options, and yet you kept hitting a wall. There was no denying it, this was the best option you could be given. All you had to do was smile and nod and make it a year. By then you should be able to get your feet back underneath you and be able to reassess your situation. Who knows? You might just like it.

“I’m going to say, you have a deal”, you smile at him.

“Then please, call me Alfred.”

He gets up then and holds a hand out to you to help you out of your chair. His smile back is warm, creases folding up from his eyes, a drastic change from the cold persona that you had started becoming accustomed to.

“Shall I call for the town car Ms. (L/N)?”

This was the start of a beautiful friendship, you decided. You nod your head as he pulls you up and gives you a brisk but friendly pat on the shoulder.

“Duke, you don’t have to do this”, you protest.

It was the thirteen-hundredth time you’ve said it. When Alfred closed the interview, he had taken the time to walk you to the front door, pointing out so many rooms that it all went over your head. You almost made it to the front. Then Duke saw you and took over from there.

“No, no, and for the last time, stop. I want to do it”, Duke grins up at you.

He was on the floor, taping up the last of your boxes. You hate to admit it, but you’re not sorry in the slightest as he does all the heavy lifting. The best part about it was getting to see all the muscles in his back when he turned around. Yum. Hey, you were a red-blooded Omega. There were just some things you couldn’t fight.

“Be careful not to break that”, you warn.

“Right, because what will the world do without these little tchotchkes?”, Duke laughs.

Somehow, not surprisingly, he dodges the stray crutch that you toss half-heartedly in his direction. At this point, he was used to you trying to weaponize your “mobility aide”.

It all started when he helped you get back to your apartment, in a wheelchair that he bought. Then he abandoned said wheelchair and carried you bridal style up several flights of stairs. Citing that the elevator was too dangerous because it hadn’t been inspected in the past decade. Even ignoring you when you told him that it would be far more likely for both of you to fall to your death in the stairwell. This was all two weeks ago, and he still refuses to use the elevator.

He was on the floor now, humming and throwing your shit in boxes. You weren’t sure how he did it. When you agreed to the move, you had been internally wincing and panicking. Thinking it was just going to be you, hopping pitifully around the room. Probably taking breaks and reminiscing over the stray artifacts of your life. You would’ve needed at least three days max to get packed. Duke cut it down to two hours.

“Sooooooooo”, you draw out, “Tell me about the others.”

 “There’s not much to say, not a lot that I can either way. What do you want to know?”

Your eyes narrow as he turns weirdly evasive. He always got a little cagey when you brought up his adoptive family. Never quite answering the question.

“What are they like? Are they nice?”, you ask.

He pauses and stands, turning his back to you so he can put a box on the trolley. We’re going to take the elevator. You thought with a smug sort of glee at the realization. That means you’ll be in your wheelchair. See, you’re slowly reclaiming your independence. Sort of.

“Um. Cass is really nice, but you won’t see her often. Same with Steph. They both kind of do their own thing and no one lives at home besides Alfred, Bruce, and me. Though that might change.”

He pauses again. You stick your tongue out at his back only for him to whirl around to face you. Quickly you snap it back in and try to appear innocent as you stare up. Ew. Popcorn ceiling. You wonder for a second if you could have asbestos in your lungs from that.

“Dick, I mean Grayson, he oversees the training of the Alpha taskforce in Bludhaven. Jason avoids Bruce like the plague while doing the most to get his attention, and I can't really get into what he does for a living. You don't want to know. Tim lives and breathes at Wayne Enterprise’s various global sectors, some of the time, he’s the hardest to track. Damian has been somewhere in Pakistan. Where? I don’t know. I would avoid him and Jason if at all possible. Not that you'll likely see them."

You had to smother your cry of relief. This was going to be a lot easier than you thought. There were only going to be three people that you had to worry about. Maybe you were going to finally complete a New Year’s resolution now that you had time. The world was looking up for you.

“I think that’s it, are you ready?”

His question breaks off your train of thought. You can’t help but groan when he gets near you, arms outstretched, ready for a hug and humiliating you. To make matters worse, he says the worst thing possible.

“Up you go!”, Duke crows.

“No! To the chair! Put me down you overgrown bat!”, you say.

Thankfully he does, gently plopping you down in the cushy seat and stooping to ruffle your hair. You were hissing mad. Not that he cared. Just to goad you further, he reached over to the handles behind your back and rang the obnoxious little bike bell he attached to it.

“Run”, you warn him.

He laughs while sprinting with the dolly all the way to the elevator as you try like hell to mow him down. Both of you completely missed the way his phone kept blowing up with notifications, the small dings being mistaken for a bike bell.

[clare-875]

Just Wanted You (Levi x Reader)

_____

Pairing: Levi x reader Summary: Levi forgets your birthday, and tries to make it up to you. Warnings: angst, fluff Note: The above image does NOT belong to me [AOT Masterlist]

_____

As the sun rose past the horizons that lay past your window you find yourself stir with your body’s all too familiar response to sleep’s fleeting presence. You keep your eyes shut despite the light that slowly illuminates the room to try to salvage the moment of peace if only just for a moment, that is, until, your mind catches up to you. Your eyes now shoot open before a smile quickly reaches the corners of your face. Today was your birthday. Now you don’t truly care too much for the prospect of birthdays or governing a whole day to your wants and needs, but you cared about spending time with your partner. Levi. You turn, still smiling, hoping to find him underneath the covers beside you, hoping to share the day with him. However, when you reach out blindly to your side you are met with cool sheets and not even an indentation that he had been lying beside you. When your eyes finally catch up to your movements you falter slightly at the sight of his absence.

A grain of disappointment fills you as your smile momentarily wavers before resuming its place on your face. You let out a sigh but shake your head; you had kept your expectations low, after all, being Captains in the Squad Regiment rarely meant a moment’s rest. It was not rare the number of times you awoke before the daylight or he left before you, leaving the other to awaken alone. Despite that, you had both learned to love in the quiet spaces of time you shared just the two of you, to treasure every fleeting moment that encapsulated your relationship and to protect each other in a world so cruel. Your eyes move across the room before spotting a note left at your bedside table. I have to run some reports to the higher ups, I should be back by the afternoon. Levi. Your heart warms at the sight. That’s right, you think to yourself. Even on previous birthdays, if you hadn’t been able to spend the whole day together, Levi would often make the effort to be with you at least for a few hours during the day to celebrate privately. You didn’t mind; a single moment with him during the day was all you really wanted.

You get up, stretching lightly above your head and taking in a deep breath before deciding to get ready for the day. Unlike Levi, you had been able to snatch a day off from Erwin, who readily gave it to you seeing as you were one of his most valuable soldiers, working hard throughout your time as Captain. You felt excitement fill you again at the prospect of having a free day, a day without paperwork or training or the endless tasks that come with being a leader of the Scouts. You rush to get ready, quickly washing your face and putting up your hair, selecting casual clothes that had been left in the depths of your wardrobe, unused for several weeks. You leave the confines of your room and almost instantly are greeted by scouts who smile and greet you, surprised to see you in your informal attire. Other scouts you are close with grin and congratulate you on your birthday to which you smile kindly and give your thanks.

Much of your day is spent joyously and you are more than thankful for a day of rest regardless of whether it was your birthday or not. Your breakfast was spent surrounded by your squad who instantly swarms you, with a chorus of, "happy birthday captain," gathering more attention you are flustered at. Much of the morning is spent at the markets in town, deciding to treat yourself to small trinkets and a book that had caught your eye a few weeks ago. You also gather up a bunch of ingredients, deciding that if Levi would come home in the afternoon, you could spend the rest of the day cooking up a nice dinner for the two of you to share. You didn't mind, you just wanted to spend some time with the man you loved and to have a meal not catered to you but homemade.

When you finally get back to Scout headquarters after stopping by the bakery for a quick lunch, it's Hange who approaches you, eyes shining behind their glasses. "[y/n]!" They grin widely at you as they approach before swinging an arm around your shoulder. "Happy Birthday, where's the clean freak today?" You let out a laugh, "you mean Levi?" You turn to them as you take out the ingredients you got, getting ready to prepare them in the small kitchenette you were in. "He's gone into town to meet with some of the higher-ups, he should be back later." There is a brief pause as Hange falters at the fact seeming in contemplation about something. You look up confused by the sudden silence.

“Hange, what's wrong?" They turn to you before shaking their head as if dismissing something and their grin reaches their face once more. "Nothing, I just thought Levi had the day off today." You smile and nod as you start to chop and mix your ingredients, creating your favourite dish for the night. "Yeah, but he must've had trouble getting it off, after all I've got today off, maybe Erwin didn't want two captains out of the running." Hange nods slowly in agreement before their energy seems to rush back through them. "Anyway, what are you making? Need any help?"

Needless to say, the rest of the afternoon was spent in a mixture of laughter and panic as you and Hange ran around the kitchen, food covering your faces. At one point something was burning, something was flying and something had fallen to the floor. You honestly had no idea how the two of you were able to produce a decent meal by the end of it, but there it was in front of you, and it didn't look half bad. You turn grinning at Hange who looks exhausted. "I think I'll stick to the Titans..." They mutter and you let out a laugh at their state. The two of you finally finish cleaning up and you say your goodbyes as you carry your food and some tea on a tray to take to your and Levi's room. You feel excitement brimming within you once again at the prospect of finally seeing him today and sharing this moment, just the two of you. As you turn the corner about to enter your room, however, you meet with a pair of bright blue eyes and realise Erwin is approaching you.

"[y/n]," he smiles kindly as you cross paths, giving you a warm expression you rarely see in the presence of other Scouts. "Erwin," you nod with a smile as you pause briefly before reaching for your door. "I just wanted to say Happy Birthday, I hope you and Levi enjoyed your day off." With that, the blond-haired man is off again, before you can even respond to the words he just spoke. You feel yourself confused as this was the second time someone mentioned Levi taking the day off, and Erwin too? It must've been a mistake. You quickly shake your head before opening the door and making your way to the table in the middle of the room. You place your two dishes upon it and set the tea aside, knowing you may have to reheat it a bit later. You look out the window to see that the sun outside is slowly falling to the depths of the horizon once more and wonder if Levi will be back soon. You unconsciously feel your heart warm at the thought, keen to see your lover even though you had just seen him last night.

You sit at the table as the sun touches the ground, bleeding orange into the blue of the sky. You flick through pages of a book you had bought today looking up occasionally, waiting for Levi to appear through the door. You decide to have a few of your favourite sweets as the orange that seeps through your window slowly dims. Through it all you are simply patient and waiting. Simply giddy at the fact you would see your partner once more. But the hours tick by in his absence and suddenly the excitement starts to dwindle, replaced by disappointment which reshapes into worry. Where's Levi? You look out the window to the sky that continues to lose its colour thinking back to the words of the note you had found this morning. I should be back by the afternoon. Well, now it was almost evening. You decide to cover your food and put away your drinks, seeing that your hard work might be wasted if it is left openly on the table. You decide to wait a bit longer before you let your anxious thoughts envelop you. And so you do.

You wait.

But you can't help yourself when the moon continues to rise higher in the sky and you see no presence of the man you so adored. A million scenarios mix in your head. Was he hurt? Was he in trouble? Should I go find him? Where is he? You find yourself pacing the room at one point, now unable to keep your thoughts at bay. The stars now shine brighter in the pitch-black sky and your heart races as you are unable to sit still in the chair you sat yourself in. You suddenly could care less that it was your birthday, as long as Levi was safe. You are about to get ready to go out and look for him when finally, you hear the click of the door. You find yourself turning quickly, only to see it reveal Levi and his tired form sauntering through the entrance. You rush to him worry etching your face as he looks up at you wearily taking in your form. "Levi? Are you okay where have you-"

Your words jumble in the air hoping to know why he had been so late, but you find yourself momentarily freeze when Levi puts up a quick hand toward you, eyes weary. You frown at the gesture, seeing his tired gaze but not knowing why he was being so dismissive, especially today. “I’m fine, I was just finishing some paperwork.” Levi mumbles avoiding your gaze as he walks into the room rubbing at his face. “Oh.” You breathe out suddenly feeling your chest tighten; suddenly feeling your worry churn into disappointment once more. Surely he didn’t- But you don’t have to contemplate on your thoughts because the evidence is right in front of you. It’s in the way Levi shrugs out of his outerwear and absentmindedly puts himself through his nightly routine. It’s in the way he hadn’t even greeted you with a kiss or even a mere word of affection as he usually did. It’s in the way he barely looks to you.

He had forgotten

You suddenly feel out of place just standing in place as you watch Levi walk around the room slowly getting ready for bed. You don’t know what to do or if you should say something when you hear the clock tick closer to midnight; to the end of the day. Your eyes glance towards the meal that was covered but still lay on the table in the room the two of you shared. Suddenly the exclamations of “happy birthdays” you collected throughout the day weighed heavy on your chest. Suddenly the carefree day spent treating yourself to gifts felt stupid and childish. Suddenly the joyful time you had spent with Hange working so hard to make the dinner you both had prepared felt bitter. What was the point if the one person you treasured most couldn’t even spare the time to realise; to realise how you spent the whole day waiting… for him?

You don’t know if it’s pure misfortune or luck that he looks up to you in that moment and follows your gaze to the meals forgotten on the table. “What’s this?” He asks but his voice is muffled in your head, and you can no longer tell if you’re over-exaggerating or not. You look up breaking free of your thoughts, your feet still planted in the same spot it had been for several moments now. “Oh, I just thought I could make us some dinner, you know, it’s been a while since we did and- would you- would you like to- I-.” But Levi cuts you off on your offer letting out a deep sigh. “Look [y/n], I know we’ve been busy lately but can we please not do this tonight, I’m exhausted.” His words cut sharp across the room and that’s when you feel your heart sink, the final confirmation you needed just to know. You nod, pushing irritation to the side as just sadness fills you. You’re too emotionally drained to allow yourself to speak, so you walk past him and into your bedroom closing the door shut purposely and without a word.

Levi looked up feeling murky vexation and annoyance brim in the air even after your disappearance, but what confuses him most was your blatant show of defeat etched on your face. Sure the two of you had talked about spending more time together as recent events put strains on the hours the two of you would usually spend, but why would you be so defeated today? There wasn’t anything special about the evening. Levi felt bad thinking to the way he had greeted you, so unlike what he usually does but he is exhausted. He had a bad day. He had gone into town to give reports to the higher-ups only to find that he had travelled all that way mistakenly; the meeting was not for another week. The rest of the day he had spent trying to be productive but it seemed that peace was hard to come by as the crowded yells of Scouts interrupted his thoughts when he arrived back at headquarters. So, the rest of the afternoon he had spent in one of the unoccupied offices, only to spill his tea upon hours of paperwork, the rest of the night spent fixing the disaster.

Levi lets out a deep sigh, irritation filling his senses as even now it seems he can’t have an ounce of peace today. He couldn’t deal with your antics tonight, having no energy to fight or prod at your blatant disappointment. So, with a shake of his head he goes to the meals you had prepared going to pack them away for the night. He reaches for them readying to put them away when his eyes falter slightly at the sight. He recognises the meal instantly; it was your favourite. He can’t help but smile slightly at the sight of it remembering back to one of his fondest memories. He remembered, it must’ve been last year when he had gone to a kitchen dead set on making the dish for you. He remembers how you had walked in partway ruining the surprise but exchanging it for an experience he’d treasure. You had seen his struggle with the dish and the two of you had prepared it together before sharing it privately just the two of you. Come to think of it, why did he go to all that trouble that day? Levi can’t help but wonder as his mind jumbles as though trying to come to a revelation, not knowing why he suddenly feels anxious at the sight of the food and your swift absence. But then it hits him finally as his heart constricts and then a spark illuminates his thoughts, that ignites panic into his mind.

It had been your birthday.

He remembers it clearly now. The struggle to find an excuse to leave your presence briefly. The swiftness of his movements as he collected the ingredients rushing to a spare kitchenette, hoping to surprise you with your favourite dish. It had been your birthday. His mind now reels at the sight and suddenly Levi can’t help but feel as though the paranoid nagging in his mind all day had finally been answered for. But surely. Surely it wasn’t today… Levi has never flown across a room so fast in his life. He rips open a drawer in his desk and pulls out his calendar, heart pounding at the sight of the clearly marked date on the page in front of him. He counts back the days and does the math in his head. He realises the reason why he had gone to a meeting a week too early. He realises why everything had been going wrong today. He realises why the scouts had not bothered him for training or why Erwin hadn’t added to his pile of paperwork. He had the day off. He had the dates mixed in his head… today was your birthday.

He looks up at the sight of the still closed door in front of him; a symbol of your absence and of your disappointment. He remembers the sight of your face, crestfallen. He remembers walking in and through his tired gaze meeting yours that was full of panic, and your worry at where he had been. It wasn’t unusual to come home late but it would be unusual if he had stayed away so long on your birthday. He remembers his sparse acknowledgement of you, the way he brushed off your efforts and your meal; the way he spoke sharp and dismissive as though you were a mere Scout he was reprimanding. He remembers the look in your eye, conflicted but simply defeated and drained. You had been waiting all day for him to come home, to celebrate and he couldn’t even remember for you. Levi felt like an asshole, feels the panic and dread that fills him now like a wave.

He had forgotten your birthday.

Levi moves forward quickly, heart lurching, mind reeling as he hesitates before your door. What could he do? What could he say? He had prepared for your birthday several weeks ago but he had forgotten anyway; a day that he was supposed to spend with you, to devote and celebrate you. Levi opens the door slowly and you hear it. The slight creak of the wooden door as you lay by your side looking to the dark space that meets your tearful gaze. You hear his footsteps slow and remorseful moving towards you but you squeeze your eyes shut hoping he will leave you be, not wanting to fight or feel more of the disappointment you felt today. You feel the dip of the bed behind you and you know that Levi sits beside you now, you hear his intake of breath and feel the hesitance weigh heavy in the space between you. “[y/n], I know you’re awake.” Levi’s voice is quiet as it reaches your ears but you still refuse to turn around emotions clouding your eyes, tears threatening to spill.

Levi sighs out before sitting back at your lack of response. He had really messed up. “Look…” you hear the beginning of his sentence once more as you feel the weight of your heart heavy on your chest. “It’s true, I forgot your birthday, I had it all planned out, but tch- I fucked up, and… I’m sorry.” You barely discern the last part of his words as your eyes widen, tears spilling and your form freezing. Had Levi, the Levi Ackerman, just apologised? “Please [y/n] just let me make it up to you, whatever you want... I know it's late but-" Levi hates the silence of the room, hates that he doesn't know how to make it up to you as he picks at his mind trying to think of something to say; anything to salvage the day he had disregarded. But his eyes widen in a strange mix of guilt and relief when you turn to face him. Your tears still linger in the depths of your eyes, and he hates that he's the reason for it. You reach out to him and he instantly responds to your touch allowing you to pull him down towards you.

Levi feels the exhaustion of the day build before retreating at your mere embrace, as he wonders what he ever did to deserve you. "I just wanted you," you mutter out against his form, breathing in his familiar scent, and relishing the company you had missed all day. Levi looks down to you, eyes closed as you press against him, warmth lingering between your bodies. Again, he wonders how he was blessed with someone so forgiving. "That's cheesy," he murmurs back teasingly and you pout up at him, glossy eyes meeting his. "Just let me have this." You say sighing contentedly and relishing his presence, already forgetting that he had forgotten, and too tired to nitpick at the events that had occurred. You knew he had been tired, you knew he would never purposefully hurt you in any way and that included maybe forgetting an event such as your birthday. Levi leans forward and he kisses your lips, and you feel the warmth and softness and familiarity of him moving against you. He deepens it, arms pulling you impossibly closer before finally parting for air. "I promise I'll make it up to you."

.....

Needless to say, the rest of the night was filled with hours of Levi showing you his love, and the next morning came with the lingering scent of breakfast made just for you. Levi revealed the collection of gifts he had bought a week ago for your birthday, showing he never truly forgot, but the dates had just muddled in his preoccupied mind. Levi had gotten the two of you the day off once more, finally spending the time promised to you. A time free of the duties the two of you would normally have to respond to and free of prying eyes that restrict the show of your relationship. Overall, it was a good birthday, and the man beside you was proof of that.

But most importantly, Levi made sure to never forget your birthday again.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

The Howling in Claw Creek Forest, Chapter Two

Chapter Two: The Cabin in the Woods

Rating: Mature, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Werewolf!Walter Marshall x Reader

Word Count: 3K

Series Summary: You live in a small town called Claw Creek, surrounded by a deep, dark forest. Since you were a kid, an urban legend of the creature in the woods has been told. If the distant howls at night and mutilated livestock are anything to go by, you fear the stories to be true.

Chapter Summary: You search the woods for the house you were taken to that night. It’s been hours and you’re lost. Your phone has no service, it is getting dark, and your dumbass didn’t tell anyone you were going on an adventure.

Warnings: mutual pining

A/N: A special thank you to @peyton-warren for being my lovely beta and soundboard for this. I really hope y’all enjoy this one. It was a tough one to write, Walter was so feisty!

Dividers by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

When you arrived at the hospital, you had another nurse and colleague check out your head injury on your next shift. Armed with a clean bill of health and a brain bursting with unanswered questions, you try to go about your day. 

The entirety of your workday was spent having coworkers break you out of a trance. Every few minutes, you’d gaze off into nothingness until those around you noticed and snapped their fingers in front of your face. You kept thinking about the wolf and Walter, trying to piece the two together. 

After work, you change your clothes and put on your hiking boots. Even though the drive from the cabin to Liv’s house was short, that was in a vehicle. On foot, you will need to cover a lot of ground. You decided against driving your car down the road that splits the forest. 

If you parked at the entrance to the forest near the park grounds, you could easily sneak back to your car and bypass the curfew checkpoint at the tree line. Not that you planned on being out until nightfall. 

Parking your car in the gravel-filled lot, you tighten your scarf around your neck and start your journey into the woods. Walking takes you about ten minutes to get to the clearing where you and Olivia enjoyed wine coolers. It didn’t seem like it took you this long to get to the clearing a couple of days ago, but you don’t stay long enough to dwell on it.

Retracing your steps, you walk for another few minutes in search of the tree with the giant roots jutting out from the forest floor. After ten minutes of wandering, you think about giving up because daylight is in short supply. Looking down at your phone, you curse when you see the battery percentage looking back at you. Eleven percent wouldn’t get you far should you need to make an urgent call or use the flashlight since you forgot to bring one.

After another few minutes of traipsing through the forest, you trip over a large root and accidentally find your tree. Following the roots, you find the little alcove that you had planned to hide in during your game with Liv. You notice the setting sun as you turn to sit on the higher roots. 

Taking out your phone, you realize that it had shut off due to low power. Shoving it back in your pocket, you stand up and wipe a hand down your face. You’re pissed off, cold, and now have no way to contact anyone should you need to. Anger boils your blood as you stand in the now-dark forest.

Pacing for a few seconds doesn’t calm you down. You start to hear all the little nocturnal animals coming alive and usually, you would find this peaceful. However, you would give anything to hear a certain howl. But it’s just crickets, frogs, and owls out tonight.

You don’t know what else to do but…

“Fuck. Fuck! Fuuuuuuuuuck!” You scream out into the void, it would seem.

Until you hear a response in the form of a huff behind you. 

When you turn around, you're only a little surprised to see the same wolf from before walking toward you. You stand still until it stops about a foot from you. You look down and study its paws, large enough to rip your throat out. But the wolf just sits down as a dog would and looks up at you before yawning, showing off its sharp teeth and long dusty-mauve tongue. 

If this were a dog, you would have reached out a hand to pet it. But the sheer size of it was enough to keep your hands to yourself. You didn't have to think about that for long before the wolf was back on all fours walking around you and nudging at your leg as it started to walk away. It doesn't make it far before it turns around to look at you.

"Oh, am I supposed to follow you or something?" You feel silly asking the wolf a question, but only less so when it huffs in response, "Okay. Following a wolf wasn't on the itinerary. But it isn't attacking me so whatever," You finish, mostly to yourself.

Following the wolf, you notice you are going in a completely different direction through the forest. Of course, the last time you were here was an inebriated adventure but you could've sworn you would go right instead of left. Either way, you're putting your faith in a four-legged carnivore so you stop thinking about what should or shouldn't be happening.

A light in the distance can be seen through the trees and once you reach it, you find yourself in front of a medium-sized cabin. There is a light at the little fence encircling the property. The black Ford F-150 that Walter drove is parked to the side in the driveway. You have to admit you didn't expect to see this place look so...normal. It almost looks quaint.

You shuffle on your feet and are suddenly too nervous to propel you forward. Whining at your side reminds you that you aren't alone. You absentmindedly reach your hand out to stroke the wolf's fur. Thick, coarse fur slides through your fingers. Glowing, yellow eyes look into yours and your fear starts to dissipate. The wolf licks at your hand and then takes off around the back of the cabin.

You think about shouting after it or running after it, but instead, you walk up to the fencing. You could swear you hear a door being closed in the back of the cabin, but you can't be sure and you don't want to snoop. Opening the latch to the gate, you walk through the front yard dragging your feet. Your fight or flight response makes an appearance when you hear movement in the house. 

'It's now or never,' you think, raising your hand to knock on the door. 

Three sharp knocks and you shove your hands in your pockets, waiting for the door to be opened. You jump at the sound of something crashing to the ground and soon the light above the door is turned on. You hold up a hand over your eyes as the harsh fluorescent beams down on you in the dark of night. The door is opened and you take your hand down to see Walter standing there. You’re once again under the spell of him.

He stands tall at about 6’1", and his hair is a disheveled mess but it only adds to the sex appeal. His brows are scrunched together and it doesn’t look like he needs you at his doorstep right now by the scowl across his pretty pink lips. He’s shirtless, sweaty, breathing hard, and smells like a wet dog. The denim shorts he wears are tattered at the ends and his defined calves are on display. His bare feet are a bit dirty as if he’s been running barefoot.

Your eyes shoot back up to his, a faint glow makes his blue eyes look almost golden. He blinks a few times and the glow is gone, aquamarine replaces gold. 

You run through a mental checklist. Wet dog smell, check. Frayed shorts that were probably thrown on in a hurry, check. Golden eyes, check. You feel so stupid thinking about the last item. Walter’s hair color is the same as the wolf that brought you here. 

“Are you going to come in or are you going to just stare at me like I’m a–”

“Werewolf?” You blurt out, cutting off Walter’s sentence.

“Just come in, and I can explain everything,” He opens the door and steps aside to let you in, but you don’t move, “I won’t hurt you, I promise. Please come in?” 

His sincere tone and pleading eyes get the better of you. You sigh, chewing the inside of your cheek. Walking in, you step just inside the living room, giving Walter enough space to close the door behind you. You notice a side table knocked over, a lamp, and small knickknacks on the floor next to it. You turn back to look at him and his face is that of a kicked puppy.

Of course, it is.

“Look, I didn’t–”

“As much as I want to have this conversation right now, I can’t get over how much you smell. I’m gonna need you to take care of that ASAP. Go get clean and I’ll tidy up. And where is the kitchen? I need coffee if I’m gonna have this conversation sober.” You say, taking off your coat and laying on the back of the couch.

Walter walks you to the kitchen and watches as you busy yourself with the coffee maker. You tell him politely to get out of his kitchen and go shower. He opens his mouth to talk but closes it when he sees your eyebrows raise and your hand go to your hip. He simply nods and walks away. You hear him walk up the stairs and soon the faint sound of a shower being turned on before a door is closed.

You fill the coffee maker with grounds and water, setting it then make your way to the living room. Picking up the end table, you turn it right side up and set it on its legs. You bend down to pick up the figurines from the floor. You’re not surprised when they turn out to be two wolves, the larger one made of light wood and the smaller wolf a dark mahogany.

You hear the coffee maker sputtering and go in to check on it. Pulling out two mugs from their spot in the corner cabinet, you fill one and leave one for Walter, not sure if he even wants coffee so late at night. Did werewolves even drink coffee?

So, that’s it. You’re just entertaining the idea that werewolves not only exist but that you’re in a cabin with one. In the back of your mind, your grandfather’s tale of the Claw Creek creature demands attention. You were going over it when you heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

You bring your mug to your mouth to take a sip when Walter appears in the doorway, just as beautiful as when you saw him for the first time. His wet hair curls around his ears. He’s wearing a tighter-than-necessary heather gray henley, the front of it holding onto his pecs for dear life while the sleeves are pulled up to show off muscular forearms. A pair of jeans hug his meaty legs and boots cover his feet.

“You stare a lot.” His words break you out of your ogling and you finally pull down the mug from your lips.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Wolfie,” you comment, suddenly hyperaware that you may have just said something rude.

Walter’s chuckle surprises you, and you’re put at ease, “Wolfie?” He challenges, walking toward you.

You shrug your shoulders and stand your ground, looking up at him as he stops in front of you. He nods to the coffee maker and you step back to let him make a cup for himself. He takes a sip and hums at the flavor. He turns to ask you about it and you answer before he can open his mouth.

“Cinnamon. Just a few shakes and it takes away the sharp bitterness. Now, if you’re done talking about coffee, can we talk about how you can turn into a wolf?” Your frustration peeks through and Walter nods, leading you back into the living room.

Once you get to the couch, you set down your coffee on the table in front of you and turn to face Walter. He takes the cue and starts to speak.

“So, what do you want to know? Do you want me to go through my entire lifetime? It’s quite long, so far. Or start where I was attacked and bitten by someone I thought was a friend? Should I dispel werewolf myths about uncontrollable shifting during the full moon?” He rambles on, probably trying to confuse you or overwhelm you. 

Luckily, you’re already overwhelmed so his attempt is in vain.

“I have a couple of questions. The first one is: Do you eat people? The second one is: Could you follow my scent to find me?” you offer, pulling your leg up to sit on it while leaning against the back of the couch.

“I don’t eat people. I don’t think Werewolves as a whole, ever eat people. Attack? Sure. But no, I don’t crave human flesh,” he pauses, looking down at his hands, “How’d you know about the scent thing?” He’s suddenly super interested in his fingernails.

“I didn’t know about the scent thing. You just confirmed a hunch, is all,” You reach for your mug, bringing it closer to your lips before taking a sip, “One more question and I’ll release you from the hot seat. Are you safe out here? Like, I mean, with the animal mutilations in the town, they were talking about sending hunters out to look for whatever was doing it.”

“That wasn’t me, just so you know. I’m safe out here. I actually live in town, I just come here to shift and get some time away. No one comes out this way. This used to be an abandoned shack, but I fixed it up over the past years. Got electricity going and made it...wait. You care if I’m safe out here?” he presses, a toothy grin showing off his sharp canines.

“You saved my life, I can’t care about your wellbeing? I’m being nice, don’t push it, Wolfie,” you snap, a little harsher than you meant to. You did feel lied to, but he was being honest with you. You shake your head before insisting, “I’m sorry, I just...this is a lot. And I need you to know that I was really pissed off with you in the beginning, but I know why you didn’t tell me. Safety and all that. Maybe you can drive me back to my car so I can start the drive back home?” You were cut off by an intense yawn that came out of nowhere.

“Speaking of safety, you look like you’re ready to fall over. You’ve had all of about two sips of coffee and that yawn almost unhinged your jaw a bit there. Just, I won’t be able to sleep if I know you’re tired behind the wheel,” he admits, turning concerned eyes on you.

“You know, as a wolf, using puppy dog eyes on me should be considered unfair. And how do I know this is not some elaborate excuse to get me into your bed so you can have your way with me, huh?” you huff, squinting at him as his eyes glimmer in the low light of the room.

“Do you want me to have my way with you?” he leans back, head over his shoulder, and crosses his arms over his broad chest.

Your hand flies out to slap his bicep. You figure that was easier than giving him the answer that was on the tip of your tongue.

He rolls his eyes and gets up from the couch, pointing to your coffee cup in your hand and motioning for you to give it to him. He takes both of your unfinished cups to the kitchen and when he comes back, he heads for the stairs. “You coming, pup?”

“Pup? Is that because I called you Wolfie?” You stand up from the couch, tilting your head at him before walking to follow him up the steps.

“I don’t know, give me time and I’ll think of something better.” He winks at you and smiles when you duck your head.

Once Walter shows you to his bedroom, you don’t hide your urge to look over everything in the room while he leans against the open door. You almost get upset when you see that his bedspread isn’t a large picture of a wolf’s face. Somehow you thought it would just fit in with his vibe. But the midnight blue damask comforter that covers the bed is actually way more fitting.

“Wait, where are you gonna sleep if I sleep in here?” You question as you sit on the bed and take off your boots.

“I figured I would sleep on the couch. I don’t need much sleep anyway. Unless that was an invitation…?” he smirks and is surprised when you look to be thinking it over.

“Can you stay in here ‘til I fall asleep? I don’t want to be alone.” you confess, looking everywhere but who you were talking to. You can’t believe the words coming out of your mouth, but you also know you won’t sleep in a bed that’s not yours all by your lonesome.

“Are you alright? I mean, of course, you’re not. What am I saying?” he rambles, coming into the room fully and hunching his shoulders so he can seem less intimidating.

Walter walks over to the bed, pulls back the bedspread, and motions for you to crawl under the covers. Once you are comfortable, he turns on a low light on his dresser and turns off the overhead light of the room. Coming back to the bed, he sits at the edge and toes off his boots before you pull him to lie down next to you.

Turning to face him as he lays on his back, you stare at his face as he looks up at the ceiling. You’re interlacing your fingers so that you don’t reach out and trace his jawline when a thought pops into your head.

“When’s the last time you had a woman in your bed?” You breathe, mentally kicking yourself for not thinking longer before you voice your thoughts.

“It’s been a while. Years. I don’t really...mingle much.” He murmurs, eyes never moving from one particular spot.

You refuse to acknowledge the “lone wolf” analogy, instead, you steady yourself before putting a hand on his. “Thank you for saving me, Walter. Goodnight.” Taking your hand back, you close your eyes and let tiredness take its course.

“You’re welcome.” His soft voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s the last thing you hear before you’re fully asleep.

To be continued…

A/N:  Wow, you mean to tell me I got these two folks in bed together and they’re both dressed still? What?! Don’t hate me!

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[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 4: Little Lamb

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6K

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

As soon as you make it out of the city to a secluded spot, you fall to your knees brokenly and start to weep. Your body wracks painfully between your sobs, and your eyes burn as if they can’t shed the tears fast enough.

Of course, he had moved on from you and found someone else to entertain ... Ugh, even thinking the word sickened you to the very foundation of your essence.

Did I really expect any different? 

Raphael’s words echo in your head, “The arousals of man will return to him.” 

That had scarcely been the case. Except for the night you agreed to be his spawn, Astarion had barely laid a finger on you unless you specifically requested it, and you never did, knowing intimacy was complicated for him. Perhaps you duped yourself into believing that he just needed time, but you wonder if so easily agreeing to be his spawn had a role.

Or maybe he just prefers warm flesh. Now, he’s bedding that… that harlot!

Sitting on the hard ground, you bring your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around your legs. Resting your head on them, you let your eyes drift shut. You’re too exhausted to fight it anymore, and you let the misery wash over and consume you.

How many times will I have to endure losing him?  

The sanguine hunger is gnawing at your insides like a rabid animal. Your empty stomach spasms so painfully it makes you retch dryly between scattered sobs. Every muscle, tendon and ligament in your body convulses, making your limbs jerk sporadically, begging for sustenance. You should hunt, but instead, you choose to wallow in your dismal self-pity.

When did I become this hollow shell?

You have never lived an easy life. You’re not born of wealth, nobility or with a silver spoon in your mouth. You lived a challenging life. You were not prone to pathetic displays of weakness such as this. You had the blazing fire of your draconic ancestors coursing through your veins, and you always defiantly faced any hardships that came your way, whether by diplomacy, persuasion, or, if all else failed, scorching them from the earth.

When you met Astarion on that beach, that dagger of his threatening to gut you, you had been so close to turning him into a charcoaled husk until your tadpole resonated with his dousing your flames.

Now look at me.

You’re not sure when it happened, but that raging vigour you had possessed had been snuffed out. What was left behind was a yawning void where your willpower to survive once resided.

The next time you look up, you can see daybreak threatening on the skyline. You consider letting the daylight consume whatever is left of you, but you remember Shadowheart’s promise to Astarion if you didn’t return home.

“I will kill you, Astarion, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

She would make good on her threat, even if it got her killed.

Which it surely would.

Your will to live may be dead and buried, but your concern for your friend’s lives is alive and well. The dejection that kept your body planted on the ground all night suddenly lifts its burden, and you take off in a sprint.

You enter the house quietly, hoping that Shadowheart is still asleep, but you find her pacing in the large living room, muttering to herself. She jumps at the creak of the door, the radiant glow of divine magic on her fingertips.

“I was almost out of my mind with worry!” She says, distress rampant in her voice.

“I’m sorry.”

“Wait... what’s wrong?” Fury bursts into her eyes, “What did he do to you!?”

Your back slides down the rough wooden door, splinters catching on your robe as you just let yourself sink to the floor, “Nothing, I didn’t bring on myself.”

“Did he hurt you!?”

“No.”

Yes.

“You’re lying,” she knows you too well, “tell me the truth!”

“He didn’t hurt me.”

He broke me.

Her voice softens as she realizes tears have begun to spill out of your eyes, “Tell me what happened.”

“Another time. Can we... can we please drop it for now?”

You don’t think you could bear to speak any of it aloud, not right now.

Suspicion runs over her features, “Fine.”

You can see the anger in her eyes, her mouth set in a stern, grim line. Her heart is rattling around in her chest.

“Please do not go looking to start a fight with him.”

She huffs, “Why are you still protecting him? What has he done to earn such loyalty?”

“Astarion doesn’t need my protection or anyone else’s - not anymore.”

She folds her arms over her chest, “I’m sure he believes that.”

“Shadowheart, please.”

She sighs reluctantly, “Fine. How is your wound? Do you need more healing?”

“I will be alright. I heal fast.”

Or I should… 

Your side still aches with a grievous burning that makes your eyes water.

An uneasy silence stretches out between you, “and the hunger?”

“Keep your distance.” It sounds more like a threat than it had in your head, and you wince at the severe intonation, “Sorry, that didn’t come out right.”

“I understand.”

You drag yourself off the floor, and your wound smarts in objection at your movement, “I think I’m going to go get some rest.”

“Good idea,” she brightens, “you look terribly pale.”

You smirk at her and make your way to your bedroom. Your trance does not come easily to you, and even when it does, you toss and turn as echoes of memories play out in your dreams.  

You’re back in camp, curled up in your tent but unable to sleep. The city is close now, and your mind is troubled. Your draconic fire pulses and dances over your fingertips in a mesmerizing display. The glorious heat of your ancestors radiates from your skin. With nothing but your thoughts and control of the Weave, you will the flames higher, lower, brighter, dimmer, hotter, colder in a measured cycle.

“Neat trick. What other things can you do with that fire of yours?”

Astarion pulls back the flap to your tent. The reflection of your fire prancing along your fingertips highlights the vibrant cardinal red of his eyes.

“Can’t sleep?”

Relinquishing your hold on the weave, you let the flames sputter out, “No. Successful hunt?”

“Your necks may rest easy tonight if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Astarion, I didn’t mean-”

He chuckles low, “I’m just playing with you, my dear.”

He crouches down and takes your hand in his. His skin feels like ice compared to the feverish warmth your flame has left behind.

“Come, my love. Why don’t you join me tonight?”

"Join you? Where?”

“In my tent.”

You hesitate, “That’s not necessary.”

“Please?”

You eye him intensely, probing him, searching his body language, his expression, his eyes, for that well-practised, albeit false, veneer he wraps himself in.

“I’d really rather you disrobe me for real, beautiful. Come.”

Alarm bells blare in your head, “Astarion…”

“My sweet, sweet girl. Do I look uncomfortable to you?”

"No.”

It’s the truth; his expression is relaxed, and perhaps it’s part of the reason you feel so perturbed.

“I want you close tonight. Are you truly going to deny me the pleasantries of your fine company?”

You start to stand, and he rises from his crouched position with you. When you’re nearly on your feet, he gives your arm a quick tug, jolting you forward and off balance. You stumble and fall into him.

“You’re beautiful.” 

His lips meet yours, gently at first, but the pace quickens to a ravenous frenzy as if he’s been starving and you’re the sustenance he needs to survive.

His mouth expertly parts yours, and you feel the groan rumble in his chest as his tongue explores, tasting you. Your body pushes into him further, and your arousal awakens in a visceral torrent.

When he breaks the kiss, you moan your displeasure with your eyes still closed, “Not fair.”

"Oh, darling. Don’t fret.” he leans close to your ear, “I’m not done with you just yet.”   

Jolting awake, you nearly propel yourself out of your bed. You take deep breaths, even though you don’t need them. Your dead body seemingly has a hard time letting go of the comforts of life. The air fills your lungs with a whistle as the rigour battles with your panicked breathing.

He was so gentle, so sweet, and I ruined him.

With a groan, you lay back down. Holding up your hand, you stare at your unnaturally pallid skin, and you mourn the colour your complexion once held. Desperate to feel the comfort of something familiar, something tangible that you can control, you take hold of the weave. Blazing fire springs into life from your palm born of your draconic ancestry. You let the flame frolic and lick climbing up your hand, over your fingertips and back in a captivating parade.

This is something no one can take from me, not even him.

You register frantic pacing coming from the floor below, and you can faintly hear the elevated pulse of a pounding heart. You douse the fire still burning hot in your palm and relinquish your hold on the weave. Sitting up, the wound afflicting your side bellows in radiating bursts, but you push the sensation away and focus on the restless stomping below.

Something is wrong.

You stumble out of bed, momentarily confused by the clumsy feeling of your limbs.

I’m not graceful by any means, but tripping over myself getting out of bed, that’s new.

You don’t have time to consider it further, so you let it go. You scramble into your clothing and walk to the top landing of the staircase.

“Shadowheart? Are you okay?” You call down to her in a raised, concerned voice.

Even from this distance, you’re already fighting your bloodlust; your body tenses, shakes and trembles, waging warfare on your restraint. Squeezing your eyes shut, you pray to any God that will listen to grant you strength.

“No. I need to speak with you urgently. Can you come down?”

No.

“Yes, but-”

She cuts you off, “I will keep my distance.”

“Get your weapon.”

She scoffs, “I trust you.”

Gods, she has no idea how good she smells.

“Please, Shadowheart. It… It's really bad today.”

“Fine, if you insist, but I’m not scared of you.”

You should be.

Your hunger is frantically digging its talons deeper and deeper into you. It feels like it’s ripping you apart from the inside out. Your mind whispers repulsive thoughts, and you can feel it's starting to take any of the control you had away, draining it out of you.

The pain. Gods, the pain.

You descend the stairs with shaky steps as your stomach once again starts to convulse and cramp sickeningly. Shadowheart smells like fear, and her heart beats so fast it sounds like a roaring thunder. You can hear her lungs expand and contract with her rapid breathing.

This is how Astarion always knew when I was upset even when I told him I was fine. He could hear it the whole damn time.

He had explained this to you, or tried to, on multiple occasions. Experiencing it for yourself was vastly different. Suddenly, all his weird, often poetic metaphors make perfect sense.

As you get to the bottom of the stairs, you keep your hand tightly grasped around the rail, giving yourself something to focus on. The wood complains under the pressure of your clenching hold.

Shadowheart is standing on the opposite side of the room. Her weapon is in her hand as she promised you. It gives you a sense of comfort.

“Are you okay, Shadowheart? You don’t sound like yourself.”

“I received a letter from my parents. They have requested that I see them. It said it was an urgent matter.”

Shadowheart mother had fallen unwell some months ago, and she wasn’t recovering from whatever ailed her. You had tried to push Shadowheart to stay with her parents so she could help her mother, but she had refused.

“You need to go to them, Shadowheart.”

She nods, “I know, but I am not keen on leaving you.”

“I’ll survive. I am well equipped to care for myself, as you well know. Plus, if I remember correctly, a vampire spawn is difficult to kill.”

Her eyes narrow, “Not if Astarion comes for you.”

“Astarion has a new toy he’s busy playing with right now. I doubt he will give me a second thought.”

Shadowheart’s brows rise, “What? A new spawn?”

“No. She still possesses her life, so far anyway.”

Her voice softens, “Are you okay?”

She pities me.

“I will be. Go see your parents, Shadowheart. It sounds important. Please don’t let me keep you from living your life.”

“Yes, I think I should. I won’t be gone too long. Stay out of trouble, will you?”

“I can’t promise that.” You shrug, “Trouble seems to find me.”

Shadowheart gives you her best disapproving glower.

“I will stay out of trouble. Go.”

Shadowheart starts briskly moving about the house, collecting her belongings. Her heart’s pace picks up further, pounding in her chest until it’s the only thing you can hear. Your grip intensifies on the wooden rail, and it splinters.

“I’ll be in my room. Travel safe, Shadowheart.”

Returning to your room, you stuff your head under all the pillows you can find, trying to drown out the raging thumping in your head. You dig your fingernails into your skin, scratching long weeping lacerations up your legs, giving yourself something to focus on in a desperate attempt to remain in control.

Astarion had mentioned that there were times he was so hungry he was all but robbed of speech and reason, and you wonder if you’re getting to that point.

Shadowheart knocks on your door, “I’m leaving now. I will be back as soon as I can.”

You groan at her closeness, “Go, Shadowheart. Don’t worry about me.”

You hear her bound down the stairs and out the door, leaving the house in a blissful silence. With her gone, the hysteria of your bloodlust fades just enough that your thoughts become your own again.

That was close. Too close.

Glimpsing at the window, you eye the boards nailed over it to protect you from the sun. You reach out and hover your hand over the rough wood. Slight warmth radiates off their surface, letting you know the sun still shines.

Your mind plays the memory of Astarion. His arm wrapped around you protectively as he held you firmly against him. The scarlet of his eyes alight while they gazed at you as his thumb swept across your cheek.

It’s a pleasant memory until - the mulberry-haired woman. Her sapphire eyes. Her triumphant smile. Her disgusting, sensual saunter.

You recoil, shake your head, and scold yourself for letting your thoughts run away with you. Moving away from the window, you stumble over your own feet again, your ankle rolling gruesomely to the side as you misstep.

It should alarm you. This new incoordination is bizarre, but you’re too fatigued to give it any pause. Energy feels like it’s being siphoned out of your body, debilitating you.

You drag yourself back into your bed and allow your trance to take you.

Your condition worsens steadily over the following days. Blood still percolates out of the wound on your side, with no signs of healing to be seen. Black streaks now stretch up your torso, down your side, and low into your thigh.

You’re disoriented and weak. Your vision is hazy, and reality feels like it’s ebbing and flowing like waves over a rough sea. Your legs feel feeble beneath you as you get up to check your bandages, which are once again saturated in blood.

I need help. Something is very wrong. Can I die from this? What ailments can kill a vampire spawn? There is so much I still don’t know.

But I know who does.

With shaky hands, you manage to re-bandage yourself sloppily and slide into a robe. You fiddle with the laces for far too long. You see double, triple, even quadruple, and your fingers grasp at nothing but air. It makes your eyes cross, and your head drum cruelly. Putting your boots on is challenging as your knees quack and you tumble to the floor repeatedly.

You should be terrified for your life, but you’re walking the fine line between delirium and complete incoherence, and you find it all rather… amusing. You giggle to yourself, grinning widely as you try and figure out which door handle is the corporeal one.

The walk to the Crimson Palace is long and arduous. You can barely pick up your feet, embarrassingly tripping over yourself repeatedly and falling to your hands and knees in the streets. Thankfully, there are few people out as most would be packed into the various taverns found in the city. Those who are around to witness your uncoordinated lumbering laugh at your ineptitude for walking.

They think I’m drunk.

The thought makes you giggle.

Rounding a corner, you prop yourself up on the wall for a second to catch your breath, only to laugh to yourself at such a silly notion. You don’t need to breathe anymore.

I’m dead.

More giggles.

Wait, where was I going?

You glance up and vaguely make out the shape of the Crimson Palace bathed in the darkness of a cloudy night, triggering your fading memory.

Oh, yes, to see my master, Lord Astartion.

You giggle again, rolling your eyes at the factitious thought. It sends your vision whirling, and you groan.

You look up at the Crimson Palace while you struggle to force your failing body to continue moving forward.

I wish I had reduced that place to nothing but a pile of rubble when I had the chance.

Through the murky darkness, a voice calls out, “It’s so nice to see you again.”

You know this voice, but you can’t seem to place it, and your brain makes sluggish attempts to connect that familiar tone with a memory. You have trouble getting your thoughts to form coherently.

You squint your eyes to peer through the fog clouding your vision and catch the colour of mulberry.

It’s her.

“Ugh. Go. Away.”

Not her. Anyone but her.

She blocks your path.

“You don’t look so good, sugar.” She says in that upbeat, harmonious tone that makes you want to puke.

I should kill her.

A sinister smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, and you try to stifle the feverish giggle erupting from your mouth. In the diminished and very nearly incoherent state you’re in, she would be more likely to kill you, but alas, it was a lovely fantasy.

You don’t bother dignifying her with a response and clumsily try to dodge around her.

“I can’t help but notice you appear to be walking towards the Crimson Palace. Are you going to see Astarion?” she pauses, “I’m not sure he will be up for visitors. We have been having a lot of fun every night. He is quite generous, but you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

No. No. No. No. No. No.

“Sweet thing, you do know what I mean by fun, right? Or would you like me to spell it out for you?”

Keep walking... just keep moving forward.

“Sex, sweetness. I mean sex.”

Despite your deranged state, your heart still breaks, and a single tear escapes your eye and rolls down your cheek, thinking of him and her together.

“I’d offer to buy you a drink, but it looks like you’ve had one too many already.”

Pure rage surges through your body, and in an instant, your palm ignites, and fire sways and oscillates over it.

“The only drink I would ever accept from you is your blood. Every. Last. Drop.”

You didn’t feed on the blood of thinking creatures, but you would exuberantly make an exception for this wretch.

You stand up straight, your fury parting the daze veiling your mind, allowing you to think lucidly for the first time in days.

You grin menacingly as you will the fire in your palm to balloon into an enormous glowing sphere, “Or I could just reduce you to an impotent pile of ash where you stand.”

The woman’s mouth drops open, and she watches the fire blazing on your palm, “Pardon me?”

“I’m sorry, sugar,” you mock her, “Do you need me to spell it out for you? I will kill you!”     “Astarion will not be pleased if you kill his lover.” 

Her emphasis on the word lover makes your stomach lurch, and you grit your teeth, your jaw clenching hard.

She’s trying to get under my skin, and it’s working.

A menacing laugh rises from your throat, and you fix an intimidating gaze on her, “Well, Astarion isn’t here to save you now, is he?”

Her confidence falters. The broad, toothy grin plastered on her delicate features dissolves under your dangerous glower. Her heartbeat accelerates, thrumming the chorus of a grand symphony in your ears. The smell of fear drifts laden in the chilled breeze.

To your immense dissatisfaction, she recovers her serenity quickly, and the beaming, albeit phoney, smile returns to her rosy lips.

She speaks to you pleasantly, as if you two were old friends, “I’m sure we will meet again soon.”

Gods, I can’t stand her.

It sounds reminiscent of a promise, and you pray it's not one.

“Surely, you should be in a better mood by then. Have a lovely night!”

The picturesque mulberry-haired woman swaggers off down the road, disappearing into the murky darkness of an alleyway. The fireball hovering above your palm burns out as your rage recedes.     I should have eaten her.

The walkway to the palace door is long and meanders slightly uphill. The stupor clouding your mind surged forward as soon as your adrenaline fell, and you are once again in that dreamlike state. You hesitate at the door of the Crimson Palace.

This is a bad idea.

You have escaped him twice already. Now, here you are, willingly coming back to ask for his help.

He would probably slam the door in your face on the spot at best or throw you into the kennels at worst. The wound in your side aches maddeningly, reminding you of the reason you’re standing here in the first place.

Not possessing enough coordination to knock in the traditional sense, you slam the palm of your hand as hard as you can against the ornate door. It makes your fingers croon with a sweet sting. Quiet minutes tick by with no answer or sound of movement from inside.

Of fucking course.

You sag into the door dejectedly, closing your heavy eyes with a dismal sigh.

I am so tired.

The hefty door swings open abruptly, and you don’t have time to steady yourself. Without the counterbalance to keep you upright, you nosedive forward.

Astarion’s arms quickly slip under yours, halting your fall, “Little love, you simply must stop falling for me like this.”

He sets you back on your feet, keeping an arm out to steady you, but you push it away, still irritated by your exchange with that horrible woman.

Not bothering to wait for an invitation, you stagger weakly into the palace.

His eyebrow cocks at your awkward lumbering, “Do come in.”

“I hate her.”

“Who would you be referring to, my dear?”

“That... that fucking trollop!” You say spitefully.

The dim room seems to undulate around you, and your words are slurred, “I’m going to eat her one day.”

His eyebrows rise in a vexingly handsome expression, “Well, now I am intrigued. Do tell me who you are talking about?”

Jealous anger slithers hot through your veins, “Your.... your purpled-haired hussy!”

A wide grin crosses his face, “I see. I knew you were jealous but murderous?” He chuckles, “I’m impressed.”

His forehead furrows slightly, and he cocks his head, “although, you don’t look entirely yourself.”

“Something is wrong with me.”

"Now that, my treasure, is something we can agree on.”

Rolling your eyes, you continue, “I need help.”

“Petitioning me for help, are you? Cute.”

You huff at him, exacerbated, “You know what? This was a bad idea. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

You start towards the door, stumbling awkwardly.

“Wait.”

His hand reaches out and tenderly encircles your forearm, steadying you. Your eyes drift to his. Is that concern you see reflected in those deep crimson irises?

I must be truly delirious.     "What's wrong?”

“The wound from the stake isn’t healing.”

His eyebrows furrow, “Show me.”

Your fingers fumble with the lace ties of your robe in uncoordinated rigour. Your vision sways, rocking like trees in a blustery wind. Cursing under your breath, you squint, trying to focus.

Astarion steps forward, coming close enough that you can finally see him clearly. He’s shirtless, and his trousers are untied at the front.

Good Gods…

“Have I ever told you how pretty you are?”

The words spill out of your mouth dreamily, and you giggle at how free you feel. You’re no longer shackled by the fear or sadness that has consumed you and hollowed you out. You feel unencumbered, a great weight lifted from your shoulder.

“Yes, I think you have mentioned it a time or two, but please, do feel free to tell me again.”

You stop squinting and fumbling with the laces on your robe to look up at him doe-eyed, “You’re beautiful.”

“You are in quite the state, aren’t you?”

His hands brush yours away, and he starts to deftly untie the laces.

“Hey… Rude.” You stick your tongue out at him childishly.

Losing your balance, your hand finds the smooth skin of his shoulder to stabilize yourself. His body stills under your touch, muscles tense.

A sharp pang of guilt slides down your throat, “Sorry.”

You withdraw your hand. He catches it and places it back on his shoulder before undoing the remaining laces holding your robe.

Astarion gently slips your robe over your shoulders and lets it fall to the ground around your feet, leaving you in your underclothes. He eyes the blood-soaked bandages wrapped carelessly around your abdomen intently.

“May I?” he asks, pointing to the sodden dressing, “I need to examine it.”

“I can do it."

He scoffs, “My dear, you can barely stand. How about you just focus on keeping that pretty little face off my floor.”

You scoff back, imitating him, but nod your consent, “I hate her.”

“Yes,” he laughs lightheartedly, “we have established that.”

“Do you love her?”

The question erupts from your lips before you have time to stop yourself.

Do I even want to know?

The question makes him flounder as if he had physically tripped on your boldness, “Am I capable of love?”

“I don’t know. Are you? Loving your reflection doesn’t count.”

He smirks, “Hold onto me.”

“What?”

“Little love, you are not wearing these grimy boots in my house. They need to come off.”

“I’ll do it.”

“My dear, we’ve been through this. For once, will you just listen to me?” Astarion kneels before you, one knee on the floor, “Are you ready?”

You tentatively reach out and put both hands on his shoulders to keep yourself upright. Astarion lifts your weak, trembling leg and starts slipping off your boots.

“What are these?”

You glance down at your legs, where your fingernails ripped long, jagged cuts into them to fight your revolting temptations.

“They’re nothing."

Astarion looks at them studiously, running his fingers over the irregular long gouge. He leans in closer, and you try to pull back, but he grabs your leg and holds it firmly in place while giving you a stern look.

When you stop fighting, he leans in and places gentle kisses on those long wounds, slowly trailing them up toward the apex of your thighs, making you squirm. He stops short.

Moving onto the next leg, he repeats the process of sliding your boot off while you use his body to steady yourself and then trailing those long cuts with gentle kisses, once again stopping short.

You can’t help yourself, and you groan loudly.

Once Astarion has stripped your boots from your feet, he slowly rises to his full height so he doesn't throw you off balance since his body is the only thing keeping you on your feet.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He motions for you to follow him deeper into the palace, but your legs buckle under you. Before you can fall again, his arm hooks under your knees and the other cradles your back as he sweeps you off your feet effortlessly.

You struggle weakly, “I can walk.”

“Truly? Can you?”

He looks at you with an obvious imitation of melodramatic astonishment, and a laugh rumbles in his throat.

He’s having too much fun at my expense.

Astarion walks with an agile grace as he cradles you in his arms and carries you through the familiar dark halls you called home for a short while. The floor barely creaks, and his footsteps are all but silent.

Not fair.

Candlelight bathes the bedroom in a saffron-coloured warmth. The room smells pleasantly like finely aged brandy, bergamot, and rosemary. It smells of him, and that comfortable recognition envelopes you. Astarion eases you down on the fine, silk bed cover, taking care not to jostle you about. Grabbing a clean cloth, he wets it in the washbasin perched on a carved table. He crouches smoothly, positioning himself between your legs.

Oh…

Memories flash across your vision of him in the forest clearing, him in that bedroom the night he turned you, and heat pools between your legs. A needy groan escapes your lips as you tear your eyes off of him meekly. If your heart could beat, it would be battering against your ribs as if it were trying to rip itself from your bosom. A sensual chuckle rattles deep in his chest, fully aware of what he’s doing.

Oh no.

You are starved for physical affection, having spent the last year distanced from your friends or locked away entirely. They had tried to comfort you, of course, but you couldn’t be trusted to get too close to anyone with a heartbeat. Except for a few brief uncomfortable hugs or reassuring squeezes of your hand, you haven’t been touched since before you fled this place. You craved it like the desert sands crave moisture during a drought.

You struggle to push yourself further up the bed and away from him. You squeeze your legs together, trying to shut him out. You feel too vulnerable, almost stripped bare with your legs spread, and entirely too aroused, given the predicament you currently find yourself in.

His hand grips your thigh tenderly but firmly, keeping it to the side and pinning you in your place.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts, “hold still.”

You groan loudly and cover your face with your hands, surrendering to him.

“Good girl.”

With light, gentle strokes, he starts wiping the smeared blood from your midsection. He looks at the injury curiously, cocking his eyebrow. Blood continues to weep gradually from it, and the black streaking spreads out like inky tendrils across your ghostly skin. He pushes his fingers on the wound, coating them in your blood.

You wince at the uncomfortable pressure, “What are you doing?”

His crimson eyes meet yours with an intensity that makes you hold your breath, yet another reflexive habit. Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he sucks on them while holding your gaze. It’s oddly sensual until his face contorts into a grimace. He spits your blood out into the cloth.

Well, that can’t be good, he would never waste blood.

“Poison. You need an antidote and rest, pet.”

“Don’t call me pet.”

“I’ll call you whatever I like.” He hisses.

“Why do you do this?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He pouts sarcastically.

“Don’t you? You swing from one extreme to the next so fast I can hardly keep up. You’re nice one moment, and treating me like a belonging the next.”

He frowns, “You do belong to me. I made sure of it.”

He’s trying to get under my skin.

“Yes, you did. Are you proud of yourself, love?”

“Indeed I am.”

You grumble, “Pompous prick.”

He laughs at you, “Sassy tonight, aren’t we?”

"You didn’t answer my question.”

A malevolent smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, reaching his eyes, “I do rather enjoy you like this, you know.”

You swallow hard, “Like what?”

“Nearly naked, laid out before me on my bed, and entirely at my mercy.”

Levelling a glowering look at him, “You don’t scare me.”

If nothing else, your incapacitated mental state gives you courage, or perhaps you are just too far gone to feel fear. Either way, speaking your mind feels magnificent. You have muzzled yourself too often around him, but the muzzle is off, and your fangs are bared - sort of speak.

“Oh?” he pouts innocently, “I suppose I will have to try harder then, won’t I?”

“I suppose you will if that’s what gets you going.”

“I would be happy to demonstrate what gets me going.”

Astarion rises slowly from his crouched position between your legs. His hand holding your thigh starts to glide leisurely up your body, delicately skimming over every curve. You try to push him away, but it’s like a feather trying to push over a brick wall.

His knee nudges your legs further apart, and he pushes his hips into you, anchoring you between him and the bed. The friction is serene, sending waves of need rocketing through you. You would be lying if you said his proximity was entirely unwelcome.

“When did you eat last?” he whispers as his lips ghost over yours.

What a weird question.

“Why? What difference does it make?” You squirm under him, the pressure of his body overwhelming your senses.

“I have my reasons, darling.”

Your eyebrow pulls down slightly in confusion, “Which are?”

“None of your concern.” He says curtly, “When did you eat last? I won’t ask again.”

Do I dare?

Yes.

Yes, I think I dare.

You meet his gaze, dead on, challenging him, “None of your concern.”

Astarion scowls harshly, “Shall I force you to tell me, my sweet, sweet spawn?”

You scoff, “Oh, spare me the bullshit, Astarion.” You roll your eyes at him, but it makes your stomach lurch. You fight the wave of nausea and continue, “If you’re going to force me, then just do it already. I’m beyond sick of your threats.”

He pushes himself back abruptly, ending the decadent feast of friction you have been savouring. He paces back and forth menacingly in front of you. A terrifying expression is painted across his face.

Did I push him too far this time?

Astarion strides over to a cabinet and flings the door open, nearly pulling the door straight off, grabs a bottle and comes back to you. He looks at you with animosity brewing in those cold red eyes.

“Drink this and get out.”

He throws the bottle on the bed beside you.

You finger it hesitantly, “What is it?”

“Antidote. Drink it and leave.”

“Fine.”

Astarion leaves the room and fades into the dark hallway. You swig down the bottle of antidote as fast as you can, trying to get the least amount of it on your tongue as possible. The taste still makes you want to throw up.

It works fast, and you can already see the constant dripping of blood from the wound start slowing, and the black streaks start to recede slowly. The haze clouding your mind dissipates, and you are once again lucid... mostly.

You manage to get yourself up off the bed, but your limbs are still weak, trembling and not complying with the orders you’re giving them.

Astarion returns with your robe, chucking it to the floor at your feet. By the time you manage to get your boots on and out the door, you realize that dawn is not far off.

I don’t have enough time to get back.

“Astarion, dawn is soon. I’ll-”

He cuts you off, “Burn, yes. I am aware.”

I pushed him too far.

His brows pull down, low in a sinister glare, “Run, little lamb.”

Big thank you to everyone who takes the time to read/follow/like/reblog/comment/etc -- I hope you're enjoying it as much as I enjoy writing it :)

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I have another with Spawn Astarion x Tav called -Shadows of the Past

AO3 [Crossposted]

[koralinewrites]

I saw a post on your main account that you listened to DAYLIGHT! If you don't mind, could you let me know what you think of it?

OOH YES!

Okay so, just to preface this, I’ve ONLY ever listened to Laito’s audios, so his is all I’m gonna be talking about. Obviously there’s gonna be a few spoilers- I personally REALLY loved his tracks. I know there are people who don’t like it because of the storyline and such, but I don’t really care about all that. I loved it for two things. 1) It shows off Laito’s thought processes and what goes through his head and 2) Daisuke Hirakawa’s performance was amazing.

I LOVE angst. I love reading it, writing it, everything. And this has a lot of angst. I mean, the one person who he’s fallen in love with is dying, and there’s quite literally nothing he can do. I think Track 4 was the one that actually got me to cry at the end, when he’s having a mental breakdown. We get to learn more about how he views himself. He doesn’t think of himself as someone who should HAVE these feelings. He’s Laito Sakamaki: a vampire who lies and manipulates his way through life (basically a direct quote, btw). He doesn’t know what to do about these feelings. Lust and pleasure was all predictable, it was second nature. But when someone he genuinely cared for showed up? He had no idea. And then to pile onto these confusing feelings, that same person was going to die. And he couldn’t do a thing. His default was to get rid of the root of the problem, aka you.

This is where I got kinda confused , because a similar thing was happening in More Blood but he didn’t want to kill Yui because he loved her. The way I understood it was he’d rather be the one to kill you than to see you die slowly and painfully without him being able to do anything. Plus, if he was the one to try to kill you, you’d probably resent him and it’d make his life easier. You wouldn’t be nice to him anymore. It’d be something normal, predictable. Something he’s used to, because, let’s face it, he doesn’t know how to handle genuine compassion. But then you don’t. You don’t hate him for trying to murder you- in fact, you welcome it. And this confuses him. You’re not supposed to act like this, it just makes his job harder. Why aren’t you doing anything the way it’s supposed to be done? The way he’s used to. And so, he thinks it’s a problem with him. So he turns that knife on himself, and it takes you getting hurt for him to realize that getting rid of himself wouldn’t accomplish anything either.

Also, as I said before, Daisuke Hirakawa’s performance is AMAZING in this. I’m obsessed with, I can’t remember if it’s Track 3 or 4, but the scene where you’re in the school infirmary and have a coughing fit. He obviously freaks out and his voice deepens in worry. But then. When he leaves, he puts on that happy mask. His voice lightens, and it’s back to that higher-pitched sound it was originally. And that made me want to SMACK him. Like, sir- STOP. Stop hiding behind that mask, it’s obvious you’re worried. Come on.

When Laito’s thinking to himself, when he has that mental breakdown in Track 4, the way his voice shakes and deepens and how he yells and curses and punches a wall and just- AUGHHH. This man. He so obviously cares, but he doesn’t know what to do with all of these feelings he’s never had to deal with before. I just…. God.

Sorry if this isn’t exactly what you wanted. If you can’t tell, I’ve had this rant in my head for a WHILE. He just makes me so ILL. Please, people, send in more Laito related asks, I have so many thoughts-

[some-bunniii]

Lucifer doting on a mama!reader [Sneak Peek]

Le gasp! what’s this?? A baby crib and a violin… how could these two possibly relate?? 🧐

Don’t fret, the final part to my pregnant!reader fic is coming! My plan is to have it dropped by this weekend, so a nice conclusion with a decent length. sorry this took a little longer than usual!

but i think you’ll be fed with this irresistible art by a mutual of mine that’ll be thrown into the pot! Here is only just a warmup sketch, but check out the wonderful artist, indxlulu, over on twt! Go give em a follow & see their other lucifer pieces 🤭

now, take this unedited morsel of what i’ve got cooking:

Your baby couldn’t speak yet, and wouldn’t for quite awhile, which meant you had to speak for her. Usually, you attached words to the silly little faces she would make at any action you or another demon did around her.

The one time you switched her bottle from breast milk to formula, she didn’t seem too happy about it with how big of a stink eye she sent you chugging down her dinner. She was only a month and a half, but her expressiveness was that of a moody, hormonal teenager.

You spent many hours cooped up with her, sometimes, you needed to have a little fun and play puppeteer one evening as the two of you lounged on your bed.

You squished your daughters cheeks, making tiny little duck lips as you pitched your voice higher, “Yes, Mama, I promise to sleep through the whoooole night this time!”

“Wonderful,” you beamed, using your other hand to pat her approvingly on the stomach, “And you’ll drink your whole bottle without fuss?”

“Yes, Mama! And, I wi—”

“What are you doing?” An amused, velvety voice came from across your room.

You froze, turning towards the open doorway, your fingers still pinched around the babies lips as your eyes widened at the familiar face.

There, standing leisurely against his cane, was the casually dressed ‘Big Boss of Hell’. Lucifer’s blonde hair was slicked back, a few curls framing his statuesque features. Those warm, golden eyes and skin that practically shimmered against the waning daylight from your window.

He tilted his head with a soft, playful smile, as he drank in your figure. The red evening light basked the bed with a warm glow that lit your eyes up like diamonds, enhancing your maternal elegance as you bonded with your daughter.

Your love for her was obvious, and that always had Lucifer’s heart fluttering, seeing something so pure exist in such a grim world was.

Slowly, you slid off the bed, your smile widening every step closer you took towards the king as you crossed the room. Somehow, even in your melancholic state, his presence always seemed to have you energized and bouncy.

“Your Majesty,” you batted your lashes, coming to stop at the doorway before leaning casually against it.

“M’lady,” his grin widened into a wide, teeth-glinting smile as he lifted his hand to present a caramel-coated apple nestled snugly atop a thin, wooden stick. Your stomach growled on cue, and the scent that wafted to your nose had your mouth watering.

“Looks like that glow hasn’t left you yet, if I do say,” he replied, his eyes flicking across your figure before meeting your gaze again.

You only shook your head with a breath of laughter, reaching forward and plucking the delicacy from his grip and turning it in your fingers.

“Charlie says she hasn’t seen you for a few days, you really should go and get some fresh air once in a while,” Lucifer continued as you widened the doorway for him to enter, shooting you a stern glance as spoke.

Is he talking right now? You quirked a brow as he slid past, lifting the offering to your lips and taking a large, hungry bite out of the treat.

Lucifer’s eyes were on one being in particular, swaddled snuggly across the room on your bed. His gaze lingered on your daughter for a few moments, before he turned to face you again.

“How is everything going?”

“Good,” you lied.

“That’s great to hear,” his warm smile widened, and his eyes flicked back over to your daughter, before snapping back to you.

Lucifer’s cane twisting between his fingers nervously as he opened his mouth to speak, before disregarding his thoughts and clamping his mouth shut with a small huff.

You only titled your head at that, your lips curving into a more genuine smile as you watched him.

Children were such a soft spot for Lucifer, you could tell the way his demeanor changed instantly when he was in the presence of a baby. His voice turned to velvet whenever, his gentle tone gained from experience in soothing their little ears.

You couldn’t imagine how beautiful lullabies sounded with those vocals of his, the very thought making you melt like butter. Although, you haven't gotten the chance to hear them yet.

His parental instincts seemed to have resurfaced with the birth of your daughter, that natural affinity for caring for the innocent and helpless buried along with his angelic began to emerge with each passing visit.

He kept his love at a distance, at first. Almost as if he was afraid of getting attached to such a tiny being, like the emotions that came along with it were a deadly force that could take him out far quicker than angelic steel.

Was it because the baby wasn’t his? Did he think you didn’t want him around your child? Maybe, one day he assumed you’d take the baby and leave, and those growing would only break his heart along with your departure.

You just needed to prove him wrong.

That’s it for now! See you soon 🤍

[datsyuks]

Don’t touch what’s mine.

(Hello! Here is a new addition. Just a fun little cute blurb. Featuring mr. heavyweight champion, Arber Xhekaj. Heavyweight on my heart that is. I normally dont care for the Montreal team but Arber just snuggled himself into my heart and never left. Not that I'm complaining. He’s a softie and u can tell me otherwise. And YES I have seen the videos of him beating the living daylights out of opponents. Also the picture I used above is so cute. That’s all. Enjoy.)

Warning: overly protectiveness and slight friskiness, lightly edited.

She could feel his eyes on her the entire time they were at the bar. He has nothing to worry about she thought as she finished her drink then simply ordering a Diet Coke. Not wanting to get too drunk tonight.

But Arber still watched. Glances between conversations with friends, coming up behind her to order another drink insead of going to an empty spot at the bar.

The truth is he wasn’t worried about her. He was worried about everyone else. And he had a right. Before he went to the bathroom, he glanced in her direction. He smiled as he watched her laugh with the other girls at the bar.

He came out ready to collect her and go home. His social battery was on empty. When a man in a red flannel stood next to her friends empty chair. He silently cursed to himself for her friend leaving her alone. Alone at a crowded bar. Alone at a crowded bar wearing that dark blue dress that he’s been thinking about all night long. And if it’s making him go wild he doesn’t want to think what other guys are thinking.

Before he knew it he was walking toward them. “No I’m hear with my boyfriend,” he could hear her say. He couldn’t hear what Red Flannel was saying but he was gesturing around the room. “I’m sure he’s here…… somewhere,” she starts, her voice sounding unsure. He makes it to her side before she can finish her sentence. “Ready to go?” Arber asks ignoring Red Flannel, feeling his stare size him up. He wasn't worry though, he knew he would win. “There you are!” She exclaims and scoops up her Gucci bag, a gift from him.

“Excuse me,” she says as she slides off her high top chair and onto the ground. Giving Red Flannel a smile, he doesn’t waste any time grabbing her and pulling her out of the bar.

"Did he touch you?" Was the first thing out of his mouth after he gave the valet his ticket. He pulled her in, chest to chest. Warmth radaiating off of her. "No. I would of made a scene if he did." "Good." His finger slide up to the thin gold chain around her neck and rub over the two numbers, his numbers. He knew you were telling the truth. He knew he could trust you.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” His hands slide down to her waist. “Hmm, only about a hundred times.” “Well this makes it one hundred and one. Should I make it one hundred and two times?” She giggles. The car pulls up and they speed away.

On the way home his hand rests on her thigh. It was a natural reaction at this point. The radio was playing softly in the background. She crosses her legs and his hand slips off. She doesn’t react but he does. His head snaps to her and she’s staring out the window. He can’t see her watching him out of the corner of her eye. She toys with him even more, scooting her legs farther away.

Suddenly, his hand slaps down on the top of her thigh. His fingertips dig into her skin as he pulls her legs apart until they are slightly spread on the seat. His hand resumes normal position, a bit higher than usual, and he pinches the inside of her thigh making her squirm. She turns to him mouth open to say something but nothing comes out. He turns back to the road with a smile on his face and speeds the car faster. He couldn’t wait to get her home.

[cranetreegang]

The Call of Adventure - Ominis x FemReader

I just wanna shoutout everybody. You have all been so sweet and kind with all these fics of Ominis <3 So thank you!!! I'm so happy y'all are enjoying them just as much as I am writing them <3

This was a fun one. Ever since I got the Companions Mod, ya know your gurl had to have Ominis tagging along. I will say, there is something quite amusing about dismissing Ominis on the other side of the map and just being like 'yeah walk your blind ass back to Hogwarts' as he shuffles away.

Anyways, I got carried away with a simple broom flying lesson (looks at word count with a heavy sigh).

hope you enjoy and enjoy while listening to -> Soaring over Hogwarts

Summary: Hoping to show Ominis the joys of broom flight, things take a drastic turn.

Word Count: ~ 4,400 words

Read my other Ominis Fics Here!

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“I’m not so sure about this.” Ominis holds the broom away from him, not daring to put his leg over the wild thing. 

“You were sure just mere moments ago.” She teases. 

“That was before the damn thing nearly ripped my arm off.” He mumbles. 

She hums in thought then offers, “Perhaps, we should take things slow.” 

Ominis lets out a sigh of relief, but the feeling is short lived as she continues, 

“We can fly together on my broom.” 

He grimaces, “Surely you jest.” 

She walks closer to him and he catches the slight shake of her head, “Not at all. The only way we can get there and back before curfew is by flying.” 

He scowls with a grumbling complaint under his breath. 

“Oh, don’t be that way, Ominis. I think you might enjoy this.” 

“Or, I’ll fall to my death.” 

She snorts, “Then better be quick to cast Levioso on yourself then. Now, come on. We’re losing daylight.” 

She mounts the broom, patting the seat in front of her. He debates with himself on what to do. This is a horrible, ill-advised, reckless plan. But, when will he get another opportunity like this? And he’s heard the rumors of her excellent flying abilities. He lets out an exaggerated sigh as he swings his leg over her broom, dropping the other broom onto the lawn. 

“I better not regret this.” He hisses. 

She can’t stop her wide grin as she scoots closer to him, “Alright, grab hold of the broom with both hands. One in front of the other.” 

Ominis puts his hands around the broom’s handle then they’re just as quickly launched into the air. Her arms fly around his waist as they rocket higher into the sky. 

“Ominis! Even out! You’re pulling too much!” She shouts over the roaring wind. 

He can barely breathe, let alone think. He pushes the broom down, sending them into a downward spiral. His stomach plummets and he can’t make out what she’s trying to say over the air shooting past them. 

Her hands are on his and she speaks in a level voice right into his ear, “Ominis. It’s alright. Follow my movement.” 

She gently pulls up and he does the same until their descent stops, leaving them floating in the air. She lets out a sigh, collapsing against his back. 

“Not exactly how I envisioned our take off going.” She chuckles between heavy pants. His eyes are wide and he’s surprised the death grip he has on the handle hasn’t shattered the polished wood. 

“I nearly killed us.” He murmurs, his body shaking out of his control.

“Nearly. But, not quite.” She slowly removes her hands from his and leans off his back. “How are you fairing?” 

“I want to get off this damnable thing.” He seethes.

She laughs, “But, you’ve already done the hardest part! Granted, we will need to work on takeoffs, but we’re at the best part. Flying.” 

He shakes his head, “No. This was a mistake. I never should’ve gotten on this thing. Now, tell me how to land.” 

She bites her lip, “Ominis.” 

“What?” He snaps. 

She frowns as she takes in the tremors racking through Ominis’ body. A pang of guilt overcomes her at putting him in this position. He’s confessed his desire to fly on a broom before as they were on their way to class. He heard the whoosh of a student passing overhead and he had a slight smile as he mentioned he’s always wanted to learn to fly. It hurt her heart to hear him dismiss the idea as soon as he uttered it. Now that he’s here, he may very well never fly again. Perhaps this was indeed a mistake. Her jaw sets and her head rises with determination. 

She’s not willing to give up just yet. She places her hand on his back. The touch makes him stiffen even more than he already was.

“Take a moment. Breathe. Breathe with me.” She sucks in an audible breath while rubbing her hand up then down his back. “In and out. Slowly. Like this.” 

He matches her breathing, realizing just how frantic he had become. They’re fine, he reminds himself. They’re both fine. He follows the assuasive movement along his back and he’s able to relax himself bit by bit. 

With their hearts no longer threatening to burst out of their chests and his breathing evening out, she continues,

“A broom is only as good as its rider. If you are calm, your broom will be too.” She glances around with a slight grin, “Do you know where we are?”

“Not in the faintest.” 

“Well, take a moment. Feel where we are.” 

Ominis’ relinquishes his tight hold on the broom; enough to let a hand slip into his robes and grab his wand. His wand adjusts his field of view by sending out waves as far as it possibly can. He’s amazed at how much he can make out and he takes notice of the spires surrounding them.

They’re over Hogwarts. About thirty meters above, judging from how far the ground is below them. He can hear the distant chatter of students as they cross in the courtyard. He believes it’s the Transfiguration Courtyard given the sizable tree in the center. 

His shoulders sag with an exhale, the last of his tremors leaving him, “We’re over Hogwarts.” 

She nods, “Yes.” 

He shifts in place, finding some comfort being airborne, but not much.

“We can land if you wish, but I think if you make a lap around the castle, you might enjoy it. Hogwarts from above is truly a sight to behold.” 

“I don’t want to lose control again.” He whispers.

“You won’t.”

He scoffs with his head dismissing her, “Do you not value our wellbeing? Your wellbeing?” 

“I trust you.” 

He’s stunned at her admittance. He almost wants to question her sanity in placing so much faith into him. She shifts to be even closer to him and he’s acutely aware of her arms coming around his waist. 

“Now, trust yourself. I know you can do it.” She encourages. “Once you’re ready, take it slow and lower the handle until it’s in front of you.” 

He takes a deep breath, putting both hands back on the broom with his wand tight in his grip to guide him. He pushes the handle down until they begin to glide forward. 

“Just like that!” She exclaims. 

He grins at his progress as they soar over the rooftops of the castle. Without realizing, he leans towards where he wishes to go. The movement is easy and he can’t help a prideful smile from coming over him at the smooth turn.

“See, you’re a natural.” She beams, further cementing his elation.

He takes them over Hogwarts, his mind reeling from visualizing the campus from above. There’s many sections he didn’t even know existed and others he had new appreciation for. He dives them under one of the stone bridges and flies them through the canyon. He hears the waterfall and river below them. He flies so close to it, water sprays up in a fine mist onto them. 

“I think that’s the Slytherin common room.” She points out to the right of them. 

He glides them closer and he chuckles, “If Sebastian could see us, he’d believe he’d lost his mind. Or that we’ve both lost ours.” 

“You’ll have to surprise him some time. I’d love to see his face as you take off. We could all fly over to Feldcroft and surprise Anne too.” 

Ominis could almost hear Sebastian’s exclamations and Anne’s pure shock. It’s enough to make his stomach flutter. He follows the river towards the Black Lake when he comes to a gentle stop; their feet hover just above the cool waters. 

“Well, where is it you wanted to go?” Ominis turns his head towards her. 

Her grin consumes her whole face at the sight of Ominis’ poorly disguised zeal.

“Towards the right. You’ll need to get us above the treeline though.” She points to their heading and he nods. 

He turns them until she tells him to stop. He takes in a deep breath, enjoying this sensation of floating in the air. Then he takes off. 

Screeching across the lake and going far faster than he ever thought he would be going at the start of this flight. She squeals in delight at his pace and his chest swells at the sound of her joy. He gets them high enough to soar over the treetops. He’s beginning to understand how the broom reads him and it’s becoming nearly intuitive to fly.

“We’re just over the Forbidden Forest!” She yells. 

He smells the fresh pine and the damp air of the forest which accompanies it. Trying to sense the trees below them as they zip by makes his head whirl. While he can’t make out the fine details of the branches, he can tell they’re massive and their thick canopy blocks out the ground below.

“That’s not where we’re going, is it?” He questions. 

“Not at all! It’s forbidden.” She smirks, making him scoff.

“Like that word has any meaning to you!” 

She chuckles and gives him a slight squeeze around his waist, making his chilled cheeks warm. They continue soaring over the countryside. The Forbidden Forest seems almost pleasant being so far above it, he thinks to himself. He keeps them just above the treetops, but he’s sure if he stretches his foot out, he’d kick the top of some of the towering giants poking out.

“Nearly there. Do you see it? It’s just to the left of us.” She says.

He angles them to the left, slowing them as he does so, and he picks up on some sort of structure poking out between the foliage of the forest. 

“What is it?” He wonders as he tries to find a way for them to land. 

“I’m not sure. That’s why we’re here.” 

He finds a clearing near the front of the edifice and begins a slow descent. The tips of his shoes graze the ground while they glide forward until he comes to a complete stop. 

“Here we are.” She says, letting him dismount before she dismisses her broom. “Not bad for your first flight.”

Ominis turns his head towards her with a soft grin, “I’m glad we landed without the aid of Levioso.” 

“As am I.” 

Ominis examines where they are. From what his wand is able to pick up, they’re in front of some sort of ruin. The grand entrance has long since crumbled into a half formed arch. 

“Up for some exploration?” She asks while she heads through the dilapidated entryway. 

Ominis can’t help his grin as he follows her inside into what he suspects was a courtyard. There’s remnants of stone between patches of overgrown grass and ivy under his feet. He lets his hand trace along a moss covered pillar while they venture inside. Wood crunches under their boots as they step over the door and the interior isn’t faring much better than the outside.

“So, how did you stumble upon this place?” Ominis questions. 

The fading sun warms parts of his cheek and neck as it filters in through the many cracks and holes in the deteriorating walls. He reaches his hand out to touch these exposed rays of light in the cool, damp ruin. She admires him basking in the sunlight; envious at how perfect he looks. His windblown hair and easy smile makes this whole scene feel dreamy. She has to avert her gaze to be able to answer him.

“Do you want an honest answer, or that I simply stumbled upon this place by accident?” 

He shoots her a concerned scowl, “I fear I may regret this, but the honest answer.” 

She hums while she kicks a cracked pot over, “I may, or may not, have been in the area dealing with some poachers. And, well, I came here seeking cover while I dispatched them.” 

“You are too reckless for your own good.” He sighs. 

She shrugs, “You must admit this place is amazing. I wonder just how old it is. Or what it once was. I’m sure it was quite stately in its time.” 

Ominis goes towards a shattered wooden long table with a fallen chandelier as its new centerpiece. His fingers trace over the once polished edge as he walks by the rotting relic.

“I’d imagine this was someone’s grand estate. A count’s, perhaps. Given the size.” 

“A count you say?” She looks around the ruined architecture in a vain attempt to picture what this place would’ve looked like when it was alive with people instead of vines. “Shame it’s in ruins now.” She frowns as she stares at a faded portrait hanging precariously on the wall above the fireplace.

They wander towards the back of the estate when she notices wooden boards laying on the floor. As she approaches, she realizes the boards are covering a hole in the ground.

“Oh. What’s this?” She kneels next to the wood boards and peers into the darkness below. Ominis joins her, his head tilting to the side in curiosity. 

“See anything?” He asks.

She shakes her head, “No. It’s too dark.” 

Ominis’ hand scours the grass-covered ground around him until he finds a palm-sized rock. He slips the rock between a gap and lets it fall. He presses his ear in the opening and listens to the rock clattering at the bottom. Based on the echoes, he believes this is an actual room rather than a hole in the ground.

“Anything?” She wonders.

“There’s certainly something there. I believe this may have been the cellar.” 

“Stand back.” She gets to her feet, pulling out her wand as she does. Ominis stands next to her. 

“Depulso!” She swishes her wand and the boards are reduced to splinters. She’s quick to lean over the edge again, sticking her wand into the opening. “Lumos.” 

The ghostly hum is higher than her own as she catches glimpses of dusty stone flooring and walls from her wand’s cold light. She looks over to Ominis, “It’s not too far of a drop. Let’s investigate!” 

Before he can object, she’s already jumping into the opening. He hears her land with a ‘huff’.

“Come on! What’re you waiting for?” She yells at him when he doesn’t make any sort of movement.

He groans to himself as he sits on the edge of the hole, his feet swinging into the abyss. He takes a sharp breath before he falls in after her. He lands with a slight grunt, but he’s pleased he stayed on his feet. His wand picks up what he heard and this is indeed a room of some kind. The musty, moldy air makes his nose crinkle in disgust. He hears her walking towards the far wall. 

“Cellar indeed. Although…,” She brings her illuminated wand closer to the wall. 

“What is it?” Ominis joins in with her examination. He reaches out and touches a large metal ring attached to the wall.

“I think it can be opened.” She takes several steps back and he does the same. “Accio!”

She rips the lid of the case off, letting it crash to the ground, and she gasps in shock. Something knocks into his foot. He frowns at the object being far too light for a rock or piece of stone. He kneels down and his fingers graze over the object. It’s spherical in nature and there’s two large holes then two smaller ones. He traces over several ridges until a clear picture forms in his mind. His hand reels back.

“A crypt.” He exclaims. “We’re in a crypt.” 

“It does appear that we are.” 

He whips his wand around, searching for a way out. He crosses to the other side, but he can’t detect any sort of stairs. He does however sense a hallway leading underneath the estate. He stands near the entrance of the corridor and a chill shoots down his spine when a cold draft gusts into his face.

“I don’t like the feel of this place.” He murmurs. 

“Oh, there’s no reason for such angst. It’s just a long, dark hallway inside an abandoned, creepy crypt. What could possibly go wrong?” She smirks as she takes the lead down the hallway with nary a hitch in her steps. 

“I can think of plenty.” Ominis states while following after her. “I will admit, I do admire your bravery. This is certainly not a place for those of the faint hearted.” 

She giggles, her amusement echoing off into the distance, “I can admit the same of you, Ominis. I’m starting to believe there’s a bit of Gryffindor underneath all that green.” 

A smile splays across him and he can’t suppress his chuckle. He is surprised he’s not more upset with being potentially trapped in a tomb. If he were here with anyone else, he imagines he would be far more vexed with the situation than he is. It seems her adventurous nature is quite contagious and he finds himself eager to discover more secrets to this long forgotten place. 

The hallway takes them into an open room. Their footsteps reverberate into the vast nothingness.  

She lets out a gasp, “It’s huge.” She waves her wand around in an attempt to penetrate the darkness, but it’s like a thick veil is placed in front of her. “We’re probably the only ones who've set foot here in some time.”

“I don’t see a way out though.” Ominis frowns. “The room dead ends here.” 

“Perhaps there’s a secret entrance somewhere.” She heads towards the center of the room. 

He snorts to himself at her guileless wonder and excitement. They move through the open room, noting the columns supporting the ground above them are in rather good shape considering the rest of the fallen estate. 

“It’s so eerie here.” She observes. “Like the air is completely still.”

“Almost like we aren’t supposed to be here.” He teases. 

She chuckles, “Fair point.” She smiles as she looks at him. He’s enjoying himself far more than he’s pretending to be. “I am glad you’re here with me. Even if all we find is just a big, dusty room.” 

He takes in a sharp breath at her statement, hating how easily she could send him spiraling with just one comment. The sounds of pebbles dragging against stone catches his attention. It’s not coming from her though. It almost sounds like feet shuffling the more Ominis tunes into the noise.

“Did you hear that?” He questions.

She freezes where she’s at and turns her attention to her companion. His head turns more towards where he first heard the noise. She strains her ears to do the same, but she only hears ringing due to the silence of the place. 

“I don’t hear-,” 

“Behind you!” Ominis shouts just as an arm swipes at her. 

In a flash, she’s suddenly next to him. He almost can’t believe it and his wand can barely comprehend how she achieved such a feat. It’s like she transformed into magic then reappeared next to him. He can’t dwell on the moment though as the room erupts into groans and growls.

“Inferi!” She cries out. “Fire’s the only way to kill them.” 

There’s several coming towards them, more than he can count. He readies himself and she does the same. 

“Where are they? I hear them, but I don’t see them.” She states, her head turning every which way. 

“There!” Ominis points towards where he hears at least three.

“Confringo!” She lights one on fire and the sparks ignite those around it. Burnt flesh consumes the air and she’s able to see enough from the immolated corpses to continue her attacks.

Ominis is suddenly aware of more Inferi coming behind them. He turns and casts, “Incendio!” 

A blast of flames knocks two of them back, leaving him the chance to cast Confringo on those still standing. 

“Bombardo!” She explodes the ones getting close to them, rocking the ground and walls, and sending gravel on top of them.

“Depulso!” He knocks the rest away, leaving a clearing for them to retreat back down the hallway. He grabs her free hand and tugs her from the battle. 

“Bombardo!” She blasts the ceiling and he can hear the room collapsing just behind them, nearly knocking them off their feet from the impact. Unfortunately, not all the Inferi are caught in the rubble. She keeps firing spells down the hallway while he dodges them past swiping arms reaching out from the crumbling stone walls. They manage to get back into the room they dropped into when she wiggles her hand from his tight grasp. 

There’s a surge in the air, one which electrifies his skin and overwhelms his senses. He’s amazed to find this surge to be stemming from her. She lets out a cry and the entrance to the hallway topples down with a roaring clap of thunder, blocking the Inferi from chasing them. Dust blasts into the room, staining their mouths, and the ground shakes under their feet. Their relief doesn’t last long as more Inferi begin to clamor out from the caskets lining the walls. 

“This way!” She grabs his hand and guides him back underneath the hole. She glances around at the Inferi nearly free from their stone confines. 

Ominis readies himself to face the remaining Inferi when she turns towards him. 

“I’m going to cast Levioso on you. Then you’ll be able to reach the ledge. Ready?” 

Before he can question, she quickly casts, “Levioso!” 

His feet leave the ground and he levitates in the air. He barely catches himself from flipping around. His mind whirls into overdrive and he reaches out towards the ledge. He grabs on and pulls himself up. He searches for her below and he finds her just underneath him. He hears her rapid fire of spells to keep the horde at bay, but she’s about to be swarmed with Inferi on all sides. Without any more hesitation he yells, “Accio!” 

She’s yanked up to him with a surprised gasp leaving her. She lands right on top of him, sending them both crashing to the ground. They’re both panting, their hearts beating frantically. She manages to push herself up to look down at him. 

“Are you alright?” She asks. 

“Never better.” He groans. 

She laughs, falling back onto him with a sigh, “You sure do know how to make things exciting, Gaunt.” 

His chest rumbles under her as they both laugh. 

“If I remember correctly, I believe you were the one to say ‘what could go wrong’. Seems the universe was apt to show you just how wrong things could go.” 

“Seems so.” She giggles, finding enough energy to roll off of him.

Below them, they can still hear the faint groaning of the Inferi. His hand pats the ground until he finds what he’s searching for. He grabs her hand and gives her a squeeze with a soft sigh.

“You are unharmed, yes? They didn’t hurt you?” His tender voice makes her heart skip a beat.

She glances towards Ominis, noting his face firmly plastered to the ceiling above them. 

“I’m okay.” She reassures him with a squeeze of her own. She watches his chest rise in a deep breath and the sight makes her cheeks warm for some reason. 

She releases his hand to prop herself up with a wide grin.

“Well, this hasn’t been quite the adventure I had in mind, but at least I’ll have you back before curfew.” 

Ominis chuckles as he stands, dusting himself off, “I believe you’ve satiated my need for adventure for the day. For the month even.”

He offers his hand to her and helps her to her feet. She takes in the disheveled sight of the Slytherin boy. His hair is wild and untamed from their fight. Dark soot and dust coats his reddish cheeks and stains his formally tidy robes. It’s a good look on him, she decides before she brushes a few pebbles, leaves, and other small debris from his hair and shoulders. His eyes are wide at the gesture and he’s forgotten how to breathe for a moment. 

“I think you’ll find yourself craving such reckless activities. In fact, you’ll be practically begging to come on another adventure with me.” She smirks, satisfied with her efforts in preening him, then heads back towards the entrance. He coughs, willing himself to calm down, before catching up to her.

“Will I? I’m not one to beg, you know.” He smirks right back at her. 

They arrive back at the entrance of the sullied manor with the sun having long since set, leaving them both bathed in the moonlight. The cold light of the moon makes the boy next to her seem otherworldly. And if she were to try to reach out to him, he would simply vanish like an all too pleasant dream. She’s thankful he can’t see her staring. Or, perhaps he could in his own way. Perhaps he could feel her awestruck gaze upon him as it whispers across his skin. 

She bites her lip while she summons her broom, “Guess we’ll see, won’t we?” 

“I suppose so.” He replies in a near whisper.

She holds the broom between them, letting him mount first. He settles himself on the broom, finding it far more natural than when they started earlier this afternoon. A crack of a twig makes Ominis turn his head towards the forest. While he almost dismisses it as an animal, something about it makes him pause. 

“What is it?” She wonders, turning her gaze to what’s got his attention.

“I’m… not sure.” He gets the distinct impression they’re being watched. Not just by one set of eyes either.

Out of the shadows of the night’s embrace, a masked man steps forward.

“Hello, lovelies.” He greets, twirling his wand between his fingers with a malicious grin. Her hand grips Ominis’ forearm and her whole body is frigid as more people emerge from the shadows. “Was hopin’ you’d come back ‘er, lil’ girl. We’ve been waitin’ for ya.”

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

Read Part 2 Here

AN: Did I get carried away? Without a doubt. But, I really wanted to have some Ominis adventures sooooo here we are. I did my best in the combat, but that's one of my weaker writing skills in my opinion *stares at my part two with even more action*

I think I maaaay have abused his wand's 'seeing' ability quite heavily here, but ehhhhhh magic am i right???? ...right? 💀💀💀💀💀

I've never tagged peeps before so uh hopefully this is right 😂-> @mehnotenoughtime

[b0ther]

i can still see it all (in my head)

lisa has always liked a challenge. this time, though, she just wants you to be easy.

pairing : lisa minci x reader (masculine pronouns. amab) rating : explicit, not safe for work (sexual content) type : one-shot tags : royalty-sorta!au. age-gap age-gap age-gap (older man and younger woman), reader is a general and a divorcee AND a dad (he also has a big dick),description of the length of reader's hair, porn with feelings, semi-public sex, cowgirl position, mating press, breeding kink, lisa gets manhandled by reader, there is an emotional scene at the end word count : 2208

author's note : title from 'daylight' by taylor swift. in my head, lisa just looks so good with an older guy,,, also this is a chance for you all to be the dilf you've always aspired to be. also note that i don't know at all about military hierarchies 💀 i really do be writing whatever

( masterlist │ ask/request │ ao3 )

Lisa doesn’t know what to think of the new scout assigned to the library.

After bringing home a glistening victory for the crown, there was a couple of months where he was not seen until he once again reemerged in a ball celebrating the Crown Prince’s 17th birthday. Lisa did not see him fresh off battle, but she heard stories. Of his shagged face, hair overgrown to his chest.

She did, however, see him on the ball. And he was full of glory: dukes and duchesses scramble to part the sea of royalty for a man to whom they owe their lavish life to. His hair was trimmed at the appropriate length—just above his ears—and his face clean shaven.

Lisa finds it odd, though, how after that day, he lounges around her library—a gift from his King, she heard, to be dismissed of all duties relating to waging wars and protecting the city. It would be inane for the King to award him with less than whatever he wanted after the almost-decade-long battle cost him his handsome face and his obnoxious wife. It’s good for the King that he didn’t want much. Just for a quiet life of defending the palace instead of the city.

Lisa personally thinks that he should have asked for more; tranquillity does not erase the profound scar down across his left eye, after all. Even if it added to his allure. Even if Lisa spends her day daydreaming about running her fingers along its length.

So, instead of being the ravenous, cruel war general that he is rumoured to be on the battlefield, he sits with his leg crossed on top of a knee and reads thick volumes of exhausting diction and verities between the shelves of her library,

The first few weeks, Lisa greets him with a warm smile as she would do to everyone. She does not indulge herself in calling him sugary-sweet pet names—he was far older, after all, and way above her ranks. Dear lord, what would he think of her?—and instead, calls him General, not even daring to mutter the sound of his surname following it.

He is helpful to her. With his swords clanking against the stony floor, he would walk after her and grab the mountaining pile of books from her arms. Wordless. He then would place them on the higher shelves, ones that she could not possibly reach without the help of some wooden steps. He looks like he has the filing of the books and reports memorised like the back of his own hand—Lisa thought that she knows this library most, but he looks like he melts right into the scenery, like he is a part of the breathing, living room.

Once, he came into the library just in time to catch her wobbling body from crashing against the cold ground. Her careless feet had misstepped, and Lisa is certain that if he wasn’t there to catch her falling body, she would have died. And maybe it was her racing heart, or maybe it was the way his wide palms grabbed her skin, fingers digging into the flesh of her thigh and almost circling her waist, but on that day, Lisa decided that she must have him.

She knows what to call him, now, when it’s just the two of them. A series of provoking “General” or “Baby”—even his given name, when she gets bold enough or if the night gets dark enough.

She would ride his cock, never really getting used to his size, as she pressed her palms against his stomach, mouth hanging open, drool spilling free, and her knees bruising from the friction against the stone underneath them. He’d call her all sorts of pretty names, cooing at how good his little librarian is milking his dick dry, thumb grazing over her perky nipples, jugs glistening with sweat.

Just as he would shoot his thick seeds up her womb, filling her hot cunt with strings of white juice, he would push himself to press their lips against each other, cursing at god at how perfect her pussy is for him.

She knows that he likes being on top—folding her in half with her scarred knees pressed against her tits. She has seen the way he licks his lower lips, watching the way sweat sticks her champagne hair to her face and chest, drilling into her tight hole with his thick length. He loves the way she rolls her eyes back whenever he hits her spot just right—loves feeling her warm walls wrapping around his dick, seeing her clenched cunt stuffed with his cream.

But he is too nice. He knows she chases that feeling of control whenever she pushes him back against the chair—or the floor—and rolls her hips. He lets her take control at times, just sitting there with his thumb rubbing against her sensitive bud, watching her body shudder at every wave of orgasm she gets just by him toying her clit. This isn’t what he is used to, she supposes, but Lisa can tell that he also enjoys the view of seeing her tits bouncing at every squeeze of his cock.

Lisa thinks that she would make a fine wife.

She isn’t rowdy like his once-wife. She is quiet, sweet, charming. Her opinions are never uttered with such strength like the Marchioness, and she imagines that he would prefer keeping her close and showing her off.

But she is just a scholar, nothing more. She cannot give him the title that he must want, or the child that he already has.

The boy is a few years younger than the Crown Prince, and Lisa can see him in his son’s eyes. They are civil with each other, just as a father and a child of royalty would be. There are habits and quirks that she observes in his son when she tutors him—little patterns that are never engraved to someone like her.

If the Marchioness had been patient and not divorced the General, he would not have been holding Lisa the way he does now. And no matter how many times Lisa has ended the night with his cum up in her cunt, there are just some skeletons that she cannot resolve.

Lisa often dreams about his tongue on her nipples. Her hard, hard nipples.

Just the feeling of his wet tongue rubbing, tugging, sucking on her teats. His low growl, his hungry looks. Just the thought of him catching her in his mouth is enough to make her cum most times. She starves for him, for his touch.

And she knows that he loves reaching over to knead on her tits, fascinated with her nipples as his cock is buried deep inside of her.

In his chamber, he would let her sit herself down his length, with her back pressed against his chest. He would rest his chin on her shoulder, and she would bury her nose amongst his greying hair, moaning at how he tugs at her nipples, rolling them between his calloused and thick fingers. His other hand would begin with caressing her other tit before making his way down to her belly, pressing down against her flesh. Then continuously trailing down, pressing his palm flat against her sopping pussy lips.

The friction of his palm against her clit would make her jolt. Lisa would claw at his big arms, silently begging for him to let her ride him, but he was too strong. She can’t fight his strength when he is holding her down.

“I’m getting older, Baby,” he mutters in her ear—his voice almost enough to send Lisa yipping through another orgasm. He sighs, pressing his nose and lips against her neck. “I’m tired. Be a good girl for me and sit still.”

And Lisa whimpers. Because she wants to be a good girl for him. She wants to be the best.

Lisa doesn’t mind getting dicked down in her library. As long as it was his cock puncturing her little hole.

Though she complained that the library is the least comfortable place where they can fuck, it seems that he is interested in the notion of pounding mercilessly into her tiny cunt against her work desk, watching their cum mix and spill against the expensive mahogany.

“I’m gonna fuck a kid into you, Lisa,” he mutters, pressing his nails down her hips to the point where it hurts. Lisa whines, hands busy trying to grab the edge of her desk as her core pulsates even more with his threat. “Fill you up— shit,” he breathes as she clenches around his cock. He lifts her ass up, positioning her so that it’s easier to fuck into her hole. “Stuff you up with my hot cum. You’d like that won’t you?”

“Yes,” Lisa gasps in between her moans, her cries, her heaves. “Yesyesyes, please—”

Her cunt burns at his words, squeezing as he drags his length out, then piercing down her walls yet again. She can feel every girth, every veins of his cock. She can feel him opening her up, urging her to accommodate every single inch of him.

“Oh, Baby,” he grabs one of her arms, forcing her off her hands and against his chest. “You’re making me feel so good,” his voice trails the same time his hand goes to take hold of one of her tits.

Her throat dries. She lays her head on his shoulder as he kneads her ample jug, blabbering on and on about how she loves him and his big, big cock.

Lisa thinks that she would make a fine mother.

She is smart, and her mother used to say that being smart is the one quality that is most important in a woman when she bears a child.

When she gets dressed, Lisa would more often than not hum before her mirror, rubbing her belly as though one of these days, he would really impregnate her with his seeds. She dreams of swinging, little baby feet; she dreams of propping her child on her chest with their chin against her shoulder. She would teach them how to read and write and count, and how to chart the countless stars in the night sky.

But her reverie would dissolve like smoke from her hot morning coffee, and she is dragged back into the world where in the eyes of everyone else, they are nothing more than colleagues.

He isn’t mean. Lisa understands absolutely where he is coming from.

Even when he kisses her knuckles, lays with his head on her stomach, twirls her strands of hair around his fingers—she understands him. She absolutely does.

If she were in his position—in his mid 40s, tired from a long battle, is the father of a son he can barely see anymore—she would also feel his amount of shame in indulging in a younger woman. It’s not her—it is absolutely him. She senses that he wants to break free of his self-imposed chain and peck her cheeks in the royal garden instead of the strange, unseen nook of the castles, but an unseen rope tugs him back over and over again to his shame any moment he deems adequate to leave.

“Lisa,” he mutters one night when they are laying together, his head on her lap. She has a book on one hand as the other gently caresses his strands.

Lisa sets the book down, “Hmm?”

He has been staring at the ceiling, and Lisa waits until he feels as if he is ready to crank his neck. Their eyes meet—she marvels silently at the way moonlight reflects on his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

She titters, pretending to be dumb. “For what?”

He smiles at her laughter, his fingers escaping each other on his stomach before reaching out to find hers. He kisses the back of her hand. “I don’t know.”

Lisa shakes her head and feels the heat returning to her chest, throat, and ears. “You’re being silly again, General.”

“I am,” he sighs, shutting his eyes. “I’m getting old, aren’t I?”

“So am I.”

Lisa sits straight and looks down at him, fingers finding their way in between the spaces of his. She brings his hand closer to her lips to kiss. “You’re overthinking.”

“I am.” He pensively agrees, as though embarrassed.

“Everything is fine,” she tries soothing him with her head tilted. “Or am I not enough?” She gently teases.

“No,” he chuckles almost immediately. “You’re perfectly enough. You are more than enough. I am content with us, just like this.”

“Uh-huh,” Lisa nods. “Then why worry about something that is not even real?”

“I don’t know,” he turns to bury his face on her stomach, nuzzling his nose against her flesh. “Sorry.”

Lisa breathes in hard—a gust of wind from the open window suddenly reveals the perfect atmosphere for her to start crying. But she doesn’t. “It’s fine.”

He remains quiet with their hands tangled with each other. Lisa bites her lips, her other hand reaching to stroke his hair. She glances outside the window—the moon shines bright that night.

She will get through this. She breathes in deeply yet again, bending to press her lips to the side of his head. She has to.

[it-was-funeral-grey]

Celestia-sent (Al Haitham x F!Reader)

Prequel Part 1 Part 2

Summary: There's a weird guy lying outside your house.

Warnings: Vulgarities, food (stew) , mentions of injuries , crying, reader mistakes al haitham as a old guy lmao, reader lives in vimara village, spoliers for al haitham's lore,

Word count: <1.7k words

Inspired by: -

Author's note: it was kinda therapeutic to write al haitham's part- the first half. not sure why. it just felt so easy. i miss my grandma. i should visit her once i feel better.

Please give criticism! Also, if i missed any warnings, do tell me so i can add them!

He's just lying there, faced down. His grey hair sticks out painfully against the brown dirt path, and you fight the urge to squat down to take a closer look. It's a shade of grey you have never seen before. It kinda looks like the moon.

Another old drunkard, you think. There's been many of them recently in Vimara village. Ever since the scandal in the Akademiya three months ago, Port Ormos had crashed. The whole port is a mess- what once was Sumeru's most efficient had become disorganised and stagnant overnight. Now, it's akin to a ghost town- especially after the mass layoff of port employees.

Trading has halted completely, the Wikala Funduq citing 'awaiting instructions from Akademiya higher ups'. But so far, no one from the Akademiya has come down to remedy the situation and help revitalise Port Ormos.

As a result, private traders can't do business, and trading companies can't do business, so no one is making money anymore. Traders from Inazuma and Snezhnaya had stopped docking in Sumeru. In a couple more months, Port Ormos would lose its position as the central trading hub of Teyvat. Sumeru will lose a terrifying portion of its national income. It will only get worse from there.

Vimara village was outraged at the mass layoff. Most port employees lived there, after all. In an instant, families lost all sources of income. The village community had tried to help each other, sharing food and whatever they could with each other. But this was only a temporary solution. The stress of unemployment is beginning to weigh heavy on many, which is why many have taken to drinking recently.

Which is why you aren't surprised that a guy's passed out on the ground. What was surprising is that you had never seen this dude before.

He's wearing expensive clothes, you note. He's definitely not from the village. Clad in green, he'd almost look like a plant if not for his grey hair. There's a cape hanging off his back, and on a shoulder is what you think is a vision.

Damn, you wonder. What kind of guy is this?

Curiosity gets the better of you. Squatting down next to the old guy's side, you lay your groceries down. Strangely, you don't smell any alcohol on him. So, not a drunkard?

"Hey, uh… sir?" you shake his shoulder, brushing your fingers over his vision. It's cool to the touch, the green orb emitting a gentle glow amidst the fading daylight. "Wakey wakey, mister?"

The man doesn't wake. You sigh. What are you going to do? It's almost nighttime. You can't just leave him here. I mean, you could, but still…

There's a pleasant aroma in the air, accompanied by the sound of sizzling oil. Onions, Harra spice… stir-fried with snapdragon leaves?

It reminds Al Haitham of his grandmother's cooking. Maybe she's making dinner now. He's pretty hungry.

Huh. Now that he thinks of it, it has been a long time since he's had dinner with her. When was the last time he even spoke to her? Or visited her?

He has so much to tell her.

He has to tell her about his job as a Scribe. Well, for now, he's the ACTING Grand Sage. Not for long, though. He'll make sure of that.

He's got to tell her about the stunt he pulled to save Lesser Lord Kusanali. She'd enjoy that tale. Probably scold him for being so reckless as well, though.

Yeah, he'll do that. Maybe he'll ask for a second serving of rice too. He's really, really hungry.

Then, he'll ask for advice on how to handle the whole shitshow that he has been assigned to run. She'll know what to do. She always does. She'll teach him how to manage the infinite number of impossible tasks thrown his way.

She'll comfort him. She'll tell him that in no time, he'll be back to his usual job: stress-free and not responsible for saving the nation from a crisis that may result in future generations growing up in poverty and political instability.

She'll hear him out as he rants about the mess Azar and those fuckers ("Language, Al Haitham!") had left him. And how everyone was so reliant on the Akasha terminals and the sages' leadership that when all that disappeared, they were clueless. They can't function anymore. Systems fall apart. People stop working. And because of that, he has to do everything on his own, and he's so tired and-

The sizzling sound has stopped. Is it dinner time already?

But he doesn't want to get up. Not now. Just ten more minutes, please?

There's a faint scraping sound. A spatula against a wok. If he tries hard enough, he can hear a plopping sound. So, it's a stew. He hopes it's Sabz Meat stew. That's his favourite.

How long has it been since he had a homemade meal?

Footsteps. Ok, no ten minutes, then. He'll get up.

Wincing, he sits up. His whole body aches. His knees feel sore. That's weird. He hadn't fallen or hit anything, but he feels bruises forming all over his arms and legs.

Trying to adjust to the bright light, Al Haitham slowly opens his eyes. He's in a small living room. Huh, he doesn't remember his grandmother moving. She never had this couch he was resting on either. Or the wooden coffee table in front. Or that many Liyue magazines.

"Ah, you're awake!"

That's not his grandmother's voice. Wait, what did her voice sound like again?

Al Haitham whips his head towards the voice so fast he pulls a neck muscle. Groaning, he reaches for his neck, massaging it before attempting to turn around, slowly this time.

"Hey, relax!"

There's a soft click from behind, and then frantic footsteps. Someone runs around the couch.

It's a woman. Not his grandmother.

Oh.

Oh yeah. Of course, it isn't her.

"Are you feeling alright?"

Hah, what was he doing, dreaming? Someone like him? Dreaming?

"Uh…sir?"

Of course, it isn't her. The dead can't come back to life. He's alone now. He has been for the past decade.

"…sir?"

He'll always be alone. Now, and for the foreseeable future. If he can even ensure that Sumeru still has one.

There's a hot sensation on his face, snapping him out of his thoughts. It's the woman again. This time with a bowl in her hand, holding it right in front of him.

He'd recognise that aroma anywhere. It's Sabz Meat stew.

"Um, I'm not sure what's going on," she says, placing the bowl into his hands. "But why don't you eat first?"

She pulls the coffee table closer towards him and walks back behind the couch to retrieve cutlery from the kitchen and a plate of rice. Laying them on the coffee table, she then sits on the floor, watching him.

"I didn't add lemons, but I can get you some if you want?" she asks when he doesn't move.

A minute passes. Al Haitham can't move. He can't, and he honestly doesn't want to.

What's the point of moving? Everything moves too fast. He'll never catch up. There's too much. There will always be proposals he can't clear in time. A question he can't answers right now. A policy he needs time to understand. Time that he doesn't have. Time that Sumeru can't afford to lose. He'll always be behind. And because of that, Sumeru will fall behind. Because of him.

It's almost funny. Before all this, he had never worried about being behind. He barely worried about anything.

"Come on," she prompts, taking a spoonful of rice and handing it to him when he still doesn't move. "Eat. You'll feel better after you eat."

Al Haitham doesn't have the energy to resist or deny her. Taking the spoon, he dips it into the bowl, letting the rice soak up some of the stew before lifting it to his mouth.

And suddenly, he's 19 again. He's in the dining room, having dinner with his grandmother again. She's lecturing him about spending too much time alone at home. Again.

"You may not understand now, Al Haitham. But there are people out there- good people. People willing to listen, be patient with you, and shoulder burdens with you. Comfort you."

Al Haitham reaches over to scoop another spoonful of rice. His eyes feel funny. So does his nose.

"You are never alone, child. I just want you to know that. "

Am I really?

Then just send one person, please. I'm waiting.

I've been waiting for a long time now.

"And one day, you may find someone that you can bare your soul to-you do have a soul, child. Everyone has one- no, yours isn't as dark as that 'black coffee'."

His vision is blurry now. With hydro. How strange. He chomps down another spoonful of stew. It's delicious. He hasn't had comfort food like this in a long, long time.

Just one sign. Please. I can't do this anymore.

"But until then, grandma is here to stick by you, hm? Until you stop being stubborn and go make friends!" 

The woman shifts in her seat on the floor. In his peripheral, he sees her reach over to a box, pulling out tissues.

She moves closer to him, a little bit hesitantly. But when she realises that he isn't moving away, she gently dabs his eyes with the tissue.

"There, there?" she comforts awkwardly. She then reaches over to pat his back. "It's gonna be ok. Just let it out."

And that's all it takes. It's so weird. Hydro Tears begin to flow freely. He chokes back a sniffle.

She doesn't stop patting his back. The weight of her palm is comforting- almost grounding.

He cries. In the presence of an absolute stranger, he cries ten years worth of tears in a night.

Later on, as he drifts off back into the realm of sleep to the rhythmic pats on his back, Al Haitham wonders if this is what his grandmother meant.

Maybe there really are people that are willing to stand by someone like him.

Join the Taglist!

[exeggcute]

the internet and Tumblr in general was already full of shut ins with anxiety and COVID has obviously transformed many of them into hypochondriac agoraphobes who are well trained on moralizing lol. there are people who still think we should never have ended lockdown and that it somehow had no negative social or economic impacts, or at least that the economy is fake enough that those impacts weren't really real

lol yeah. answering this in daylight hours I feel like I should preface it with a note about how I've been masking consistently for four years straight (and have only recently started easing up in certain situations), have lost respect for and/or ended friendships with people who were doing reckless shit during the height of the pandemic, all that. god knows I have an anxious hypochondriac shut-in streak lol. but if the bitch with contamination OCD who's been doing the "disinfect your phone when you get home" thing for years and years before covid and who has literal nightmares about people wearing shoes in my house is like hey guys I think you might be exaggerating some of this just a bit. well. imagine how literally anyone else is gonna feel...

also for reference the thing that got me on this soapbox was an article I saw shared on bluesky about how san francisco is currently experiencing "the highest covid wastewater rates ever measured," which immediately sounded off to me, so I read the damn article, and what it actually seemed to be saying was that there's a summer spike in CA right now same as there's been for the last several summers, and SF currently has a higher rate than any other region in CA at the moment. (the article was legit poorly written to the point where it was hard to tell, but a different wastewater graph someone pulled up seemed to corroborate my reading of this. the current spike is still a fraction of pre-vaccine spikes.)

which, like, is useful information even without the embellishment! I would appreciate knowing that so I could adjust my behavior accordingly. and I'd like to believe that your average person who's receptive to stuff would also take the truth in good stride. so why do we have to fucking lie about it lol.

and to some extent I really do get the impulse to catastrophize because there's no way around it: we super duper fucked up the initial covid response. many individuals were callous and most institutions failed to protect us. but at the same time (1) barn door situation and (2) I don't think exaggerating risks now does anything to compensate for the downplayed risks being peddled to us for the last several years. it's more than fair to celebrate wins when they come (all the new tools in our anti-covid toolbelt, improved case/death rates) without erasing the many many losses up to this point.

still gonna wear a mask on airplanes and shit for the rest of my life though. I'm glad that's an iota more socially acceptable now (and jealous of places where it's already been the norm this whole time) because people are fucking nasty!!!

[babstheyaga]

To Protect.

A little sumthin' sumthin' for @placeboforpeople

Tossing and turning didn't help anyone at the time of night it was.

With no clocks in the room, or really any way to tell time at all, I was exhausted. I was hard stuck in a heat, my blood pumping so fast I could hear it in my ears, my heart never stopping below 150 beats. I was losing my mind just sitting there. It was pitch black out, not a single sign of daylight showing that I so hopefully prayed for.

Jazz was out of the house, lord knows where, while I was stuck up in his room, moping my sorrowful body around in a desperate need to get comfortable.

My stomach was killing me. I knew I hadn't eaten in a solid three days, the whole house empty and no one around to escort me down the stairs.

I was told to stay in Jazz's room until everyone came back... But who knows how long ago that was. I slept most of my days away in his bed, praying for any form of higher power to come down and bless my heat away.

Being stuck in a room with your organs fighting against each other, no alpha in sight, no males or hell, females to be found... I was beyond just uncomfortable. I was suffering.

If I could just get myself to open the stupid door and go downstairs to just grab something to drink or eat, I knew it would make it more tolerable. Nothing worked, everything they told me that would help ease the cramps and aches didn't work. I felt like I was being torn apart from the inside out.

It was cold in the room I was pacing in. The, thankfully, air conditioned room was helping aid at least somewhat of the living lava pit I became, but still. Uncomfortable. Suffering. Pitiful. Whatever you wanted to call it, I hated every second of it.

I wanted to be held. By basically anyone at this point. I didn't care who, I didn't care what. Some sort of living human would do my body wonders.

I tried to slow my pacing down to a small walk, I was almost running between the corners of the room at that point. I was going to pass out, I knew I would. Lack of any H2O was going to be the killer, but at this point, I think that's what the Autobot's wanted.

I swear they left me in this stupid farm house to die alone. I was getting sickly skinny, dehydrated to the point breathing the wrong way made my head spin at top speed and I knew for a fact I blacked out more than once.

I just needed to sleep it off. They'll be home in the morning. They'll be home in the morning. They'll be home in the morning.

Knock knock knock!

Every inch, every crevice of my body spiked with adrenaline and instant fear.

Who the hell was knocking on the front door at fucking midnight?!

It wouldn't be one of the boys, it wouldn't be Arcee or Elita, they all would just let themselves in no problem...

Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.... Please just be some stupid FedEx guy that's just extremely late...

Knock knock knock!

There they go again.

I knew for sure it wasn't one of the Autobots. Either that or it was one of them that was testing to see if I would answer it or not... It couldn't be a test, could it?

They should know by now that I'm not running away. With everything that's gone on between us all, I have no place to go. I don't plan on getting out, especially not in the position I was in physically.

Knock knock knock!

Alright, this was getting ridiculous. I have to leave the room to see who it was.

It's bad enough I'm losing my mind in here, let alone being stuck alone in a two story house not allowed to eat or drink anything...

Jesus... Please let this be at least one of them and not some murderer.

The walk to the door of Jazz's room was short, his room, I concluded, was the smallest of all of the Autobots. With a few dirty t-shirts, loose hanging posters, it was dirty, not super well kept together like BumbleBee or Optimus's rooms...

I could feel my hands trembling ever so slightly from either nerves or too high of heart rate, but I pushed past it, being gentle, scared, and soft to twist the handle and pried the door open.

It was warmer outside of Jazz's room than it was inside as I opened the door, my eyes being peeled to lurk outside of it and take a gander down the hall, just to make sure I was certain I was alone up there.

Knock knock knock!

This person was persistent, whoever they were, and I was determined, yet scared out my wits end, to find out who exactly was on the other side of the front door.

I was anxious to let my foot slide out from the room I was hidden in, my legs feeling weak, tired, and shaking up a storm from just walking for five minutes. I was exhausted, yet completely unable to sleep. Being an insomniac wasn't all it was put up to be.

Knock knock knock!

I was now rushed with my movements to get to the edge of the long stairs, the knocking never leaving a calm, patient rhythm, yet there was short lived pauses between them, telling me it was urgent I get to talk to them.

My toes met the edge of the staircase, and I got a good look towards the wooden door.

The porch light was on, yet none others were, the house was totally black, making it seem all the more eerie.

I wasn't in the right mindset to be meeting strangers, I wasn't in the right mindset to be around anyone at all. I was in heat, so it was realistically everything I needed, but whoever it was on the other side wasn't going to leave by the sounds of it...

Knock knock knock!

I was slow, cautious, to move my feet down each step, too scared to move too fast, unable to move too fast. I was like a newborn making my way down the stairs, each step I took felt like a leap over the Grand Canyon, but I needed to see who it was. I didn't care. If it be BumbleBee pulling a prank on me, or hell, Mirage showing up out of the blue to stab me again, I didn't care, just get me out that damn room...

I made it to the bottom, and whoever it was on the other side wasn't in view, either too short, or too skinny to see in the windows besides and above the wooden frame... It definitely wasn't one of my previous alphas.

I inched my way to the door, my hands now shaking far too badly to not notice it, but I wrapped my hands around the handle, being petrified to turn it, then pulled it open.

Amongst the darkened Florida swamp, standing at the end of the porch, was a person of some sort.

Their hair short and black, their skin pale but heavily bruised, covered in gauze and scars that I could tell cut too deep for comfort...

I stared, my brows morphing upwards, getting a better look at the person.

With seemingly no shirt underneath a police, or perhaps a military bullet proof vest, long, baggy cargo pants, and hefty combat boots... I didn't recognize this person for even an moment.

“Hello, Miss!” They said, rather strictly, their voice strong with their wording, yet had a crack in the middle like they were nervous to see me.

I opened my mouth to say something, unsure of how to react.

“I was sent by Optimus Prime to check in on you... You're the type C omega, correct?” They said, and I was even more baffled.

I didn't have it within me to speak, so I only gave the smallest of nods, allowing my partially nude body to show properly from the door I was hiding behind.

“Good. I'm Bumper,” They reached out their hand rather forwardly, and I couldn't help but jump at the sharpness of their movements. They stopped, flinching back a little. “My apologies...” They put their hands behind their back, their stature long and tall, though they were the same height as me. “Forgive me.” They said, sounding awfully unforgiving of themselves.

I closed my partially ajar lips, took in a breath slowly and looked them up and down, trying to make sure they weren't a threat.

They were an omega of some sort, the letters and meanings behind their scents not yet taught to me... And I, for some stupid reason, felt more comfortable. More at ease.

“May I come in?” They lifted their head to see over me and into the house, and I could feel my heart start up again, my mind racing if I should allow some stranger into the Autobot's leader's house.

“U-Um...” I tried to say something, bringing either thumb to one another to pick and pull at my nails.

“Oh... Perhaps I am not greeting you correctly...” They shook their head in shame, then lifted their arm, showing me their concerningly damaged wrist.

I stood still, shocked and unsure how to react. They were offering me their wrist as a form of greeting, but I had only seen Detectors do such a thing...

When they noticed my stunned expression, they again apologized. “I-I'm sorry...” They brought their hands behind them again. “I have never met a type C before, I'm not totally sure how to make myself known to you...” They searched the ground for answers I don't think either of us could come up with.

They made me jump again with speaking. “O-O-Or perhaps you could accompany me outside! If – You are not comfortable with me entering your house, that is, Miss.”

I stared. I waited. And stared some more.

This person was odd. I had never seen an Autobot with so many actively healing wounds before.

I waited a moment longer, studying them patiently waiting for my answer. I... Honestly wasn't sure what the correct answer was supposed to be... I didn't want them to come in. What if Mirage had sent them to come check up on me... But it would probably be just as dangerous outside as it would be inside...

Dammit...

I was nervous with my movements to step onto the wooden patio, my bare feet feeling the old, unpolished panels and I tried not to think too much about it. I was slow to close the door behind me, bringing either arm around my elbows in a strange form of a comfortable hug.

They didn't give me a smile, they didn't give me a frown, they only stood there for a long moment, flicking their strangely dark eyes between mine.

This person really was... Odd.

Their scent was weird to me, perhaps in the form that I just hadn't yet smelled an omega yet. But their eyes, their body, and demeanor... They were off. Like something about them wasn't comfortable around me.

I didn't understand why.

When they finally made a move, having rather quick and rough movements, they turned on their heel and looked outward towards the barn, the parking spaces in the gravel empty, no cars in sight... How the hell did they get here?

“You're um...” My voice was horse, anxious, I wasn't sure if I was allowed to speak. I was taught with my time with the Autobots that I'm supposed to be seen, not heard. Well, we've all seen how well that normally goes over with my loud mouth, but this just felt... Different.

They looked to me from the corner of their eye as I came to their side, the porch railing coming in contact with my quivering fingers.

“You're a um... An omega?” I asked, scared to say it. I actually... Wasn't sure if they were. Their scent was strange, a mixture between the smells that I had witnessed within all the Autobots. Ranging from harsh spices, to sweet and tangy, but theirs was just... Neutral. It made me nervous.

“Yes, ma'am.” They nodded, looking back out to the dark landscape.

I followed their sight with my own, looking out to the Florida Everglades and seen just how many fireflies were out. The crickets were on full volume, the frogs, toads, cicadas never stopping even for a moment.

“You... You don't have to call me ma'am...” I said, my voice shy and whisper like.

They did something I never would have expected from anyone I had known... They chuckled.

“Yes ma'am, I do.” They said back, reassuring me on something I didn't need reassurance on.

“I-I'm not... Um...” I looked down and pouted my lips, thinking on the right words. I didn't catch the thought, it slipped my mind too fast so I stood there, looking towards the ground in worry.

“How did um...” I had a new thought that came to mind, curious about it rather than worrying about being called something so spiffy. “How did you... Get here?”

“I walked, ma'am.” They answered simply, like it was normal for the Autobots to go anywhere on foot.

“Oh...” Was all I replied with, my sight going back to the black area.

There was a long pause in our short lived conversation. I could tell they felt nervous, either that or that was the normal heart rate for omegas... This was all too confusing.

“Would you like me to make you something to eat, miss?” They asked suddenly, making me, again, jump.

“O-Oh, um... No, I-I'm alright.” It was a lie, but not at that moment. I wasn't hungry anymore, the need for water or food erased from my mind the moment I heard the knocking. My nerves getting the better of me, I thought.

They hummed in response, and there was another long moment of silence between us. Bumper... I haven't heard that name before. Nor have I ever met an omega Autobot. I was curious... Perhaps a bit too much.

“You're um...” I struggled to look up to them. “An Autobot?” I asked this... Why? I wasn't sure.

“Yes, ma'am.” They said back.

“And-And an omega?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

I thought for a second on a question lingering in the back of my mind, trying to figure out how to go about asking it.

“How... How did you become one? A-An Autobot, I mean.”

They were quick to reply. “Oh, we don't speak of things like that to one another, miss.”

My mouth parted and I rushed my sight down. “I-I'm sorry, I-I didn't know...”

“Don't apologize to me. Ever.” I jumped when they darted their head to look towards me, their aggression showing out of nowhere and I put up my hands in defense.

“I-I'm sorry – I didn't –”

“STOP!”

I flinched backwards, taking a few steps away from them and silently apologized again. They noticed their demeanor rather quickly, and darted to correct themselves.

“I'm sorry. Forgive me.” They jerked their sight towards the flooring, their stature solider-like but head bent in shame...

Jesus, what did they do to them...

“I'm um...” I stopped myself mid sentence, cleared my throat and let out a small, barely noticeable sigh. “It's-It's fine... I'm use to being yelled at at this point...” It was a truthful answer, a rather depressing one, but they seemed to understand, their expression turning from shameful, frustrated with themselves, to slight shock.

“A type C? Being yelled at?” They were baffled by this, and I wondered why.

“I'm-I'm just another omega, I-I don't think being a type C would make... Much of a difference.”

“Are you kidding?! I would KILL to be a type C!” This seemed to aggravate them, a strange scoff leaving their throat at me, and my brows furrowed.

“Why?” I asked simply, not understanding how someone would want to be able to smell someone from a mile away. How someone would want to get the terrible pains in their stomach from heats, or hell, be sought after by every person they've ever met.

They scoffed again, “I dunno, maybe so I wouldn't be thrown in front of moving trains and gun fire...” Their voice lowered at those words. “I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't speak of my job like that... I know my role, and I respect it. I'm here for a reason.”

I went quiet for a moment.

“... What's that reason?”

They went quiet this time, thinking for a moment, and our eyes connected. They stared at me, flicking their darkened lights between mine steadily. They were either debating themselves mentally, or confused by my question, either way, they answered.

“To protect.”

[nhasablogg]

Better than Shakespeare

Fandom: If We Were Villains

Characters: Oliver, James

Summary: James crawls into Oliver's bed when he can't sleep.

A/N: My first IWWV fic! I love this book. I'm not sure how much I'll write for it, but feel free to send prompts!

Words: 664

James would get into Oliver’s bed sometimes. As a whirlwind of snowflakes outside the window would leave the lake glistening in the early morning light, Oliver could hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps over the wooden floor, the boards creaking just before James shifted his weight from them to the mattress. Oliver would sometimes play around with the idea of not scooting over, leaving James to make the decision for them both. But he always scooted over, even when he kept his eyes closed, not certain if he was pretending to be sleeping or not, or if James wanted him to or not.

“You awake?”

Oliver hummed, eyes remaining shut although he could feel James moving next to him. “Sorta.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Is that why you do this?”

Oliver didn’t specify, but James understood. Maybe, had it been daylight, he would see the rare blush dust over his friend’s cheeks, but whatever James thought of his question his only answer consisted of pressing his forehead to Oliver’s shoulder without a word but the sound of him groaning, the sound almost nonexistent.

“I’m so tired,” he said a moment later, when neither of them had spoken. “But I can’t get myself to relax.”

“Want me to tickle your back?”

“Yes. Please.”

Oliver finally opened his eyes, not that it mattered much, and they both shifted around so that he could reach James’ back easily, fingertips ghosting over his spine. They didn’t do this often - maybe James was too embarrassed to ask for it too frequently, and Oliver too afraid of how much he wanted him to ask - but they’d done it enough times that Oliver knew exactly what to do. What spots made him shiver. What spot was too ticklish. What spot would have him fall asleep within minutes and what spot would force him to remain awake due to how good it felt. Oliver felt selfish that night. Oliver didn’t want him to fall asleep.

“Higher.”

“Oh, he has demands.” But he did as he was told, grinning when James laughed sheepishly. He trailed over the nape of his neck, swiping over the spot he knew to be extra sensitive just to feel him squirm and pretend as if nothing had happened. If he would do it enough times James would ask him to switch spots without explaining why, as if Oliver had no clue. It was endearing.

“Have you thought about the auditions?”

“Please. No talk of school. Not right now.” Oliver didn’t miss the anxiety in James’ voice and so he slipped his hand into his hair to try to scratch it away.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m just stressed.”

“You have no reason to be,” Oliver didn’t tell him, knowing it wouldn’t have helped. Instead he kept petting him, going from place to place in an order that made sense to only him, leaving James melting under his touch. His eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness that he could see him now, sprawled out beside him on his stomach with his head turned in his direction, eyes blinking as if fighting off sleep. Meeting Oliver’s, looking away.

“Hey.” A tap to his cheek. “Are you more relaxed now?”

“Very.”

“Good.”

James sighed, eyes slipping shut. “You’re the best damn thing about this school, Oliver.”

He felt as if he would choke on his next breath. “Even better than Shakespeare?”

“Much better than Shakespeare.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Mm, you should be.” James wasn’t opening his eyes again, his voice low, breathing slowing down. Oliver wondered how he would react if he quickly scribbled over the spot on his back ribs that always made him jump now that he had his guard down, but ultimately decided not to be an asshole when James trusted him so.

He did it the next morning instead, when James wasn’t letting him get out of bed to use the restroom, earning an indignant groan and a giggle he would think about for the rest of the day.

[gadriezmannsgirl]

Men Are All The Same - Pedri González

Sooo... I got this idea, this morning while listening to this song, waiting for my Class to start at Uni and I don't know why but all I could see was Pedri fitting in this shot. So, I hope you guys like it.

Song Inspo: Los Hombres Son Todos Iguales - Lasso (Such a beautiful song)

*Song name traduces to: Men Are All The Same* *Don't worry, song lyrics will be traduced to English* Italics means song lyrics

I tell her in her ear: "You are the most beautiful woman that I've seen in my life" She laughs and replies: "Seriously, don't you have a better line?" She tells me in my ear that she wasn't born yesterday, That she already learned that lesson. I laugh and reply that she agree to have a drink with me and then decide

"Pero, es que tú eres la mujer más hermosa que he visto en toda mí vida" (But, you are the most beautiful woman that I've seen in my whole life) Pedri says leaning into your ear whispering the words so that only the two of you can hear it

It's been four months since you and Pedri have met at that clothing store where he was trying to run away from some fans and collied with you, dragging you unintentionally, into one of the fitting rooms.

It was weird how much time it passed for his fans to leave the store (Three solid and good hours), so in between that time he made an effort to make a nice conversation trying to fix the fact you also got stuck with him. Resulting in a good friendship.

But, he obviously has been trying to hit on you since two months ago. And you can't say that you're not interesed in him, because he is damn beautiful, but you were broken before and you weren't going to let him break you once more.

Not when you just fixed yourself.

And adding the fact, Pedri is a famous persona. That only make your walls come higher than before.

"¿De verdad, Pedri? Pensé que tendrías una mejor línea que esa. It's very cliché" (Really, Pedri? I thought you had a better line than that one)

"Come on, you know it's true"

"I wasn't born yesterday, González" You replied "I know how that game works, I learned the lesson from it"

"Pero, venga" (But, come on) Pedri insisted "Let me have a drink with you, if you think I'm like the others, I'll back down" You looked into his eyes.

You were trying really hard to fight it. But you knew and he knew, he had that drink with you in his hands.

Like a star, she leaves me at daylight When she leaves, I pray to heaven, the night, just to see her again She is so beautiful, she hates being toyed with She swears that if she falls in love with me, she can only suffer, she already knows: "Men are all the same"

"¿Y?" (And?) Pedri asks after dropping her at her apartment after that date night

"I had a great time with you, González" You replied with a soft smile making Pedri break into a grin

"So? When is our next date?" You rolls your eyes and shake your head lightly

"It's getting late for you to drive"

"You're offering me your place to stay tonight?"

"I'm telling you, you should go to your house and have a good night, you're on training tomorrow" You said opening the door to your apartment

"Why are you so hard on yourself? You know you want to but you aren't accepting" You sigh after hearing Pedri's words

"You're beautiful, González" You began "But, if I fall in love with you all I'm gonna end up with is with a broken heart and I can't handle that again. Not again. Because no one is there to pick up the pieces except for me. Men Are All The Same, Pedri"

"Well, no", I tell her: "I'm not like that" "You charge me when the debt is not mine" "Pardon me", I tell her, "I am going to insist" "You can't live with fear all your life" She tells me: "They all start out like you, with a twinkle in their eyes" "And little by little, the routine drives them crazy and they take off" She tells me: "I hate being in love, being so blind and devoted" "So when something goes wrong, they'll leave with another one much prettier, prettier"

"I'm sorry to correct you, bonita. I'm not like that" Pedri shakes his head laughing lightly "You're charging me when the debt isn't mine. It isn't my fault some idiot didn't know what a wonderful woman he had by his side. I'm truly sorry he broke your heart and that I wasn't there to help you pick it up again"

"But I do know how wonderful you are and I'm trying to have you by my side, I know how much you are worth, you're so precious, it's crazy" Pedri shook his head "So I'm sorry, but I'll insist until you give in, you can't live with fear for the rest of your life"

"He told me the exact same thing you said, Pedri. He had the same look on his face, you're having right now. I fell, I fell and hard" You sighed taking a deep breath not wanting to cry "...And I hated it. I was so blind, so in love, so devoted and when something went wrong, even the smallest thing, he left me, blaming me for everything, for what went right and for what went wrong, for what it happened and for what it didn't. Everything, Pedri. He took the love I saved for myself and I watched him giving it to somebody else, somebody who was prettier than me in every single aspect" You sniffled looking at Pedri in the eye "That broke my everything"

"And I will pick it up" Pedri said decided "I will not be him. Trust me, please. That's all I'm asking. One chance, to prove I'm not like him"

Like a star, she leaves me at daylight When she leaves, I pray to heaven, the night, just to see her again She is so beautiful, she hates being toyed with She swears that if she falls in love with me, she can only suffer, she already knows: "Men are all the same"

You were having the time of your life with Pedri, deciding to give him a chance, giving in into his arms. You were out with his teammates, girlfriends and friends in a little bar, enjoying the meal and the drinks.

"Let's go dance" Sira Martinez said with a smile

"Yes, let's go!" Aurora, Gavi's sister said standing up

"C'mon, Y/N/N" Anna, Robert's wife said

"No. I'm fine" They complained but let it slide, if you didn't wanted, you didn't wanted.

"You really don't wanna dance?" Pedri, your now boyfriend of two months asked in surprise "You love dancing around in the house"

"I'm..." You trailed off, Pedri inmediately knew what was wrong

Your ex-boyfriend didn't let you dance in bars and clubs, even with your girl friends, he always wanted to have you by his side. You still had that part of the chip inside of you, afraid of Pedri not liking that either.

"Go" Pedri said "You can enjoy yourself too, okay? I'm not like that asshole" Pedri whispered in your ear "Go if you really want to" He nodded "I might join you girls later" He added making you laugh "But I still need more of this" He lifted his Corona beer "For that" He pointed to the little dance stage

They are all the same

You kissed his cheek and walked towards the girls, thinking. They are all the same but maybe he isn't.

And like a star, she leaves me at daylight When she leaves, I pray to heaven, the night, just to see her again She is so beautiful, she hates being toyed with I swear that if she falls in love with me She won't be sorry, I'll show her That all men are not the same

"Had a great time, young lady?" Pedri asks after coming to you, recently showered from his recent match against Real Madrid

"Yes, I did. My boyfriend scored and he dedicated me the goal. Also, his team won, couldn't get any better"

"Such a lucky guy he is" Pedri passed his arm around your shoulder as yours went to his waist

"No, I'm the lucky one" Pedri smiled "He's incredibly in love with me, I'm incredibly in love with him and everything's going incredible between us"

"Those are really great news" Your boyfriend of now, two years smiled at you leaning down to kiss your lips

"Can I drive the car?" You ask

"Can you give me back my hoodie?"

"No" You whine

"Ugh" He rolled his eyes dramatically making you laugh "Fine, you can have the damn hoodie, love. It looks better on you" You laughed "I hate the fact I can't say no to you"

"It seems like we're whipped for each other, because I can't say no to you either" He squished your cheeks together pecking your lips repeatedly

"Of course we are"

We are not the same, we are not the same Because all men are not the same

"I still hate the fact I can't say no to you" Pedri said after watching you ate one of his fries as you laughed

"So, if I asked you marriage...?"

"I will obviously say yes. Like, why would I ever say no to that?" You giggled "Like... When's the wedding?" You laughed

"Eres tonto" (You're silly)

"But I'm sorry to tell you. You can't do that"

"Why not?"

"Because I already did it" He pointed at your ring finger where the engagement ring was, making a smile break into both of your faces

You leaned in and kissed him

"You were right" You said after separating from him "Not all men are the same"

°°° °°° °°° °°°

@gaviypedrisbride