#when all the paths lead to pain rip

[imminent-danger-came]

The 3 way stand-off these characters have with their ideologies is so fucking wild

[cordeliawhohung]

I’d do illegal things for a Simon and chip moment where he asks if she wants go out to eat and she says that she can’t spend any money rn and he just says “I didn’t ask you if had money, I asked if you are hungry”

ice cream

written as a non canon in limbo drabble but can be read on its own | mafia!141 masterlist | ghost x reader | fluff

Your stomach is a traitorous bitch.

It writhes beneath your skin. Contracts and pulls at your abdomen as it gurgles and whines. It's an alarm, screaming at you that it's empty as if it had been unknown this entire time before. As if you aren't already aware of the way your abdomen suddenly feels concave. Body collapsing in on itself without support.

Hunger hits you worse today than it usually does as the sun beats down on your exposed skin. You feel its rays cook you alive, leaving you perfectly tender so that your stomach might consume you if you don't satiate it soon. It's not a simple task here in the midst of the sweltering summer afternoon. How Simon can casually meander along the park's walking path in his black crewneck is both a mystery and extremely impressive, but it's something you're finding to be difficult. Perspiration coats the back of your neck and trickles down your spine. The cotton of your shirt sticks to your skin and you swear you would rip the cloth off of you if you weren't in public.

If Simon hears your stomach, he doesn't mention it. He continues his stroll as you stumble along next to him. The walk had started out great as you roamed beneath thick foliage and chirping birds, talking about anything that came to mind. An unrelenting wave of malaise hit you with the force of a train, and now you can scarcely get a word out of your mouth. The only thing that can leave your lips are the soft pants you desperately try to mask as you keep speed with Simon.

You're half tempted to pitch yourself into the duck pond.

"Wanna grab somethin' to eat?"

Simon's words are slow to reach your ears, as if they're diving through water just to be heard. Your head bobs in a nod, but when your tongue darts out to wet your lips, your answer contradicts your wants.

"I didn't bring my wallet," you breathe.

"Wasn't askin' if you had money," he says. Simon's pace begins to slow, and he forces you to do the same as his fingers reach for yours. They're impossibly thick as they weave between yours, tight like textiles. You feel the bones ache with the stretch, but you ignore it as you look up at him with tired eyes. "Was askin' if you're hungry."

You are. More than hungry, you're famished. Peckish. Starving. Enough for it to be painful, but you're trying to decipher if the pain warrants you allowing Simon to pay for a meal or not.

"I... I could go for a snack, or something," you stutter. You attempt to swallow, but your throat is too dry.

"A snack," Simon scoffs. It's light and playful, but you take notice of the way he sees right through you. X-Ray vision; he sees the pit in your stomach, that empty hole leaving your brain fuzzy and your body weak. "Not gonna half arse anything with you, sweetheart."

And he doesn't. Not even as you try to point out cheap fast food chains to go into, Simon doesn't bite. Knows you all too well. No matter how hard you try to nudge him in one direction, he leads you elsewhere until you're nestled in a window seat beneath a high speed fan in a mum 'n pops sandwich shop. It's the first time he's seen you eat a meal faster than him. You scarf the expertly toasted bread down, hardly stopping to enjoy the flavors of your toppings, and all Simon can do is smile to himself as he hides behind his sandwich.

"Wanna get ice cream after this? Beat the heat?" Simon offers as you peck at the chips on your plate.

"Hmm, dunno if I'll have the stomach space for it," you joke. Still, you shovel chip after chip into your mouth. You'd lick the salt and crumbs clean off of your plate if you could.

For a short moment, Simon watches you. He's always watching you somehow. Reading the lines etched into your face or the emotion flickering behind your eyes. You try to be clandestine with your thoughts, but he's gotten good about pulling back the covers. About not letting you hide.

"I don't mind buyin' you things," he says, no longer beating around the bush. "Food. Anything."

Having been caught in your act, you try to brush off the shame with an awkward laugh. "I know. I just... I dunno if I can..."

"I love you," he says, "and I wanna take care of you. If takin' care of you means buyin' you food, I'll do it. The price means nothin' to me."

You're unable to conjure a response. Love always manages to shock you, again and again. It's fickle. Surprising. Has a mind of its own and still it knows yours like the back of its hand. Knowing how hard words are for you, Simon hums as he wipes the crumbs of his sandwich onto his jeans.

"So. Ice cream?" he asks.

You smile as you tap the tip of your chip against your plate. "Yeah. That sounds lovely."

[alastor-x-reader-stories]

"Bite Me" - Alastor x Reader

next

You were a strange addition to the hotel.

A quiet sinner demon with no merit to speak of who just waltzed in without much fuss or fanfare. No blowing up walls, no trying to kill anyone, no entertainment what so ever.

You were so boring, Alastor didn't even want to mess with you.

...

At first.

Then, quiet and unassuming, you slowly established yourself as both over-forgiving and sharply blunt.

It was amusing watching the whiplash on a demon's face when you flip between them so much in a single day.

Once, Angel Dust was high as a kite and practically lobbed a brick at your head. Your response was "No harm done, don't worry about it." later that same day, the spider-fellow draped an arm around Vaggie's shoulder and slung some sort of ridiculous insult. You moved his arm off of her and said "You need to learn to watch what you say or I'm ripping this arm off and shoving it down your throat."

Usually that last threat would lead to some other comment, but the flat way you said it and moved on to a different subject left the spider fellow standing there without much else to say.

How amusing!

Even he was no exemption from your two-faced nature, it seemed. One moment apologizing for accidentally blocking his path, the next informing him that you'd use his antlers as forks if he didn't leave you alone. Silly little threats that were oh-so pathetic when said by such a...underwhelming, individual.

Alastor's favorite of yours was 'I'm going to eat your kidneys'. Then how rude you were to decline the cooking lesson he offered!

Typically your quips and comments were about trivial things, little things that Alastor would purposely do in order to get a reaction.

THIS TIME, THOUGH

He had a particularly annoying run in with Vox one day, trudging back to the hotel with his patience already at its limit. Husk knew better than to comment on it, shying away from him as he prowled through the lobby. Angel Dust was at the bar counter, eyeing Alastor as he strode on through.

"Ya look like shit." He commented passively.

"Thank you ever so much for the keen observation." Alastor said with a smile. Husker flinched, ears dropping. It was only then he noticed you there as well, a forgotten drink in your hand as you gaze lingered on Husk, a frown setting to your lips.

The rest of that particular exchange wasn't of any significance. It wasn't until later when you sought him out in the Hotel's parlor things escalated.

"You need to calm down."

His grin hitched up and he leered down at you. You were more than a foot shorter than him and your big eyes did little to make you look more intimidating.

"I beg your pardon, dear?"

"I said you need to calm down." Your tail swished in agitation. "I get you had a bad day but that's no reason to take it out on other people."

Alastor chuckled "Oh goodness. My apologies, my dear. But you have absolutely no ground to tell me to do anything."

He back you up against the wall, hands planted on either side of you. His antler stretched out and his eyes took on the appearance of dials as he leaned down. Sharp teeth grazed your face, hot breath stung your eyes. Claws carved their way into the wall on either side of you.

"So, my dear, what was it you said? I'm afraid I didn't quite catch it."

"I said you need to calm down."

Alastor's eye twitched, his grin twisting into something so much more unhinged. No hesitation. Were you stupid?

A look at you said yes, but you knew damn well the danger you were in. You were trembling, pupils shaking breath shallow. But you still had the nerve to speak to him that way?

"All right, what if I don't?" He purred, tracing a claw over the side of your face "Go on ahead and let me hear whatever pathetic threat you have."

"I'll bite you." spoken in that flat tone of yours.

Alastor laughed "As amusing as always-"

Pain burst from his shoulder, sharp and sticky as fangs burst through flesh. Perhaps it was shock that had him stumble back, perhaps it was amusement that allowed you to get away from him. You opened your jaw, withdrawing your teeth from his shoulder as skin and cloth clung to the spaces between your bloodied fangs.

You gave him a pointed glare as your wiped some excess blood off of your face and prowled off without so much as giving him a second glance.

He had every right to hunt you down and rip apart your soul right then and there.

Instead he found himself losing his balance, falling onto his rear on the floor. Fingers curled over the fresh and large bite mark on his shoulder. The damn thing nearly covered the entirety of between his collar bone and his arm socket.

He pulled his hand away to stare absently at his own blood.

You must be venomous. That was the only way to explain why his heart was suddenly racing and his face suddenly felt far too warm. His breathing was off, shallow and uneven.

You actually bit him.

Were your threats actually not so empty?

Did you really intend to use his antlers as forks?

He laughed to himself, letting his hand drop back to his side. This was ridiculous! If you meant even half the strange threats you threw at him....then...

Well. He was in danger.

[frantic-fiction]

Secluded Evening 18+

(GIF: leopardmuffinxo)

Astarion x F!Reader, Astarion x Tav

Warnings: 18+ MDNI pretty much pure smut, fluff, nipple piercings, nipple play. Skinning dipping, unprotected sex, Late Act 1 Astarion

Summary: Astarion catches reader during a midnight swim. Playful flirting becomes physical. Basically, my take on reader and Astarion's first time in act 1. There is way more implication of Astarion's real attraction for reader, not just a manipulation tactic.

Word Count: 2.8k

The shadow curse land is just a few days west, and a sickly feeling has crept through the camp. The party is on edge, fighting a constant headache as you attempt to mediate the tension in a group of solid personalities during highly stressful events. Shadowheart and Lae’zel are at each other’s throats, bickering and pulling daggers when either sends a quip in the other's direction. Karlach is still burning hot despite her upgrade, and with Dammon already far along the path, all you can do is promise to get her to Baldur’s Gate as quickly as you can. Wyll is fine, but he’s Wyll, so that’s not surprising.

Gale, however, might be the one pushing your buttons the most, or at least he is testing your patience past your limit now. “Tav, I don’t believe I have to express again how important it is to acquire a magical artifact soon.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, and you get the sudden urge to whack him over the head with the book you held unread in your hands. “I will be glad not to have to feel my chest be ripped in two, but I will repeat: if I do not consume an artifact, I will die and level the general vicinity with me.”

You push off the log, slamming the novel down. Level-headedness has been one of your strong suits. It’s the main reason you found yourself leading these misfits across the kingdom. You can keep your cool under the most extreme sources of stress, but everyone is just annoying you today.

“Look, I get it. You need a shoe to chew on, or you’ll go boom. But guess what? I have given you every spare artifact I have to give. Our coins are down to silver and copper. So unless you are willing to chomp down on the stupid circlet you just ‘had to get,’ then you can suck it up and wait until we reach another town.” By the end, you’re yelling, and Gale looks like a kicked puppy. The rest of the camp has turned to look at your outburst. You burn with regret for everything immediately.

You reach out a tentative hand, “Gale, I didn’t—”

“No, you are absolutely right. Apologies for my inconvenience. I hope you enjoy the rest of the night, Tav.” He quickly returns to his tent and pins the flaps close.

Sighing, you rub your hands down your face. You feel terrible; Gale’s condition is excruciating, and you hate to be unable to get him something to alleviate the pain, but your supplies are down to the bone. “Fuck,” you breathe, picking the book back up and storing it away.

“I must say, my sweet, I could get used to this more dominating personality of yours. It certainly gets me excited.” Astarion practically purrs in your ear. You turn face to face and stumble back slightly at his proximity.

Brushing your hair behind your ears, you avoid his eye contact. A warmth spreads across your face. “Oh, I'm sure,” you smirked, clearing your throat and recovering quickly.

It was a game between you two, ignited on the beach with a knife to your throat. Harmless flirts, playful banter with no attention to go further. Attraction is thick, but neither dares to press in this dance.

He crowds into your space. His nose practically tickles yours. He plays with your hair, fingers tangling in the locks. His face dawns an emotion of concern. “Darling, I’ve noticed you’ve been very stressed these last few days.”

His breath fans your face. You grab the edge of his shirt. “I think it would be a good idea to release some tension. Some alone time, maybe?” His pointer finger traced the bone of your jaw.

You smirk and pull away, trailing your hand up the contours of his chest. “You're right.” His wicked grin widens like a cat playing with prey. “I think I'll call in early and have a night to myself. I hope you will be okay hunting tonight.”

When you were scouting the perimeter, you stumbled across a small alcove. It was breathtaking. Several willows enclosed a small lake, water beautifully sparkling in the sun. You love swimming and have been thinking about the lake ever since. You occupy yourself with finishing your book until the sun sets. Once the camp settles for the night, you grab your pack and sneak your way out to the forest line.

Astarion’s grin drops, and his arms go limp. You slip away, lifting the edge of your tent. “Thank you again. Do you mind telling the others as well?”

He glares knowingly, and with a wink, you drop the flap and sit on the floor. You gather your supplies: a change of clothes, your only towel, and your washing bag.

The lake isn't too far, and before you know it, you're there. It's different in the moonlight. Fireflies buzz around the cattails, the willow branches sway softly above the water, and frogs croak on lily pads. You set a blanket to place the rest of your stuff around, quickly tossing your clothes off and wading into the water.

It's not as cold as expected, but you still gasp at the initial sting. You adapt quickly and soon dive fully, submerging into the fresh water. You stay underwater; ears plugged, giving a warped vibration through your head. Once your lungs begin to burn, you surface and gulp air.

“Well, isn't this just a coincidence?” Astarion chuckles, standing at the shore with pale forearms crossed over his chest. “I was just out on my hunt when I came across such a delectable treat.”

You bite your bottom lip, pulling your hands back and forth, sucking water in and out around your form. “Well, now that you've found me, what do you plan to do with me?”

You move onto your back and float, exposing your entire front half to his eyes. The water on your skin chills in the air. Your nipples pebble, and you hear a groan.

Floating in the water, you close your eyes. It's quiet momentarily before a large splash startles you and you're pulled under. You kick instinctually, and Astarion grabs your foot and drags you closer.

His strong arms circle your waist, and you resurface. You smack his chest. “You asshole.”

He laughs, and before you know it, you're laughing too. You sway in Astarion's arms as he carries you deeper into the lake. Grabbing a flower floating in the water, you begin to pick some of the limp petals. You look up and slide the flower into his hair. It's adorable.

Astarion pinches your chin and pulls your face close, staring deep into his eye. There are no words; you feel the line shatter when the reality of what's happening sinks in. There is no performance in his eyes. No formulaic flirtatious lines or sexy words. What is happening? You don't know, but when he crashes his lips to yours, you really fucking want to find out.

It's like a rubber band. The kisses open the damn, and soon your legs are wrapped around his hips. One hand threads through his pale curls, the other encircling his neck.

Astarion breaks from your lips and trails sloppy kisses down to your neck. "I have waited long enough to ravish you, my dear,"

And then you are moving; he's quickly wading through the water, not once removing his lips from your throat. You know it will bruise, and the idea of another mark of his sends heat lower down your body.

You sigh when Astarion nips your neck, pressing you down on the blanket. Wet skin slides against damp skin. Grabbing his hair, you pull him back up, capturing his lips. It is messy, sloppy, and all too much to handle.

You arch up, pressing your breast against his chest. He pauses, and you whine when he pulls away.

"What are these?" Astarion practically growls, pinching your hard nipple. You gasp his name as he twists the small metal bar through the nub. He grinds his hips against your leg. He's hard, his cock presses against his stomach.

"Jewelry," you moan, clutching his shoulder. "They make me more sensitive."

"Oh, my naughty girl," he lowers to take your neglected breast into his mouth. His skillful tongue sucks your breast, his hand paying equal attention to your other. Feeling a scrap of his fangs, you let out a cry of ecstasy, rolling your hips, seeking any source of friction.

Astarion pins your hips down and pulls away from your breast with a wet pop. "No, no, my sweet. I think you have not been fair keeping least lovely tits from me. I can't remember ever seeing such unique body modifications." He gives a sharp bite to your breast, just deep enough to pierce the skin.

Droplets of blood beaded to the surface; it was quickly lapped up with his tongue, a groan crawling its way up his chest. He slips one of his legs under yours, and his hips slide his stiff cock between sopping wet folds. You choke out his name, and his mouth moves to the other breast. "I think I'm owed a bit longer exploring such a beautiful chest."

"My, my, you're so responsive. I could spend hours pleasing you with my tongue." Astarion trails his tongue up between your breasts, eyes boring up into your flushed face. "Just imagine the delightful words I could pull from your beautiful lips as I lay between your thighs, playing your exquisite body like a bard's violin."

Your breath is uneven, panting while Astarion takes his time lavishing your breasts. Soon, your nipples are on fire, swollen from the ruthless attention Astarion has provided. Tears sting your eyes. You are desperate for anything, nothing; you are not sure, but you are moaning and pleading up into the night air. All available skin was victim to your desperate fingers.

"Starion, ugh-please, they're too sensitive." You tug at the small hairs at the nape of his neck. His lips tug the metal bar just enough to pull another cry from your lips. He releases your breast with a wet pop.

You bite his neck (almost the same spot he uses to feed from you) and all semblance of his control dissolves—you're back on the blanket in a show of Astarion's speed. Air was knocked from your lungs. "Fuck, my dear," Astarion grinds against you coating his cock in more of your juices. "I believe we've waited enough time to enjoy each other. So, I think I fuck you, deep and slow, until you can only scream my name. And if you're lucky, spend the rest of the night pulling lovely whimpers from your over-sensitive cunt."

His husky voice purred in your ears. Your thighs clench, arousal dripping onto the blanket. "Star," you breathe out, grabbing his face and crashing your lips together. Teeth clashed, and tongues fought for dominance. Wrapping your legs fully around Astarion's slim hips, you roll up. Using his distraction as leverage, you twist your hips and maneuver the two of you.

Astarion is now on his back, curls silver in the dark, and his eyes are wide with shock. You comfortably sat on his hips, hands pressing on each of his pecs. "You have my full permission to do that, but if you don't fuck me right now, I will be taking care of myself in my tent." Lips are back on his before you chuckle in his ears. "We have teased each other for months. I think it's about time you do something about this pretty boy."

Astarion doesn't leave a moment to respond before he impales you with one deep thrust. Your nails dig into his shoulders. Astarion grabs your calf, raises your leg, and sets a brutally slow pace.

You were matching each of his thrusts with a roll of your hips. Your mouth at his chest and throat, sloppily leaving kisses and spit on his pale torso. "Ug-fucking Gods, you so tight," The sounds of skin slapping against skin and collective cries of pleasure break up the quietness of the lake.

Astarion presses his forehead to yours, breathing in your whimpers of ecstasy. The force of his thrusts is jostling your breasts; your nipples rub against his cold skin.

The moans roll off your tongue; you put a hand into his hair. "A-astarion fast…faster," you choke, snaking a hand between your conjoined bodies to rub small circles over your clit. The warm tightening coils in your lower abdomen. "P-please, Star."

"Beautiful." Astarion's pace picks up, his balls slapping against your pussy. He quickly pushes your hand away and replaces your fingers with his own.

He doesn't need to be asked twice, and the cold pierce of his fangs digs into your throat. You choke on gasp, hips stuttering. Astarion is dragging, mouthfuls of your blood down his throat, his fingers picking up pace, rubbing tight circles on your clit.

The coil is tightening, and soon, you cannot form words outside of Astarion's name between pleases. "Oh, my sweet girl, so lost on my cock. I...fuck...I know it feels good."

He pinches your left nipple again and you whimper. "Your body is exquisite. I won't be able to last much longer, my love." His voice is hoarse, and he rambles between frantic ruts. He presses his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply.

Astarion presses kisses and licks to the hollow of your throat. He is asking for permission, and you quickly press him closer. "Yes, please," you groan. All the sensations Astarion was giving you were becoming too much. You were quickly approaching the edge.

The pain mixes with pleasure, and it's too much. Tears prick at your eyes. You ticken around hos cock and a rumble ruptures through his chest. He takes a few more gulps before pulling away. Astarion's tongue licks, ensuring no waste of your blood.

As soon as he pulls away from your neck, he's pushing his tongue into your mouth with a quick thrust—the metallic tang of your blood mixes between your mouths. "I'm close," you breathe, running your nose against his. Your panting, feeling like no breath can satisfy your burning lungs.

His thrusts are becoming sloppy, devolving into more grinds of hips. His fingers drag over your clit in tight, fast circles. "Me too," he's just as breathless, hips stuttering with pleasure. "Come for me, darling, let me hear you."

It's like your body was waiting for his honey-slick words to give you permission. Because the moment those words leave his devilish lips, you snap. You scream his name, legs pulling him close.

You didn't expect post-sex cuddles from Astarion, but gods, you could fall in love with this man if you weren't careful. But would that be too bad? To fall in love? You kiss his collarbone and pull your towel over the majority of your body.

With one, two, three more deep thrusts. Astarion comes with a breathy moan spilling deep into your core. You two lay there, tangled in each other's body. Hearts are pounding as you breathe each other's air.

Astarion pulls out and rolls to his back. You curl onto his chest, laying your ear over his silent heart. He plays with your hands and peppers kisses over your hairline.

You wish to stay the night in his arms right here, just having him hold you. But Astarion stiffens slightly when a shiver rolls through your body. It's like the bubble of serenity pops. Astarion is quick to remove himself from you.

"I don't believe cuddling wet and naked with a vampire is good for one's health." He's pulling his clothes on. And reluctantly and with shaky legs, you follow his lead. Astarion is quiet on the walk back, lost in thought. He plays with a coin mindlessly.

You don't push, knowing Astarion better than to pry. So you let him walk you to your tent. And just as you move to duck into your bed for sleep, Astarion grabs your wrist.

You turn and look up into his scarlet eyes. His expression is hard to read; his confusion, hesitancy, affection, and anger are fluidly behind his eyes. They could all fit, but nothing seemed to reflect Astarion's eyes. "I…" He pauses, thumb rubbing the back of your hand. He opens his mouth again but clicks it back close. Astarion searches your eyes as if they held the answer to his unspoken question.

Astarion doesn't seem to find what he's looking for because he shakes his hand—pressing a light kiss to the apple of your cheek. He drops your hand reluctantly. "Have a good night, my dear,"

Then he's gone, leaving you alone, the tingle of his lips still lingering on your skin. Your fingers trail across your cheek, and a small smile stretches your lips. Yeah, you could very easily fall in love with that man. Maybe you already have.

Okay let me know what you thought? I haven't written smut in forever and have never been super confident in it.

If you liked this how about checking out my other two Astarion pieces.

Happy Birthday **** Reoccurring Nightmares

[heartfullofleeches]

reader everytime someone mentions their birthday in front of the clown:

It doesn't even have to be in front of them. If anyone breathes a word of fast food reader's birthday in the restaurant it's game over for them. A coworker who doesn't know of their pains and wjo somehow manages to get their hands on the birthdays of their fellow employees and decides to be nice by throwing a little party for them - leading FFR to into full blown panic mode.

-

"Who's birthday is it?"

Balloons. Party games. Cute table clothes. Man, this was a pretty sweet set up. Your coworker had invited you to the break room to for a surprise - but you never expected this. You'd almost feel bad for not bringing a present beforehand - if you had known it was someone's birthday before five minutes sgo. You weren't even sure who's birthday it was. It's been a while since the chart was updated. You look at your fellow coworkers, awaiting their reply. The succubus employees her lower lip, eyes hidden behind her pink shades. The janitor tightens their grip on their broom. The softness in the succubus' voice washes you in a wave of unease

"Y/n.... stay calm... We're here for you."

The pit in your stomach sinks deeper as the janitor speaks next.

"We tried to warn them....."

What are they talking about? Your head whips towards the breakroom door as another presence makes itself known. Seeing your other coworker struggle to get a tray through the door, you head over to asset. Over their shoulder, you read the name spelt out on the cake in their possession.

Your blood turns to ice.

"shit......"

You croak - voice barely a whisper, yet they hear you all the same.

"Y/n, hey - my sister works at this supply store and I wanted to do something special for your big day as a little thank you for assisting me during my training. The others told me you weren't big on celebrating, but I thought I could change your mind. Happy-"

How the fuck do you keep forgetting about this day? The days blend together so easily you can't tell the difference between four days and four months passing. Your body acts on reflect - shoving them into the door as you rip the cart from their hands - tipping it over. You quickly turn your path of destruction on the rest of the room, tearing down poster and shoving the table cloth including everything stop it in the nearest trashcan.

"I'm not letting that clown take me again! You're not taking me this year, you hear me!"

Your coworker wipes frosting off their face. "They really don't like celebrating their birthday, do they?"

The succubus places her hand on their shoulder. "No..... Quick question, how fast can you run? Presents are one thing, but Twisty hates when others throw parties for people - especially if it's Y/n. I'd say you have a few minutes before they get here so you should be fine."

Loud banging comes from the vents.

"...Well, it was nice knowing you."

[ghoularaki]

baby's breath | 11

↠  summary: Merely by coincidence, Erwin, your father's former friend had crossed paths with you again after nearly a decade. He offered solace once finding out you were struggling with not just school, but your home life as well. His home he shared with another one of your father's friends, Levi, became a sanctuary. Though, the more you came over for study sessions, the more they wiggled themselves into your private life. And like baby's breath, they weeded themselves in so deep you couldn't uproot them.

↠ word count: 3,758

↠ pairing: levi ackerman x reader x erwin smith

↠ genre/warnings: angst, smut, modern au, DARK CONTENT, yandere, daddy kink, forced infantilism, pet play, age gap, childhood trauma flashbacks

Sleep didn’t come to you easily that night. You were forced to stay curled up on your side. Tossing and turning wasn’t an option as not to disturb the plug stuffed deep in your ass. Your jaw, back and legs ached from the sustained position. Anytime you tried to stretch your sore muscles, the plug would move.

As the night went on, the lube and your own wetness had dried, leaving you raw and chafing. Your body begged you to reach behind you and rip the plug out, but you were terrified of the repercussions of Levi finding out. Or worse, while trying to unskillfully release yourself from the pain, you would tear something down there.

You had quickly run out of tears as you stared out into the room. After a couple minutes, your eyes adjusted to the dark. Eyelids slipped closed—at least for a moment—but anytime slumber beckoned you, your muscles would relax and rapidly tighten again at the pain.

Though, a couple hours passed when your eyes fluttered. This time morning light enveloped you. Strangely, your jaw no longer throbbed and all the tension in your tendons slipped away. The blankets under you, moved in a steady rhythm, similar to a human’s breathing.

Blinking away drowsiness, you were met with Erwin’s neck. Your head had been tucked in his shoulder as he cradled you. Arms thrown over his shoulders and legs loosely circling his waist, your bum sat on his forearm and his other hand rested on your nape to keep you tethered.

Panic shot through your system as sleep flushed out of you. You were free of the plug, muzzle and mitts Levi had forced into you. The collar present on your throat. Struggling against Erwin, fear overtook you. What would Levi do if he found out?

You whimpered as you pushed against Erwin's shoulders.

The man quickly hushed you, the hand cradling your nape brought your face deeper into his embrace until your nose brushed against the thin skin of his neck. If you wanted you could easily sink your teeth into the muscle and rip out his jugular. The tempting thought consumed you.

Erwin continued to shush you so sweetly like a lullaby, “Everything is alright, my dear. You won’t be hurt, the punishment is over. Levi can’t harm you now.”

In your panicked state, you barely processed the words, merely clinging to the promise of being forced to be a dog was put to an end. At least for now. Sagging against him, your chest stuttered and heaved. You remembered Levi would be gone for a couple days, leaving you with Erwin. Not that it made you feel any better. You were out of wolf’s jowls only to lead straight to the lion’s den.

“Good morning, Princess.” His tone was pleasant and soft. Under your ear, his throat vibrated with his gentle words. Still petting your nape, he tried his best to calm you.

Soft strands tickled your ear. Erwin hadn’t gotten ready for the day quite yet. The soft, blond locks were loose and unkempt. It gave him an almost boyish look. Rather than a picturesque doll, he seemed human.

You didn’t like it.

You didn’t respond and tilt your head upwards to rest your chin on his shoulder instead. From the bobbing over each step, you watched as he took you away from your—the—bedroom. He continued down the hall.

“The silent treatment is really unbecoming of you,” He spoke again when his greeting went unanswered after a couple moments.

“I thought dogs don’t speak,” You grumbled.

Erwin sighed, but didn’t indulge your need to rebel. “Let’s not start off our time together like this. I have a surprise for you I think you will enjoy.”

He wasn't reassuring at all. With a twisted man like him, a surprise could mean anything. The last time Erwin surprised you with something you were forced to kneel and refused the basic human right to use the bathroom.

Though as Erwin rounded the corner to enter the kitchen, you were pleasantly hit with pancakes wafting through the air. You pulled yourself from his neck and looked to the stack of pancakes sitting on two plates. Syrup, butter and a glass jug of orange juice displayed on the table.

Dropping you off on the chair with the smaller pile of perfectly crafted breakfast dessert, a smile surprisingly spread on your face. The pancakes were shaped in different dinosaurs. Bittersweet memories wrapped around your brain. The rare times your father showed his fleeting affection, he knew your love for the prehistoric creatures.

Your siblings’ giggles rang in your ears. The sweetness danced on your tongue. Sat in your childhood home, you were no older than eight as your family sat at the table. Hazy, yellow light from the sun poured from open curtains. It was hard to distinguish your father’s face as it displayed happiness. You pushed away the probing memories of your siblings’ snide comments and the crippling thought of your mother’s face. This was a happy moment.

“Wow I haven’t had this since I was a kid,” You spoke, nostalgia still wrapping itself around you like a scratchy yet warm blanket.

“If I remember correctly, in passing, I saw you eat this when I went to meet with your father.”

A cold rock dropped in your stomach. Hot shivers rushed up your skin. Leering up at the man who stood behind the chair, hands leaning on the back of it, you grimace. Of course he ruined it. You couldn’t escape how time intertwined you both. He knew you as a child and still had some sort of sick attraction towards you.

“How could I forget how much of a creepy old man you are.”

The friendly air near Erwin dropped as his thick eyebrow twitched, “Watch it. Just because I’m being nice doesn’t mean I will tolerate insolence.”

“It’s not insolence, I’m pointing out how much of a fucking freak you are.”

“I’m giving you three seconds to apologize.”

His words only fueled your ever growing flames, “I’m not a child!”

Gripping your upper arm with a bruising grip, Erwin lugged you off the chair he had just sat you on. Tugging you towards the sink, he shoved his face to yours, ire on his breath.

“You say you’re not a child, but the second you don’t like something you throw a tantrum like a toddler. All I ever do is care for and love you, and you have to ruin it,” He seethed.

“Fuck you,” You sneered right back.

Reaching for the bar of soap by the sink, he let go of your arm to pry your mouth open. Before you could even protest, Erwin shoved the soap in your mouth.

You sputtered and choked as the bitter lather penetrated your taste buds. The bar caught on your teeth and tiny shavings fell down your throat. Thrusting the soap further, Erwin did not care as you gagged.

“Bad little girls get their mouths washed with soap.”

You cried as it got hard to breathe. Anytime your tongue tried to push the offending object out, he would push it further in. You gripped his arms more for stability rather than to shove him away. From your spit, foam started to form on the corners of your lips.

Dragging the bar from your mouth, he commanded, “Apologize.”

Coughing, drool poured from your lips as you tried to get the offending taste off your tongue. You tried to catch your breath as he grew impatient and attempted to shove it back in.

“I’m sorry!” You heaved, not caring you were getting spit all over the floor and yourself.

Erwin slammed the soap bar back on its tray and flicked open the tap. Forcing your head towards it, he filled your mouth with water. Adrenaline squeezed your heart. He was going to drown you, he was going to drown-

“Spit.”

Swooshing the water in your mouth, you spit it out along with the bubbles coating the inside. The taste stayed, but you didn’t want him to force more water in you.

Flicking off the faucet, he gripped your upper arm again and dragged you into the living room.

“Go play with your new toy while I clean up the breakfast you ruined.”

He didn’t know, but those words struck a cord deep, deep inside you. Your eyes followed Erwin as he went back to the kitchen to take care before the spit on the floor and the breakfast never eaten.

There, in the middle of the living room, a dollhouse stood on the coffee table. Not wanting to test him further and the words he uttered strung around your mind so tightly your brain ached, you sat on the floor. Tucking your legs under you, sitting on your ankles, you took in the tiny house in front of it.

It must have cost a pretty penny. While the outside wasn’t a carbon copy of the house, inside the house was identical, or at least from what you could tell. You still haven’t been allowed upstairs.

Rather than the cottage like aesthetic, the exterior steered more towards victorian. A soft white adorned the walls not unlike how the real house had been painted. Inside the dollhouse sat three little dolls. Picking up the blond doll, you noticed how strikingly it resembled Erwin. Picking up the other one, the mini Levi frowned up at you. How egotistical.

To no surprise, the third one represented you. Mini you had your exact hair color and texture, skin flushed with your tone, and your eyes hauntingly glimmered. At least the doll seemed happy. A childish urge striked you to twist the heads off the dolls.

You hated how eerily similar it was to the house you were trapped in. Clutching the tiny you in your hands, you were no different than a doll for the men to play with. Or maybe there was someone controlling all three of you, forcing you all to play a twisted game of house. But you refused to believe that.

There was no omnipotent god or petulant child toying with your lives. No, the only cruelty you were subjected to were the men binding you to them. Why fear God, when humans exist?

Erwin’s heavy footsteps echoed. Sitting on the couch behind you, he sat near the side table to set down the paper you assumed he pulled from his office. You glanced at him from your peripheral and went back to set mini you outside out of spite. Taking mini Levi you dunked his head in the bathtub as he did to you.

The older man had not been subtle at all with how his eyes kept wandering to your form. As he sat above you, a shiver went down your spine. This time hanging mini Erwin outside the window by his feet to dangle him off the edge, you tried to ignore your sinking gut. More memories flashed before your eyes.

This time, you sat on the floor playing with toy cars you stole from one of your brothers, silently. Early you had been running through the house pretending the home was a race track. Vrooming noises spilled from your mouth as you giggled. Your father quickly shut you up with a pinch of your ear and sneered at you to sit down and sit still. You were nothing more than a nuisance.

Children were to be seen, not heard.

Swallowing down the need to cry and appease the male authority figure, you knocked mini Erwin out the window. He tumbled down and down until he fell on the floor by your knees.

Turning around to glare down Erwin to make sure he saw what you did, Erwin had already been looking. Instead of annoyance, an almost longing expression etched onto his visage. His eyes never strayed from dolls instead of you. Like he… wanted to play, too? You tried not to decode the meaning and went back to torment mini Levi more.

The rest of the day had been spent with you purposely avoiding any way to talk to Erwin. Once he finished his paperwork, he seemed ready to forgive and forget. You weren’t.

By noon, Erwin made lunch, ultimately deciding he had starved you (and himself) long enough. You ate the food he had made. A sandwich for him, baby carrots and celery for you. Your eye twitched as you crunched and munched as loud as you could.

Erwin muttered “manners” at you, but you merely huffed and went back to eating. Though you were more quiet. Being alone with Erwin only served to remind you of your father. So despite the man himself not being there, you couldn’t help blending the two. The fear sat in your esophagus infected old wounds, like a sore throat that won’t go away.

You missed Levi. You missed him for the sole factor he didn’t remind you of the truth. With him you could pretend that nothing linked you to Erwin. He’s the buffer. The buffer between the fact if you squinted, you would see your father’s face instead of Erwin’s.

You pushed your half eaten plate away from you.

Your father would never do what Erwin has done to you. He may be bad, but not to Erwin’s level. Your brain just muddled them together as Erwin gave you whiplash of acting like a disappointed parent and an old pervert who prayed on younger women.

By the end of the day, Erwin had grown not too fond of how you distanced yourself from him. This weekend was to have some alone time with you. Maybe to try to rekindle the bond you two had in the beginning, but you reverted inward.

As your bed time approached, instead of taking you to your room, Erwin instructed you to sit down on the couch. Suspiciously, you perched on the cushions. Squatting down with an audible crack of his knees, Erwin opened the glass cabinets of the TV stand. The old DVD player had already been hooked up and he grabbed a familiar DVD case.

Pivoting to face you, he smiled, “I remember you telling me you used to love this movie.”

A simpler time crossed your mind. Before Erwin was revealed to be more monster than man, during when he tutored you, you both bonded for your love of The Last Unicorn. The movie traumatized you as a kid, but rewatching it as an adult had you gain an appreciation for it instead.

Slipping the disc inside the flap, the DVD player ate it up with a mechanical whirling. Coming back to you, he sat beside you and patted his thigh.

“Come here, my darling girl,” Erwin took your hand and steered you to lay down.

No room to resist, he guided your head to lay on his lap while he flipped on the TV. A dreamy and whimsical soundtrack played in the background as the DVD menu popped up. Hitting play on the movie, Erwin adjusted himself while you tried to get comfortable. Hand resting on his knee, his other started to stroke your hair. Tucking your own hands to your chest to avoid him, you couldn’t deny the comfort hugging you.

The movie barely had been thirty minutes in when your eyelids slipped closed. Welcoming the fuzzy embrace, you fell fast asleep in the claws of the lion awaiting its pliant meal.

Incoherent, you nuzzled further into the warmth under you. Like this morning, your cushy pillow rose and fell with each breath it took. Blinking away the haze, you squinted at the TV still turned on. Music flowed through the room on a low volume. The opening menu had been looping for ages now.

Under your ear Erwin’s heart beat with a slow, steady rhythm. While you had fallen asleep, he had rearranged your body to lay on top of his. His large body had been sprawled out across the couch, his foot upright on the arm of the couch and the other dangled over the edge. Like a blanket, you were draped over him. Your head on his chest, hand tucked under you and the other rested on the other pectoral not occupied by your head. Your legs slotted in between his.

As you woke up more, his warm palm rested on the small of your bare back. The hand had found its way under your shirt through the night. The other sat on your upper back, completely entangling you two together.

For a moment, you simply stared at the TV. Sleep and rationale beckoned you to fall into their arms, but your stubbornness and will to survive took over. Slowly, you moved your legs to straddle Erwin’s hips. Reaching behind you, you grabbed the hand under your shirt and gently guided it out from under the cloth and placed it by his side. Getting up, you took the other hand and put it on his chest where you head once laid.

He did not stir.

Just your luck, he must be a heavy sleeper. You sat on his hips, very much aware his crotch had been slotted against yours. Glaring down at him, you despised how easy he slept. He didn’t even twitch while you pried your skin from his.

As gracefully as you could, you set your foot down on the floor and raised your hips from his. Gripping on the back of the couch, you awkwardly twisted to put both feet on the floor. Pushing your upper body off the couch, you stumbled back a step and stood over his sleeping form.

You waited another moment to see if he would move. He stayed sound asleep.

Softly, you rounded the couch and walked to the mudroom. Each step had been calculated, toe to heel. Crouching down, you gawked out the doorway to hear any sound of Erwin rousing. The drawer before you creaked open and you grabbed the tiny flashlight. Shimmying it closed as you did multiple times before, you left it a sliver open for easier access.

Creeping from out of the room, you ambled back to the couch. Peering over the back of the sofa, Erwin hadn’t even moved. Sighing in relief, you continued your path to the hallway. Sharply turning the corner, your hand brushed down the wall, no moonlight to guide you. Kneeling before the window, you ogled at the cloudy sky, praying the forecast would aid you.

Clicking the flashlight on and off, you mouthed the letters to yourself.

Creak.

Whipping your head so hard your neck strained, you peered down the barren corridor. Silent, you waited for Erwin to appear in the archway and drag you back to him. If he found you, there was no way you could explain yourself out of this one. Not like any of them listened.

Holding your breath, you counted up to a hundred. By the time you reached the nineties, Erwin still hadn't come to find you and deliver you to your punishment. Exhaling with a throbbing head, you dared not to test your luck anymore.

Doing only one more round of morse code, you slinked away from the window a lot less confident. Clutching the flashlight to your chest, blown out pupils stayed glued to the man snoozing. As you got closer to the mudroom, you walked backwards, not letting him out of your sight.

Quickly, you opened the drawer and shoved the flashlight inside. Jiggling it back closed, it got stuck halfway. Bile rose up to your throat. Panicking, gently as you could, you shoved it but it didn’t budge.

Tears sprung up, piercing your eyes. Breathing in and holding it, your tried to calm yourself. Freaking out will only make it worse and cloud your brain. Crouching down, you looked at the mechanism to close the cabinet. The wheel had shifted off its track. Lifting the drawer, you tilted it to click back into place. An audible clunk rang in the room. Your hands froze.

Music still poured from the living room, not helping you at all in this case.

Fuck it, You said in your head.

Pushing the drawer back closed, you walked out of the mudroom, ready to face Erwin if he had stirred. Knees wobbling, the soft glow of the TV shepherded you. Circling the couch, the man came back in full view. Not once had he moved. The threat had never really been there.

You stood over him, taking in his vulnerable state. Your eyes went to one of the throw pillows that had fallen on the floor in your and his sleep. Behind down, still staring, you grabbed it and clutched the sides in both hands. You waited, debating. When will be the next time you will get such a delicious opportunity?

Stepping closer, you wedged a knee in between him and the couch and the other followed by his right bicep. Sitting on his chest, you didn’t care about the weight settling in. Hovering, you abandoned all reasoning and shoved the pillow over his face. Squeezing his arms that sprung up, you leaned all your weight on your hands, smooshing his face to the cushion.

He grunted under you and his legs frantically kicked to get you off him. You clenched your thighs harder, immobilizing him. His fingers wringled about to do anything, in a desperate attempt to live as you suffocated the life out of him.

You ignored him and only moved with his floundering body. Frenzied limbs soon slacked until the muscles uncoiled and fell limp. You dared not move the pillow yet. He could just be pretending. Erwin was an intelligent man. But you were a scorned girl. If anything, you shoved the pillow further in, hoping his mouth filled with cotton. Praying it penetrated his airways like the water that never truly left your system.

Sighing his last breath, you were finally able to breathe your first.

Blinking, you snapped out of it. You still stood above him, frozen in time. His chest mockingly rose with the deep inhale he took in. Shaky, you turned away from him and slumped on the floor. Back to the couch, Erwin’s dangling leg brushed against you. The TV glimmered through your vacant irises.

Taking the remote laid on the coffee table, you reached an arm straight out and turned the television off. The screen faded to black.

A girl glowered at you through the reflection in contempt. Coward, she sneered.

You couldn’t agree more.

[sarahghetti]

direction to perfection; j.l.

pairing: jake lockley x reader, marc and steven are briefly alluded to but do not make an appearance

summary: one day, your vigilante lifestyle leads to you to crossing paths with a moon-serving weirdo in white bandages. jake promises that he won't get in the way, but there's something about his smirk that has your spidey-sense tingling, and what do you know—

he sets a building on fire.

it's not supposed to be romantic.

warnings: depictions of fighting and violence, injuries, hurt and comfort, reader is a spider-person and thus has a spider-person sense of humour😭.

word count: 3.8k

notes: part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'bonfire”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

You have a love-hate relationship with your spidey-sense—it’s useful enough to give you a heads-up, but it’s not exactly a get-out-of-danger-free card.

It kicks in as you’re soaring through the air, an errant pulse in your veins that tells you one thing: MOVE. But there’s no time—before you even manage to lift your web-shooter, one of Doc Ock’s mechanical arms whips around and collides hard against your torso. For a moment, you feel your ribs crack underneath the metal, the sharp pains accompanied by a real stupid thought, even by your standards: guess I’m going to call in sick tomorrow—

—and then you finally hit the brick wall behind you. The air is ripped from your lungs and your thoughts short-circuit into nothingness. New York’s evening rush hour is drowned out by high-pitched ringing. If it weren’t for your wallcrawling ability, you’d be falling forty stories down onto the traffic below. Instead, rooted into the small crater you’ve made into an office building, all you can do is languish in what surely must be multiple broken bones and a slightly bruised ego for not being able to dodge a hit that you saw coming.

Speaking of—there’s another one heading towards you right now.

You leap upwards without a second thought, just narrowly avoiding becoming a shitty claw-machine prize as the arm lodges into the wall where your head used to be. Spots dance across your vision and you groan—your body does not want to move.

Suspended between two buildings, Doc Ock’s mechanical arms dig into concrete and brick as she follows you up. Her voice is deceptively empathetic. “Down so soon, little spider? I expected more from you!”

One of the arms rears back again but distantly, there’s the clench of a trigger—and it gets pinned behind her by a golden grappling hook.

The wire grows taut then there he is, using the reeling mechanism to lunge upwards. All the momentum is channeled into his crescent blade as Jake jams it between the plates of the trapped arm; it jerks like a wounded animal, suddenly uncoordinated and stiff. When it lashes out again, he easily dodges and jumps across the buildings onto the fire escape next to you.

“Mierda! You okay?”

Glowing white eyes, wide with concern—the sight is enough to shake you out of your concussive stupor. Jake extends a hand, and you take it readily, allowing him to help you up onto the rickety platform.

“Just peachy,” you wheeze as you lean almost your entire body weight against him.

This was supposed to be a simple mission. It wasn’t even supposed to be a mission in the first place, but one detained drug dealer led to another, which led to a smuggler and a mercenary and a goddamn gym teacheruntil you were faced with a whole corrupt laboratory that tied back to Doc Ock’s operations.

Jake got looped in somewhere between the mercenary and the gym teacher, apparently answering some kind of divine calling of his own. Egyptian god of the moon? Protecting travelers of the night? You just call the people you save New Yorkers, no fancy labelling here.

But you’re not so prideful as to turn away help when you need it, especially when it comes gift-wrapped in superhuman strength and a bullet-proof cape. Even though you catch him giving himself these looks in the windows you pass by or having whole conversations to himself under his breath—you’ve seen weirder.

Like now: There’s a clear conflict happening in—on?—Doc Ock. The damaged arm flails wildly through the air, and the other three can’t seem to decide between trying to calm it down, retreat, or kill you.

Those white eyes turn to you. “Sure you don’t want me to shoot her?”

“No!” Now you remember why you were initially wary of him—because when you first met, he was holding one of his blades to a lackey’s throat. Danger, danger! You didn’t even need your spidey-sense to tell you that; he wears the warning like a badge of honour. “We just need to subdue her till the cops come. Follow my lead.”

Jake gives you a mock salute. Fortunately, Doc Ock’s lab was deserted—except for her—when you crashed the place. Whatever supersecret bioweapon she’s cooking up will still be waiting for you to destroy it after you capture her.

With just one press of a button, you’re soaring back into action. The arms seem to have coordinated themselves again—having decided to kill you, how lucky—but so have you and Jake. One lunges towards you, and you pull upwards on your web, going feet over head as you as you flip backwards out of the way.

In that split-second moment when you’re fully upside-down, your arm extends downwards and thwip!—your web attaches to the titanium plating. The world realigns itself, and your momentum carries you in an arc below the arm, dragging it behind you as you continue in your original direction.

As soon as you land on the side of the opposing building, you yank hard. Immediately, your other hand comes up to shoot a dozen or so webs to attach the claw onto the wall. It won’t last—the brick is already crumbling under the force—but it gives Jake enough time to shake off Doc Ock’s attention and join you.

Closer than you were before, you can see just how much force it takes for him to drive his blade through the circuitry. Sparks burst like little fireworks around his hand. He makes it look easy, but a shudder crawls down your spine—you just know what he’s capable of.

You both leap out of the way as the arm thrashes erratically; Doc Ock cries out in frustration. That’s two arms down, and two that are busy suspending her in the air. You’ll have to catch her once you take out another one, but that’s no biggie.

“Jake!” You gesture towards the nearest arm, and he nods in understanding. Despite the pain radiating through your limbs, you grin. For all his snark and murderous tendencies (which you hope are just a joke), he’s a half-decent partner.

It’s too bad, then, that Doc Ock doesn’t seem to care about how good of a time you’re having. Her mouth twists into a snarl, and in a blink of an eye, she’s scrambling away. Retreating? Your poor, bruised head is hopeful for the night to end.

In a way, it’s right—she is trying to get away from you. Unfortunately, it also recognizes that she’s retracing your steps, right back to the lab where you first found her.

“Oh, damn it!”

Your injuries and Jake’s limited modes of superhuman transport make it impossible to gain any real ground as you chase after her. Doc Ock climbs through her shattered window half a minute before you do, and even if your conscious mind doesn’t realize it, some part of you does���it’s an ambush.

You dive to the ground just as a mini fridge is thrown in your direction. Pain shoots down your side, your vision blurring with tears. The sheer wave of nausea that washes over you makes your mouth water and fuck, you might actually puke like this.

There’s something else coming but you can’t do anything other than half-heartedly roll behind the nearest object. The workbench shields you from—what, a chair? You aren’t afforded anymore time to think about it because she rips off the counter next, several important-looking valves raining down around you. Through the noise, you just barely manage to pick up a quiet hissing in the air as you try to gather your bearings.

A line of workbenches down the centre of the room, an aisle on either side.

On the right: sinks and fume hoods.

On the left: whiteboards.

Directly in front of you: the absolute bane of—and possible end to—your existence, holding up that chunk of black countertop as if it were a hammer and you are a nail.

You brace yourself for the hit, but it never comes. There’s a surprised yelp from above you, and your peer through your arms at just the right time to see Jake land a brutal kick into Doc Ock’s chest, sending her flying. You don’t see her land, but you do hearit; equipment crashes to the ground, glass shattering on the linoleum.

With a hand from Jake, you’re back on your feet. Doc Ock is reeling at the far end of the room. The walls are littered with long, deep gashes—some from your initial confrontation with her, some likely from her mechanical arms flailing from Jake’s hit. Several of the fume hoods are missing their windows entirely, which definitely bodes ill considering that there are still chemicals in some of them.

Gritting your teeth, you somehow manage to get the words out, “Just stand down, Olivia!”

A hand is clutched at her side, and some petty part of you hopes that her ribs are broken too. “This isn’t over.”

You gesture to her mechanical arms, two of which are still malfunctioning like headless chickens, then to yourselves, who are (mostly) in one piece. “Well, it sure is about to be.”

She raises her eyebrows at Jake. “You raid a Spirit Halloween and suddenly think you can defeat me?”

“Yeah, sure, let me just take fashion advice from someone cosplaying as an octopus.”

Jake leans towards you. “Do you always talk this much?”

At that, Doc Ock’s eyes narrow, filled with determination. She’s not backing down this time, which means neither can you.

You both ready yourselves like you have countless times before, straightening your stance and setting your shoulders back. But Jake doesn’t show the same patience. No—he sees the remaining mechanical arms twitch in preparation, and a blade is already leaving his hand with deadly-precise aim.

Wait, wait, the hissing sound—the gas—

“Get down!” You ram your body into Jake’s, bringing you both to the ground as the blade makes contact with the titanium, sparks flying out and—

BOOM.

It’s like your heart stops.

For several moments, you don’t register anything at all. You aren’t even sure if you’re still breathing.

Slowly, your senses return. The scent of burning plastic invades your nostrils—even the air tastes like it too. Something’s landed on top of you, pinning you down with a surprising amount of strength. Warm and sturdy and pressing into all the wrong places, but you can’t even hear your own whimpering—there’s nothing but ringing in your ears.

Are your eyes closed? You can’t bring yourself to check. All you can do is try to remember how to live, and figure out what the hell is happening.

Your spidey-sense has gone quiet. That’s—that’s good. Hopefully. Or maybe it’s just been knocked out of you by the blast. You let that last thought get washed away into the muddled mess of your head; you could probably use a bit of positive thinking right now.

Everything hurts. That’s been true for the past hour, really, but there’s no gut-wrenchingly painful burn anywhere on your body like what you expected from a lab explosion. The closest thing is just that warmth against your back, in a thick arm across your chest, and encircled around your wrist, where it lingers along your pulse point.

Something brushes up against your cheek, roughly textured but trying to be so, so gentle. Words start to pierce through the hearing damage. “—estás bien, te tengo. No te preocupes, estás bien.”

“Jake?” Your voice comes out small and tinny, unsure of how loud to speak when everything sounds like it’s underwater. You receive an affirmative rumble, and the tension seeps out of your limbs, just a tad.

Tentatively, you open your eyes. And there’s—nothing. Just a white sheet of fabric covering your entire field of view. Jake huffs out a laugh at your confusion before finally standing up, his cape pulling back from where it was draped on top of you.

“Oh.”

It’s like a bomb went off. Nearly every surface has been scorched black, save for the perfectly untouched flooring around you where Jake shielded you both from the blast. Any equipment in the room has been reduced to pieces—if not completely combusted into ash and soot—and fires still linger despite the efforts of what’s left of the sprinkler system.

No sign of Doc Ock anywhere—she must’ve gotten away. Jake lets out a long string of curses under his breath, then finishes it off with an eloquent: “Fuck.”

The fire alarm is incessant, and the sprinklers have all but drenched your suit. If you had half a working brain left, you’d feel the shivers wracking your body and realize that you’re still bleeding out in several different places, but the only thing that crosses your mind is how tired you are.

You throw your mask off with a groan. The sirens in the distance only add to your growing headache. So close, you were so close this time.

“Come on.” Jake’s stands over you, mask retracted, and you can see the grimace on his face from how the mission turned out. Wordlessly, he offers to help you up, and is promptly ignored. He keeps his hand extended towards you, shaking it a little for emphasis, but you refuse to budge.

That is, until your mind so helpfully strays and wonders—how big was the blast?

Your eyes widen, and your body jerks upright as though electrocuted. Oh, God—you didn’t see anyone else in the lab other than Doc Ock when you arrived, but what about the other floors? What about the pedestrians on the sidewalk below, who might’ve had glass and debris rained down upon them when the windows were blown out?

It takes several tries to get to your feet, none of which are entirely successful because Jake has to intervene halfway through to hold you upright. Your second wind catches him off-guard and his brows furrow as you try to leap back into action. “Whoa—talk to me, bug. What’s happening?”

“Need to—” You try to shrug him off. His grip loosens for all of a moment before you’re stumbling again, and then he returns, as firm and steady as ever. “Was anyone hurt?”

“You.”

“Not what I meant,” you scowl. It’s thoroughly ineffective. The only response you get is a subtle tilting of his head, then a loss of his undivided attention as he listens to something—someone—in the room that you aren’t privy to.

His gaze flickers back to you, marginally softer. “No one else was hurt. You need to rest.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. What’s the point of superhealing if you can’t bounce back after a fight? This time when you struggle against him, Jake lets you go, crossing his arms as you limp around the room.

Fortunately, most of the smoke is being pulled out the windows; what’s left is enough to burn and scrape down your larynx, but you push through it. Doc Ock has to have left some kind of trace—if not during her escape, then in the work she left behind. But kicking around in the ashes yields nothing. There’s no conveniently placed folder full of evil plans, or vial labelled SUPER SECRET BIOWEAPON (ONLY COPY - NO NEED TO SEARCH ANY FURTHER).

Jake sighs. “What are you looking for?”

What are you looking for? The building is still on fire, for Christ’s sake—you should have been gone ten minutes ago. Still, your stubbornness is steadfast. “There has to be—something.”

He sweeps out an arm, gesturing to the resounding nothing around you. With wet curls stuck to his forehead, his tone veers on sardonic. “Oh? Your little spider-sense tell you that?”

“Spidey, and—and it’s not a radar, I can’t just turn it on,” you bristle. His ensuing snicker lands all wrong, and your mouth twists into a scowl. “Funny, is it? Blowing up a building?”

“Hey.” The lightness disappears from his expression. “How was I supposed to know about the gas leak?”

It’s a valid question. Still, the anger in you can’t help but flare up anyways, running on his words as if they were diesel. You bite back a retort at the last second, which isn’t enough because the resulting silence is accusatory in and of itself.

He takes a step towards you, chin raised as water continues to rain down on you both. Solid, sturdy—unyielding. The sight twists your stomach into knots, but you stand your ground, placing your hands on your hips even though it pulls painfully at a handful of your muscles. “Shit happens, bug. It’s no one’s fault—well, maybe a bit my fault, but—”

“I had her.” It’s a blatant lie, but full of conviction as it leaves your lips.

He’s nothing short of incredulous. “Did you?”

“Yes—”

Faster than your hazy mind can register it, his hand shoves at your shoulder. Not hard, but it didn’t need to be—you practically crumple, hands scrambling to find something to hold on to before you land flat on your ass, but Jake wraps an arm around your waist, steadying you.

You swat at his chest. You hate that his warmth is familiar. “Let me go.”

He counters: “What’s wrong?”

“You, asshole.”

“’m the bad guy now? You want a fight that bad?” His eyebrows cock upwards, regarding you like some unruly child.

He’s being inflammatory on purpose and it’s working. You’re an elastic band in his fingers, one that he keeps stretching and stretching and stretching until you snap. “I don’t want a fight, I want a—”

Win, you almost admit. You wanted a win, after all this time you’ve spent chasing after Doc Ock. Countless sleepless nights and lackeys thrown behind bars, only to fail in the final moments when it really mattered. The realization is debilitating, even in the confines of your own head, and so you lash out again, distracting yourself from the bitterness on your tongue by spewing it out instead.

“We’re not all out for blood, you know.” Then, because you can’t help yourself— “I’m not you, Jake.”

“Is that what this is about?” His hand tenses almost imperceptibly against your back, but you manage to catch it. Of course you do, with every sense on high alert, blood rushing in your ears. “You mad ‘cause I’m a killer?”

Something dangerous underlines his tone when he says the word and you flinch, trying to create some distance between the two of you on instinct. Jake doesn’t grant you that—his other arm comes to hold you as well, pulling you in even though you think you might suffocate in his presence.

“You knew this from the start. Don’t tell me you’re going to try to turn me in now.”

“Maybe I should,” you say in a rush, gaze steely as it meets his. For all your superhuman powers, none give you the ability to read what’s going on behind the storm in his eyes. You’re so close, you can almost feel the heat radiating off his skin, hear the words in his mouth before he even says them.

“You’re the one with the spidey-sense.” His voice is low. Somewhere in the back of your mind, through the shame and anger and desperation—you note that he’s called it by the right name this time. “You tell me. Am I a threat?”

Your heart is beating a mile a minute and your stomach is all fluttery and weird but—no. There’s no tingling at the back of your neck, no hair-raising along your arms. Petulance makes you want to lie and say yes anyways, but you can’t bring yourself to form the words. It just… isn’t true. And for some reason, you have feeling that this would be going too far, even as a rash potshot.

When you don’t respond, Jake’s expression softens, the lines of his face giving way to an understanding look that makes you feel smaller than his antagonism ever could. The fires have mostly died down now, but warm reds and oranges still flicker along the side of his jaw, in corners of his irises. His arms feel less like a cage and more like a lifeline, keeping you from drifting out to sea.

“Just—thought I finally caught her,” you mumble, and he pulls you the last few inches into a proper hug. Exhausted, you let yourself melt into his arms, the adrenaline beginning to seep away despite the cacophony of sirens in the background. “It’s been so long, Jake.”

“I know.” He doesn’t, not really—you haven’t divulged just how far this rivalry goes, but you don’t have to think very hard to realize that he’s speaking from experiences long before he ever met you. “We’ll get her next time.”

You snort softly into his suit. “What, you staying?”

It’s silly, the tinge of hopefulness that laces your voice just minutes after you’ve essentially accosted him. But Jake’s grinning when you pull back to look at him, all boyish confidence, and you nearly forget to breathe. “I could be convinced.”

Wait—what? He’s thrown you off-kilter. You—you didn’t think he’d actually— “Well—!”

At your stammering, he lets out a laugh, throwing back his head. It’s a wonderful sound, and when you flick his arm in response, there’s no real force to it.

“Well, you know what they say,” you sniff, trying to maintain your composure. “Friends close, enemies closer, and all that.”

“Right, right,” he nods gravely. The effect is severely diminished by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Keeping one arm around you, he starts to lead you towards an exit. “Don’t know how you’ll handle it—your spidey-sense going off all the time with me around.”

On the way out, he picks up your mask from where you discarded it, slapping it a few times against his leg to brush off the soot and ash. His own mask and hood come up to envelope his face as he hands it to you. Distantly, you wonder how his glowing white eyes would look in the dark. Probably a bit stupid, is your conclusion.

“I’m sure I can manage,” you sigh, and once you slip on your mask, he gives you a little pat on the head before you can bat him away. Jake leans away enough to avoid your attempts to tug at his hood, but at the next opportunity, he reaches over again, the little shit, hand drawing in close, and your spidey-sense, superhuman and extraordinary, it’s—

It’s never been quieter.

[spacebarbarianweird]

Can I request Aasimar Tav headcanons (with astarion)? I barely see anything about Aasimar Tav since it's a mod to get in game

Astarion x Protector Aasimar!Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

Aasimar are pretty new as a race and there are three main types: Protector, Scourge and Fallen.

Protector Aasimar is filled with the power of goodness to protect the weak, root out evil anywhere, and stand tirelessly in the path of darkness. From a young age, they receive advice and guidance that encourages him to resist evil.

Scourge Aasimar is filled with a divine energy that blazes within. It fuels a strong desire to destroy evil - a desire at best firm and at worst all-consuming. Many aasimars wear masks to shield themselves from the world and focus on containing this power, removing the mask only during battle.

Fallen Aasimar is touched by the forces of darkness in their youth or turn to evil as an adult. Their inner light has been replaced by shadow. Instead of angelic wings, they have skeleton ones which aren't fit for flying but good for intimidation.

I am going to do Protector Aasimar for you, and later I will do Fallen Aasimar for another request I have. If you want Scourge Aasimar or another vision of the character, let me know in the inbox!

You are born of celestial blood, a descendant of angelic creatures.

Raised among humans, your skin is pale, and metallic freckles scatter over your perfect face.

Your eyes are perfect silver, the glow in the dark.

A ghostly halo crowns your head.

And what is the most important, you have wings.

They are big and strong, you learned to fly before you learned to walk.

Your patron is Myllandra, a cold and distant creature.

Torn between two worlds, you are neither a celestial nor a human.

Not immortal, your lifespan is even shorter than one of a half-elf.

Your patron gives you orders and you have to follow them even if it means you ignore someone's sufferings.

You are given an order - you need to lead the fight against the Absolute.

If it means someone dies in the process, it's not your problem.

But you must not fight the Selunites' wars against the Sharns.

Don't look for the Night Song.

You obey and abide, cold and distant as you've been taught.

But the tadpole cuts your connection with your patron, forcing you to make decisions on your own.

You suddenly can decide whom to help. You can have fun. You can fall in love.

Astarion is absolutely bewildered by you.

An aasimar! A descendant of angels!

And, gods, your wings!

They are wonderful!

Your blood tastes divine in the truest sense.

And Astarion sort of corrupts you, teaching you to be selfish, to cherish material things - everything which was forbidden to you.

But the moment comes and he realizes he can't lie anymore. You are too pure, too honest, it's unfair to play games with you.

He confesses and waits for the divine punishment.

Instead, you hug Astarion wrapping him in your wings.

Corrupted and free, you are still an aasimar.

Now, when you are together, he often caresses your wings in public.

He especially loves cleaning the feathers of blood and gore.

And putting ointment on your back to ease the muscle pain after flying.

You are shocked to see the Night Song.

An aasimar! Just like you!

But why were your patron's orders like that? What is going on?

You act according to your ideals and win the war on your own terms.

When it's all over, you are ready to cover Astarion with your wings from the sun but instead…

He doesn't burn.

Your blood gives him temporary resistance.

But-

Your patron is back.

Myllandra is pissed.

She spares you the details of how much you have interfered with the divine plan and what a horrible creature you are.

As a punishment, she rips your wings off.

The pain is so unbearable you want to die.

Now you are locked in some interdimensional prison, restrained with chains and cursed with never never-ending pain of having your wings torn.

You've lost track of time, your life is only pain and suffering, the divine punishment for everything you did.

The thing is -

You aren't alone.

You hear the distant sounds of fighting, of some cruel battle outside the walls of your prison.

And then your chains are broken with the Orphic Hammer.

"Fuck, what has this bitch done to you", you hear the exhausted voice.

Of course.

Astarion isn't afraid of some angel who thinks too much about herself.

He is here. Along with the Night Song and the Selunites.

It takes you time to forget your imprisonment. The pain. The desperation.

What is worse, is the changes in your body.

You have the chronic pain in your back. Your skin is much darker than it was. Your eyes return to their "natural" grey color and don't glow in the dark.

Though, your blood still protects Astarion from the sunlight.

Even your patron can't take everything from you.

Together, you stay with the Selunites.

You are still Protector Aasimar - and there are plenty of ways to live up to your ideals.

Together, you are a peculiar couple.

A mutilated aasimar and a vampire, both in the Selunites' armor, go to the darkest and most cursed places to be heroes and adventurers.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe 

[little-diable]

The Ghost of Christmas Past – Tommy Shelby

Part 1 of my Christmas Carol series. A big thank you to @notyour-valentine for writing this with me, this was such a grand joy! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Tommy keeps on pushing the reader away, only turning towards her when his nights get lonely, but maybe the visit of somebody from his past will finally manage to rip Tommy out of his state.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, some angst

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (4.6k words)

headerby @deathofpeaceofmind

Series Masterlist

The scent of smoke filled her small bedroom like a poisonous fog, a fog shielding the two lovers from a life that had been anything but kind to them, robbing them of loved ones, robbing them of their sanity, robbing them of their ability to express their emotions without holding back. A downward spiral Tommy and (y/n) had been stuck in for years, finding comfort in her bed whenever the world began to close in on them, forcing them away from the passing by days and weeks they’d go without seeing one another.

She couldn’t remember the moment she had realised that she was in love with Tommy Shelby, well at least not if you’d ask her. But deep down she knew it all too well, the day where she had run into him, soaked through clothes and cold hands, the teenage boy had wordlessly pulled her along, leading her into his home without asking any questions. He had been so gentle with her, a certain kind of gentleness Tommy was now a stranger to. 

“When will you come by on Friday?” Her soft words rang in his ears, a sound that almost reminded him of the sound of shots fired in the distance, a sound so distinct he’d never be able to forget it. Tommy had his chest bare, his eyes focused stoically ahead as he smoked his cigarette. He didn’t meet her eyes, kept ignoring the loving glances she threw his way, half laying on him with her naked body hidden beneath the warm blanket.

“Friday? Why should I come by on Friday?” Tommy felt her freeze, breaths growing shallow, fingertips no longer tracing his stomach. It took (y/n) a few seconds to regain her composure, clearing her throat before she slowly let go, sitting up with the blanket pressed to her chest.

“I mean it’s Christmas day, I just thought we’d maybe spend it together.”  He stubbed out his cigarette, rose to his feet and began to dress himself, almost like he hadn’t picked up on the words (y/n) had just spoken. Her eyes followed his every move, trying to blink away the tears that began to blur her vision, like the rain which had poured down on the day the two had crossed paths for the first time. “Tommy?”

“Why should we spend Christmas together, (y/n)? I will spend it with my family, as I do every year. You know that.” Tommy’s voice had an awfully chilling undertone to it, making goosebumps rise on her skin. Not once had she feared the man with piercing eyes and pale lips, not once had he raised his voice when she was around, but it seemed like today was the day the cards had changed their fate, the die was cast. 

“But–” by now he was fully dressed, back turned to her as their eyes met through the mirror hung on the wall Tommy was turned to. He watched her wipe her tears, unable to stop them from rolling down her cheeks, a sight that left his jaw muscles ticking, biting down the need to soothe the pain he had shot through her system. “You know what, you’re right. How foolish of me.”

No further word was spoken, slowly he turned towards her, nodding at (y/n) before he leaned down to press a kiss to her warm forehead, and without speaking another word, Tommy left the house she was living in behind. The second the sound of her front door falling shut rang in her ears, (y/n) let go of the sob she had tried to keep bottled in.

……

The silence filling his home had an awfully eerie touch to it, a silence Tommy had tried to flee from for the past years, no longer able to be on his own for too long. The nightmares would always catch up with him, robbing him of precious hours of sleep the man desperately needed. He nursed a glass of whisky, eyes closed, fingers holding onto yet another cigarette. (Y/n)’s pained expression filled his mind whenever he closed his eyes, wondering why he had pushed her away once again.

Tommy wasn’t oblivious, he was all too aware of the feelings she fostered deep inside, feelings that left him trembling in fear. Nothing good would happen to those that try to love him, they all ended up six feet under, a risk he wasn’t willing to take with (y/n) – not with her. 

A deep exhale left him as he sunk further into his chair, wondering if yet another sleepless night was awaiting him. He’d never admit it, and yet Tommy felt awfully lonely, without her near, without (y/n)’s voice filling the silence he was trapped in. Whenever he found himself hiding away in his office, his thoughts would catch up with him, forcing him down memory lane without a way out.

He could have sworn that shots were fired nearby, his body trembling in fear, about to disappear beneath earth’s surface, one with the soil he was forced to crawl through. Back then he had been filled with fright, though not the kind he found himself tormented by nowadays. No, back then he had other priorities, other people to care for, not understanding how much (y/n) truly meant to him.

But now he kept digging another tunnel, deeper than those he had crawled through, darker than those he’d see whenever his eyes fell shut. Fuck, she had been his anchor, the antidote to his nightmares, but yet the fear of letting her even closer still managed to push her away, preferring to stay away from her rather than being plagued by worries about her. Whatever grasp she had on his heart, he needed to get away from it, needed to leave her behind  – otherwise he’d go insane, otherwise he’d lose his last drop of sanity.

With one last yawn leaving him, Tommy felt his grasp on reality slip, lured into darkness by the tiredness clinging to his bones. 

……

The first thing Tommy felt was the cold. It crept in through the thickest curtains, the warmest socks and the most sturdy of walls. No blanket, no stone or wood, not even the most expensive of coats, could keep the cold away for long. Perhaps because it never left. Sometimes Tommy thought, it lingered in them, like mist over a lake, only sometimes retreating from burning coals or candles, but never quite leaving. Always waiting for a chance to strike again. By now he was almost sure the cold had found its way inside him too, curling inside him like it curled inside the walls of any place he had ever known. It had lingered in the plain wooden walls of the boat he had been born in, and the painted ones of the wagon that had been passed down generation from generation to find its current resting place in Charlie’s yard. It had always been in the gray walls of Watery Lane. The smoke and steam of the factories could chase away the snow and ice, but never the cold. He even found it in the walls of Arrow House. Or maybe he had brought it here, carrying it with him like all the other trinkets he had collected over his life, the first coin he had ever earned, the first bullet that had ever been dug out of him, a piece of mane from the first horse he had ever called his own. 

Now the cold had stretched out its pale fingers into his joints, making his knees ache as much as his fingers did. The fire must’ve gone out in the night. 

A curse slipped from his lips as he sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands for some warmth. They were stiff and strained as if he had been riding in the snow for hours. 

If only his dreams were that gentle to him. 

“Did I wake you?” He heard a woman say. 

His head snapped up immediately, searching for the sight of her dark hair, and her even darker eyes. He found her soon, sitting at the edge of the table, a cutting board in front of her. Busy, always busy. That was a good sign. The restlessness was innate to them, Polly said, once their hands stilled, that was when trouble came. 

“I wanted to surprise you,” she said, offering him a half smile as she brushed her hair out of her face with the back of her hand. “Do you like the sound of that? A Christmas surprise to make it extra special?”

His mouth went dry as he looked at her. He knew her. He knew the shade of her apron and could place each spot where it had been darned with greater certainty than he could place English cities on a map. He knew the curl of the shorter strands of her hair whenever she was out in the rain, or cooking with steam, the ones that framed her face. He knew that her fingernails, even if he could not see them now, would be bitten down all the way. 

Yes, Christmas was always special. It had to be special. 

Travellers didn’t like registries. Most didn’t know the dates of their birth, some not even the month. But Christmas was the same day every year. Christmas was the day when they could be sure to celebrate on the right one. And they did. In the good years, at least. 

“Look, Tom,” she said, putting the knife down, a strange look in her eyes. “I know you’re disappointed I didn’t take you with me on the road this summer, but now we’ll have a nice Christmas, you and me and the rest. And then, when the snow melts on the hills, we can try to go on the road together. You can ride your pony all on your own.”

She had tried, hadn’t she? She had stayed longer than she ever had before, almost until easter. Until the snow in the mountains was almost gone. They had even set the date, and he had packed and repacked his bags every night to be ready come morning, so that he would not miss it. 

Then there had been the fight. He remembered the shouting from below, his father’s booming voice, the shattering of glass and then the silence. Come morning, she had been gone, and she had even taken the pony too, so he had no chance of rushing after her. 

“If you want to, you can help me with the chestnuts,” she said, gesturing with her knife. 

He could see them now, laying in front of her. It was the biggest pile of chestnuts he had ever seen. Stolen, he thought now, just like the three oranges, and the chocolate. 

It had gotten old and brittle, tasting nothing like the silky smooth ones he had tried in Paris, the ones that melted on the tongue. While it wouldn’t even come close to the best chocolate Tommy had ever tasted, it had been the one he enjoyed the most. 

He found himself reaching for it, his fingers just an inch short of reaching it, when she slapped his hand away. 

“Wait for your siblings,” she said, a scowl on her face. “It’s for us all to share.”

He held his breath, waiting for her to say what she had said all those years ago, with that mischievous smile of hers that he had seen more times in John than he had ever gotten to see it in her. 

“Although…they won’t know one’s missing, will they?” She asked, piercing one with the knife and holding it up between them. 

“What do you say, Tom? It’ll be our little secret.” With that she drove the knife down on the board, splitting the small piece of chocolate in two. 

“Christmas is supposed to be special, isn’t it?”

~~~~~~

The last time it had been the cold that woke him, and its ruthlessness that had kept him awake. Now it was the noise, the grating, neverending screams, the wails echoing not just within their rooms but passing through the walls that separated their house from the next. 

And just like back then, it jolted him, made his stomach twist and his chest clench. 

Even now, despite everything, he had never been good with screaming. Although back then he had thought it was the worst sound of all. That was before he had heard men die. 

That was before he had been forced to hear horses die. 

Still, a screaming child was a sound that would never be easy on his ears, nor one he could ignore, pass on or drown out like other men. Or maybe they couldn’t either. 

Perhaps the same thing that made them flee to the pub or reach for the bottle was born from the same desperation that made his throat close all those years better. He had wanted to flee, but he had nowhere to flee to. Besides, if he fled, no one would be left. 

The memory returned the agonising feeling in his chest as if the construct of time had crumbled, between the boy he saw then and the man he was now. Because he was a boy. His hair was long, his eyes sunken, and his cheeks pale, even for winter. 

He looked like he hadn’t slept, and Tommy knew he hadn’t. How could he?

Perhaps it had been a saving grace, that the baby kept him up, or Ada having nightmares, or John crawling into their mother’s bed, finding it colder than it had been even when their parents still shared it. If it hadn’t been them it would have been Polly waking screaming from her night terrors, fighting nothing but her ghosts and regrets, or Arthur stumbling home drunk. 

With sleep, came nightmares. Though back then, the boy thought he was living in the worst one. That was before he knew what nightmares were, and looking at him now, Tommy wouldn’t blame him. 

“What’s wrong with him?” John asked, glaring at his two brothers, the older and the younger, with nothing but plain disgust on his face. 

The boy only inhaled sharply. not having an answer to share. Back then he had thought sometimes babies screamed just for the hell of it, or perhaps he was letting out his rage against the world, against his mother for leaving, against his father for fleeing, against his eldest brother for fleeing and his aunt for being a drunk, against his second brother for being too stupid to figure out if it was hunger, exhaustion, cold or pain that made him wail. 

With a scowl, John ran off, a face like sour lemon, leaving the boy to return to the kitchen. 

The air was thick with steam and smoke, and even thicker with tension. 

Ada’s face was flushed with rage. 

“No!” She insisted, her voice cracking like a whip. “I don’t! I don’t want it with cream, You ruined it!”

“Ada, it’s not ruined-,” Polly tried, her hands shaking too much to light the match for her cigarette. 

“Yes it is!” She snapped. “It’s never with cream. Mum always did it without cream because it’s supposed to be without cream!”

She screamed the last two words, tears shining in her dark eyes. 

She was wrong of course. Their mother didn’t always do it without cream, although there were little things she always did. Always would imply routine, certainty even, reliability. That wasn’t possible with their mother, not even in her death could they count on her absence. She’d come to haunt them in dreams. 

But Ada didn’t know that. She was younger than Tommy, and remembered less. And for all her faults, their mother had tried to make them a nice Christmas. When Polly didn’t respond in the way Ada wished, or in any way, she continued her tirade.

“It’s properly ruined! You ruined the cake and you ruined Christmas!”

“It’s the way I do it,” Polly said, her finger slipping again. She was too drunk to hold the match to catch the spark. 

“It’s wrong!” Ada snapped, trying to force back her sobs. 

“Ada, it’s a bloody cake!” The boy insisted, rocking the baby with his arm in a futile attempt to get him to stop screaming. 

“Well I don’t want it!” She snapped. “I don’t want the cream, I don’t want the cake and I don’t want Christmas!”

She didn’t have to say what she wanted. Tommy knew, then as he did now. She wanted the man back who’d lift her up to sit on his shoulders when he was sober and in a good mood. She wanted the woman back who’d sing to her and braid her hair. She wanted the family back that wasn’t wholly and utterly broken. 

The boy couldn’t give it to her, and the man knew that little girl would have to lose her family once more. 

“Where’s Arthur?” Polly asked the boy as she, having discarded the cigarette, reached for the bottle of gin. 

“Getting drunk.” The boy replied, and Tommy still remembered what he had thought. 

Like I want to. Like I should. But he couldn’t. 

That would leave them here alone, in the first Christmas without. They ought to fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. A mother without children. Children without a mother. 

But it had felt so wrong. 

Now Tommy wondered when it had begun to feel right, not then of course, not in the year after that. He didn’t know when, only that it had. The knocking on the door startled the baby to cry again, making him curse the interrupter before he had even put the baby down and walked towards it. 

Arthur didn’t knock and he wouldn’t be drunk enough yet to return. A gust of cold wind came as soon as he opened the door just a bit, the winter air being whipped through the narrow streets of Small Heath. 

“Happy Christmas, Tom,” she said, her voice muffled by the scarf she had wrapped around her head almost completely. 

The boy tensed. Tommy could see it in his shoulders. He had been upset by her use of the word “Happy” and by the sheer audacity of her to say something like that to him, to them, now. 

“I, ah, look!” She said, handing him a basket. Tommy didn’t have to see to know. Five gingerbread men. 

“These were left over from the bakery when we closed earlier. Mr Higgins gave us some to take home. Thought you’d like some.”

Five gingerbread men in a basket, wrapped in a white cloth. Tommy remembered the look of them, and the taste of them too, though he only had little. Both Ada and John had liked them enough to get distracted by them for a bit, first playing with them like they were dolls, and finally hacking off legs and arms and heads to eat them. 

He could see the look in her eyes, the expectation. 

“If you want, I can set them up in the kitchen,” she said. 

“They’re just gingerbread men,” the boy said. “Nothing to set up.”

She shifted, glancing downward. “Just offerin’.”

Tommy knew now what the boy didn’t, what she was actually asking. What she was actually offering. The boy was too caught up in his own misery to see the outstretched hand, and so instead quickly said that the house was getting cold and that he had to shut the door. 

“Oh alright. I better go then.”

Once more she had that expectation in her eyes, the spark that just waited for the right breath of air to ignite a warm, comforting fire. But it never came. 

The door was shut and locked, the basket taken into the kitchen, and Tommy was left alone in the corridor, as alone as the girl out there in the wind, making her way home. 

“Gingerbread. Ada’s favourite. And yours.”

His head snapped up, seeing the figure sitting on the stairs. Her hair was open for the occasion, with a wreath of holly that she wore like a crown. 

Seeing her here, in this house, on that day made his eyes burn. He almost wanted to lunge at her. 

But perhaps this was her hell, her purgatory, seeing the consequences of her absence, witnessing all their pain and desperation she had left in her wake. But he didn’t want her to suffer. He wanted her to be there. She smiled as she glanced at the kitchen door. 

“You know she lied, don’t you, Tom?” She asked, when from the kitchen the boy called his younger siblings. 

“Course,” he said. 

Mr Higgins was a man as greedy as he was mean. He didn’t give away anything for free. Once Tommy had heard her say that he’d eat himself to death before sharing a crumb. 

Either she’d have stolen them, which meant getting the price deducted from all the girl’s pay, or it would have come out of her salary, little as it was. 

John came rushing first, passing by the woman sitting on the steps, not knowing she was even there. Ada came more reluctantly, even if she ended up enjoying them more and buying them each year. Little did that girl know that the woman she would grow to be would hire one of London’s most famous, and expensive cake makers to create Gingerbread villages, and castles and boats to celebrate, a new motive each year. That year, a man had to do. 

“Happy Christmas, Tom,” his mother said, her eyes piercing through him. 

~~~

He woke with a gasp, hands shooting out to grasp onto the chair he had been sleeping in. An unfamiliar, rather uncomfortable feeling stuck to Tommy, forcing his eyes to blink a few times to adjust to the darkness he was engulfed by. With his eyes finding his clock he let go of a groan, it was already Christmas morning. 

“Tom.” The voice rang in his ears, making his head whip towards the door, only to find his room still empty. His heart was pounding, trying to shake his mother’s voice, hoping that the rather strange dream he had been plagued by would finally let him rest. But the voice called out to him once again, even as he cupped his face in his cold hands, desperately chasing the silence that had been ripped from him.

“It’s Christmas, Tom. You need her.” Her? Tommy caught the question before it could leave him, not wanting to speak out, scared that he was now going insane. He tried to shake his head, tried to rise with trembling limbs, though something clung to him, something his eyes couldn’t see. “Christmas is supposed to be celebrated with your loved ones, isn’t it?” 

He heavily swallowed, reaching for a cigarette in hopes of being able to let the memory of his mother finally rest. The blue smoke left his nostrils like a wave clashing through the streets he had once roamed as a young boy, with his siblings in tow. 

“Find her, Tommy, it’s never too late.” 

……

“Tommy? What are you doing here?” She was wearing her thin dressing gown, wrapping it tightly around herself as her wide eyes kept staring at him. Tommy cleared his throat, hands fumbling with his cap. For a few moments he struggled to meet her eyes, stepping on the cigarette he had finished smoking. 

“We’re supposed to spend Christmas with the people we love, aren’t we?” It was just a whisper, and yet the words were all too clear to (y/n) like bullets piercing her trembling body. The cold nibbled on her skin as she kept holding onto the door, watching snow settle on Tommy’s frame. 

All she could do was nod her head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. His words still rang in her ears, reminding her that “I will spend it with my family, as I do every year”. 

“I guess sometimes I’m not the smartest man, even though it pains me to say so.” Both chuckled in unison, Tommy took a slow step towards (y/n), and yet he still kept some distance between them. “I love you, (y/n), and I’d like it if you’d spend the next few days with me and my family.” She reached for his coat, pulling Tommy in for a searing kiss, drowning the gasp rumbling through the surprised man. 

Slowly Tommy guided her back inside, door falling shut with a thud as he shuffled out of his coat, falling to the ground with his cap following. They didn’t break the kiss, not as he picked her up, not as he carried her towards her bedroom. Only as Tommy carefully placed her down on the mattress did they part, allowing (y/n) to watch him undo his vest, taking his time as he undressed one by one. 

“You’re a strong headed idiot, Tommy Shelby, you’re painfully oblivious sometimes. And yet I can’t help but love you.” His fingers froze, eyes burning into hers. It took Tommy longer than he’d like to admit to snap out of his trance, lips finding hers again with a soft “I love you too, so very much” rumbling through him. 

Within moments both found themselves pressed together, naked bodies falling back into their all too familiar rhythm. They were a mess of tangled limbs, of racing hearts, and swollen lips, a mixture so loving, Tommy couldn’t help but wonder if he was still stuck in a dream. An almost melancholic feeling flushed through Tommy, momentarily taking him back to his rather confusing dreams. 

(Y/n) whispered his name as if it was a prayer one would only speak on Christmas, needing to keep one another close, wanting to fully pull him into her trap. He interlaced his fingers with hers as he slowly pushed into her, watching her eyes flutter close with a gasp leaving her. She was even more beautiful at that very moment, so beautiful Tommy wished he could freeze the moment to paint her.

His thrusts weren’t rushed, they were almost too slow for (y/n), though the way he looked at her, with so much love swimming in his pupils, seemed to be just enough to satisfy the moaning woman. She clung to him, fingernails scratching at his shoulders, scared that he’d let go of her all too abruptly, not giving her a chance to fully love him.

“Never let me go again, Tommy, promise me.” Her moans rolled off her tongue as he began to meet the one spot that left her gasping, seeing the brightest stars. He dipped his head down, kissing her throat as he spoke his sweet promise, words so loving, (y/n) feared her heart would rot from the love it felt. 

“May I die by my promise. I won’t ever let go again.” Their hearts were pounding in sync, roaring in their chests, louder and louder with every passing moment. Both kept holding eye contact, not wanting to miss their loving, lust-filled expressions. They were addicted, made for one another like Paris and Helen, like Orpheus and Euridice. Ancient lovers reborn at this very moment.

She came with a gasp, back arched off the mattress, pressed against his front. Tommy once again pressed kisses against her throat as he kept snapping his hips, needy for his own high. He didn’t let go of (y/n) as he followed her down the edge, imprinting himself on her walls, groaning her name with a smirk tugging on his lips. 

“Merry Christmas, love.”

[the-midnight-blooms]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴀᴍᴏᴜʀ

previously titled: sanguine metal and pearl

pairing: vampire!song mingi x accusedwitch!reader

AU: fantasy au

word count: 5.8k

warnings: violence

ATEEZ as angst tropes series:

Hongjoong | Seonghwa | Yunho | Yeosang | San | Mingi | Wooyoung | Jongho

masterlist

Trope: Betrayal

Thunder cracked across the sky, the rain beating down on the earth, wind hitting against the frail leaves as a hollow figure dashed across the drenched field. Her boots squelched beneath her feet as she tiredly trudged, panicking as she attempted to seek solace in the large abandoned manor on the hill. By no means did she expect it to be inhabited with as much as warmth, but anything was better than the coarse battering of the rain provoking her skin. Her pale fingers squeezed against the slash penetrated across her abdomen-blood oozing out of the wound like a scarlet river. Beads of sweat formed on her upper brow; heavy pants silenced by the harsh winds. At last, she reached the cobbled roads no longer restrained by the depth of the muddy grass, sprinting down the path. Out of sheer habit, her fists pounded loudly against the wooden door, rapping at the knocker not long before she jerked the door handle. Her body pushed into the foyer, hastily parrying the biting winds the loud slam venerating the hallways.

A quiet sigh escaped from her lips; her eyes fluttered shut relishing the warmth of the atmosphere that eased the tension in her muscles. Despite this, she had lost too much blood. Her dress, her hands all soaked red- the objects in her line of sight all bleeding together. With an agonising wheeze she dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, her mind racing at a million miles per minute.

I could die like this I suppose, at least it’s warm.

A sudden of rush of emotions overcame her, fatigue moulding into sadness as she recollected how she got there. Where a storm now brewing outside the bow windows, the translucent glass blocked some of the light that spilt into the dark foyer- when she came home a few hours ago, the air was soft smelling of the sweet musk of honeydew and freshly cut lawn. The sun was nowhere to be seen, but the white clouds hung in the sky. Painful coughs trickled up her throat, blood dribbling from her lips onto the wooden floorboards her head clouded by the pain- at once tearing her away from the pastoral fantasy. Mind rocking back and forth, stumbling on the thin line between consciousness and unconsciousness.

Through the slits of her shutting eyes, she sought a tall, dark figure looming over her- her body elevating from the ground. Perhaps it was the Grim Reaper taking mercy on her, ready to return to her parents’ side. For his ominous eyes bored into her own, her soul magnetised by its enigma.

Death is a beautiful man.

Peering through the windows of his warm study, the fireplace was lit the embers spitting as the flames oscillated beneath the cracked marble. Rain shot down from the sky, hammering against the porcelain tiles, infiltrating down the drain leading to the gutter as he sought a figure staggering down his pavement.

‘Manyeo’ he heard the servants whisper through the kitchen walls of his almost desolate home. Witch. But there could be no such creature. Not when he had lived through centuries, rendered an immortal being by mortals who distinguished the same face being transplanted down through generations. Just how strong was his family’s genetics really? He respected her resilience, despite the pain boiling within her human flesh she made her way to the door of his home. Mingi ripped himself away from the window, stalking out of his room.

The hallways were much larger than one would anticipate, not all them were covered with wallpaper, but the walls were particularly dark basking his view. They were littered with more candelabras, elegantly carved Greek statues, brushed with a few cobwebs indicating its age and neglect. Paintings embraced the lurid walls, particularly renaissance paintings of the past including many figures rendered to thoughtful positions encrusted in pale browns, reds, soft creams and light blues blending together to create an image of classism. After descending down the staircase, he reached the foyer a feminine figure draped across the floorboards her scarlet red blood blessing the ground beneath her. Slipping his slender fingers around her body, he encased her fragility within his strong grasp holding her close to his chest.

Sunlight streamed in through the crevices of the white chiffon curtain, whirling with the warm breeze that emptied into the large room. With the air brushing at her soft skin, her eyes fluttered open staring at the canopy ceiling above her. A distressing grunt left her as she adjusted her position- sitting up back pressed against the headboard. Instinctively, her hands reached towards where the stab wound was, lifting the hem of the cotton white dress to reveal a roll of bandages securely wrapped the whole way around her stomach. Someone had stitched her up. With furrowed eyebrows, her eyes travelled the breadth of the room. The walls were plastered in ivory green wallpaper, detailed with golden floral patterns. Beside her was a small nightstand, above was an unlit brass candelabra, burgundy red leather-bound books with ochre spines. The canopy bed was draped with white netting, the plush cream bed covers softening her stiff limbs inviting her back to sleep. Persisting against her tiredness, she crawled out of the bed- chilliness shooting up her as her feet dipped onto the floorboards.

Above the dressing table held a large mirror, reflecting her thinning figure lacking the liveliness that it used to have, dark circles embodying her youthful eyes. A crisp card note embedded with dark ink, folded in half grabbed her attention.

Miss Min,

I hope you are feeling much better after a long bed rest. If you feel yourself able, I would like to request for you to dine with me tonight. Please help yourself to any of the dresses in the wardrobe, see it as your own for the duration of your stay here at Song’s Manor.

I shall hope to see you soon,

Your saviour.

Who was this man? How did he know her name? Was the manor not supposed to be empty? The townspeople claimed so, yet they weren’t the brightest or trusting of people. She was still, yet, naïve for believing their words despite all their dishonest allegations. A witch. Out of all the things they deemed her, for being an academically inclined woman at that. With her mother passing early on her childhood, her father, a scholar, was left to take care of her upbringing. What could a man teach her about the ways of the household and domesticity? So, naturally, he taught her all that he knew which was the art mathematics and science. She spent the most of her adolescence cooped up on the brown leather chair analysing diagrams from scientific journals; helping her father with his research by transcribing his words and knowledge as his health dwindled. After his own passing, she was left to survive for herself and with the uprise of paranormal activity in her town- the people pointed a finger towards the scholarly woman. For when people are afraid, they point towards the most estranged person they know.

Dressed in a floor length black dress, black lace netted over the cotton fabric- large bell sleeves covered her thin arms. The dress accentuated her figure in all the right places, addressing the curves of her body that she had not noticed up until now. Her long hair was clipped back by a silver claw clip- she felt everything on her body was too rich to belong there. It was hard to believe that this was one of the simplest dresses amongst the ball gowns hung in the old chestnut wardrobe. Her hands had rifted through reams of silk, satin, chiffon, mesh, cotton of a consistent maroon red, creams, ivory white and black colour palette. There was the occasional green and blue, but the colours so deep it felt like delving into the depths of an uncharted sea.

A small knock venerated through the room, the wooden door creaking open as a timid pair of eyes peeked into the room, the maid slipped in straightening her posture.

“Count Song requests your presence in the dining room, Miss Min.” She felt astounded by the endearment- despite her father being an astute scholar she was never held on a pedestal among others, she was simply one head in a crowd of masses. Miss Min followed after the maid, every step feeling like she was treading on sharp glass, the skim of the substance penetrating her-dreading the cauterise of a thousand hot blades on her skin. Her mind rinsed with the memory of him piercing his knife through her abdomen, every time she closed her eyes-even if it was just to blink- she relived that moment over and over.

The maid had led her into the dining room. The oak dining table stretched over the length of the whole room, patterned with black leather chairs which in itself was probably worth more than her whole home. The dining room was painted scarlet red, and much like the rest of the home, the walls were encased with grand paintings which she had only seen in books. At the top of the table stood a tall man, clad black velvet. With his sharp jawline and narrow eyes, he feigned an intimidating impression, the shadows loomed ominously in his presence leaping of his slender body as if ready to latch and destroy anything in its path. He drifted forward, as if being carried by the shadows that substantiated him. He could only be the infamous Count Song, owner of the manor she once perceived as deserted.

“Miss Min. How do you feel?" he questioned, his deep voice sending a shiver down her spine.

"I'm fine, thank you so much for your hospitality, Count Song." She claimed, ignoring the frequent pangs of pain that seared through her. Her vision blurred ever so slightly-the defined features of his blending together, yet still creating a perfect picture at that.

"There's no need for formalities, you can call me Mingi." He introduced. At once, the suggestive smirk moulded into a warm smile revealing the dimples that adorned his pale cheeks. Her lips formed his name; to soundlessly masticate the vowels on her tongue- it tasted so natural to her. "Come, you must be hungry." He led her to the top of the dining table, adjacent to where his own seat was, pulling it out in a gentlemanly manner. A blush crept on her cheeks as she sat down. A mere minute later, servants compiled into the room, an array of dishes covering the vast half of the large table. Her widened eyes instilled a chuckle from Mingi, he watched with adoration.

Miss Min was a beauty, a sight to behold. All the light in the room revered her, shining towards her figure ever so specifically- so much that you would think she was the beacon herself. The black dress hugged her figure so perfectly, he wanted nothing more than to snake his hand around her waist and pull her closer to him. The smell of her blood so divine, it was driving him insane. He bit his lip, hands balling up into fists as if to hold himself back from digging his teeth into the curve of her gleaming neck. Once the servants had fled from the room, he reached forward to cover her plate with a bit of each dish served before them.

"Mingi-," he silenced her with a hard stare.

"Hush now, you need as much food as you can get. How would you get better otherwise?" This sudden solidarity had startled her, no less. When was the last time someone had given her this much attention? She became so used to fending for herself, that help of others was so foreign to her. Perhaps this was all temporary and Mingi was seeking something from her in return of his services.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did you know my name?" she questioned, as soon as he compiled a few dishes onto his own plate-reaching for the fork. He stopped, slipping his hand inside his suit jacket, pulling out a black book with her name engraved on the front.

"This was in your cloak." Cloak, a word that disgusted her. Almost made it seem like she was a real witch. He settled the book down next to him- tentatively, she grabbed it, flicking through the pages to see if any of the loose sheets she'd placed in there had fallen out. The chances were that they had when she was making her way up the hill. “Took me a while to get my head around that satanic scripture.” He joked, raising the wine glass to his lips. Her head snapped toward him. Cloak. Satanic scripture. What did he know and what was he trying to imply?

My, my, Miss Min. You are sharp.

Mingi held her confounded stare for a few moments before gesticulating for her to eat the food he’d so kindly put on her plate.

“What are you trying to imply, Mr Song?” She challenged, there was no point beating around the bush. If he, as so much thought that she was one of the devils men- then she was treading in the enemy’s territory. She deduced the secretive airs around him, the way he paused before speaking choosing his words carefully.

“I might not get out of the house much but that doesn’t mean I don’t have my eyes and ears everywhere. Did you not think for a second I wouldn’t question why there’s a woman bleeding out to death on my doorstep?”

“If you were wondering so, then you didn’t need to invite me to eat with you. You could’ve asked me the second I woke up and I would have told you.”

“Oh I know you would have, Miss Min. But what kind of man would I be, if I didn’t put food before a starving woman? So, eat your food and if you don’t like it then I can get you something else.” He instructed, salient eyes burned into her own, tearing her stare away she stuck the fork into plate- engulfing her meal hungrily, but in a civilised enough manner that the man beside her didn’t think she was an animal. They ate their food in tense silence, Miss Min still eager to galvanise answers out of him. Mingi scoured through the depths of her mind finding nothing that wasn’t already new to him. Just a young soul brimming with beauty and inquisition. At the end of the night. Mingi escorted her back to her quarters-the pair loitering outside of her door. Mingi, unable to leave until he knew she had gone into the room, and herself thinking of something-anything- that would eradicate the taut atmosphere. She pushed her door open, thanking her saviour for his hospitality. Sometimes it was better to say nothing, than something. Deep down she felt that he would not leave her questions unanswered. Regardless, whatever it was that he was hiding from her- she took it upon herself to find out. One way or another.

A gold, rusted candelabra rested in her palms as she sauntered through the desolate hallways. It had been a while since their last encounter; Mingi's latency around the manor was absent. She tried to pry the maids for information in lieu of her nosiness but they all dismissed her inquisitiveness, instead doting over her lecturing her to rest and take care of herself. A sense of pain still provoked her bearings despite all this rest she was advised to take, deciding the best cure to her apathy was to give herself that tour that Mingi did not give her. Avoiding the steps that descended to the ground floor, she took the staircase leading the the upper floor hands gliding up the railing to secure some stability, she still felt her head rocking from side to side- heavy pants fleeting from her aching lungs as she wandered to the upper floor. The second floor stretched out into a long hallway, around six black, wooden doors all equidistant from each other. To her dismay, three out of six were locked and two were simply storage rooms holding boxes of trinkets, dusty furniture, a grand piano, cello; some other boxes contained velvet curtains, bed spreads and just other menial household items. Reaching for the copper doorknob, she twisted the handle pushing it open to reveal another set of staircases that led further up the building. From the outside, the manor looked to only have two floors, the high ceilings feigning an impression of many more. Shutting the door behind to preserve the warmth, she glided up the staircase, nudging through yet another door before entering a large space. The light from the flame flooded into the room, this room was much more fastidious than the rooms below with white sheets draped over the furniture; carefully arranged in parallel rows either side of the room. Amongst the walls held portraits, an array of people all dressed in the clothing that was deemed fashionable of its time. They were all encrusted in deep reds, velvety purples, pearl necklaces wrapped around their necks. A certain figure on the walls, drew her, his face similar to that of Mingi's. There seemed to be several that masked his features, all dressed differently-as if his face was a family heirloom surpassing generations.

Her eyes latched onto a book perched on top of one of the tables, a thick layer of dust coated on the front cover. Reaching for the book, she wiped away the dust with the sleeve of her arm, erupting into a fit of coughs as the particles entered her nose. Through the little light, her eyes barely made out the writing engraved across the front.

‘Mr and Mrs Song’

“What are you doing up here?” His deep voice bellowed into the attic, startling her. "What's that in your hand?" Clutching the book to her chest, Mingi grabbed at the candle holding it towards his face, his dark eyes glared at her a look of question fulfilling his features.

"It's mine." she blurted, he raised an eyebrow-almost amused by her proclamation. She cleared her throat, looking down at her feet in embarrassment. "I mean...I got it from the library. I also got a little bored. So I thought I'd explore." The cold look on his face softened, as he watched her stumble a little, leaning on the table for support.

"You're still in pain, you could have explored the castle later. Or asked me.” He offered.

“I’m beginning to think you’re nocturnal, Count. It’s actually appalling to see you’re gallivanting through your own hallways in the early evening.” Mingi shook his head whilst rolling his eyes.

“Maybe you’ve just been missing me.” A playful smirk held up on his sweet lips. She wanted to reach out and touch them, hold her fingers on his lips for a while. See what it would feel like to have his skin pressed against hers. The thought itself astounded her. His beauty was certainly a thing to behold but where had she conjured such thought from? “Come with me, Miss Min. We’ll gallivant through our hallways together,” His outstretched hand gesticulated for her to join him. They sauntered down the corridor, the book pressed against her chest. A maid rushed over to them, panting heavily.

"There is a man demanding to see you master. He goes by the name of Choi San." Her blood ran cold, limbs paralysed as the name reverberated at her core. Choi San, the town's exorcist had been the one to spread the word of her 'witchcraft', he had also been the one to plunge his 'holy' dagger into her stomach. Mingi stalked towards the entrance, the maid scuttling back to her duties. Hesitantly, she followed after him descending declining the steps. Listening carefully, she heard San introduce himself listing his many revered titles. 'Priest, Merchant, Scholar'. Yet it didn't take a genius to figure out that San was no god-fearing man and cleverly manipulated the townspeople's naivety to create his own rules and have them bending to his will. If anything, he thought he was God's greatest gift on earth.

"I believe you have something that belongs to me." Looking up at the top of the stairs, he shot her a devious smile. "Why don't you come down for me, dear?" Her body trembled, moving further down the steps. Hiding behind Mingi’s towering figure, his hand settled on her waist behind his back. San, unimpressed, mockingly cocked his head to the side like a drunken father playing hide and seek with his fearful child.

“This is my wife, you are talking to Mr Choi. Maybe you should reconsider your position whilst you are stood in my house threatening my wife and by extension, me.” Wife? Her heart fluttered, indecently, as Mingi’s grip on her waist tightened. Leaning her head against his back, her eyes shut tightly.

“Very well Count Song, I was unaware of this arrangement. I suggest you tame her. A woman like her does not belong here. This is not the last you'll see of me.” San spat through clenched teeth sending her one last sinister look before departing from the manor. Before Mingi could step forward to argue, she tugged at his arm. A breath of relief of escaped her lips, Mingi turned around to envelop her within his embrace- sinking her head into his chest the warmth from his body soothing her.

“It’s ok, nobody can hurt you now.” Her head piqued up, a grateful smile dancing upon her lips.

“Wife?” She teased, Mingi shrugged- a guilty look forming on his face.

“I didn’t know what else to say. It’s final- you’re staying here now Miss Min, whether you like it or not.” A few days later, Mingi had summoned her to his study. She kicked the album underneath the bed the canopy bed that same day-only to find it missing when she returned to find it. Did he take it? What was in that album that he did not want her to see, aside from the possible fact that she was prying around in his home-looking for answers he would not give her. “You marry me, Miss Min and you’ll have my protection. No man can ever lay his hands on you.” Her eyes flickering back and forth between him and the sheet.

“What’s the catch? What do you get out of this arrangement?” He looked slightly taken aback by her inquest, but which man would willingly spend the rest of his life with her? Mingi frowned a little as he read her thoughts.

“I get the pleasure of your company. Not that in that way, of course.” He quickly clarified, a blush creeping upon his cheeks. How cute. “I promise I won’t keep you bored, you’ll have my undivided attention.” She contemplated the thought. It was clear that she couldn’t go back to her home, her seclusion would only provoke San to go after her again and she couldn’t have that. On the other hand, she barely knew Mingi. How much could she really trust him? Then again, how much choice was she left with?

I guess we’ll find out.

The ink spilled out from the nib, her signature sprawled across the page. How bad could it be to be tied to Song Mingi for eternity?

Oh you little lamb, you have no idea of the being I am.

After the establishment of their matrimony, the pair had become a lot more distant than that was usual of a married couple. Miss Min felt it in her to be the wife that her mother was for her father, but did not know how. Mingi felt it in him to be more affectionate or available but his nocturnal nature prevented him from doing so. The servants had prevented her from entering Mingi's quarters, especially during the day. A pang shot through her at the thought that maybe he was with another woman. Her speculative nature had been suddenly inhibited, every time she thought about Mingi's disappearance during the day- the notions were vanquished substituted with the lies he fed her spinning in her mind like mantra chanted by a camaraderie of soldiers. With the days becoming shorter and nights longer, his presence pervaded the household more often- summoning his wife to his study to drink tea together.

“What is it that you do?” Mingi looked up from his book, as wide-eyed Miss Min settled down her porcelain tea cup. “I mean, what keeps you so busy and away from me?” She thought out loud. Frequent he felt his vampiric essence was a curse. He wanted to close to her, without feeling the urge to sink his teeth into her neck. He wanted to hold her in the light of the day, in ways he believed she should be held.

“The boring stuff, like tax collecting, administrative duties, trade. All the stuff that everyone dislikes." Particularly her father. He would always have the tax collectors at their door, every month because he was too invested in his work-he'd forget about his taxes.

"That does sound incredibly dull." Her heart fluttered again at his intoxicating smile. "Does that mean you're somewhat good at maths?" Mingi snorted. Whilst he had been occasionally praised on his academics (a thousand years back when he played the role of a gentry scholar), he knew he didn't hold the admiration for it as much as she did. It was small moments like these which bridged the distance between the two. The tea in his office during the late afternoon had become a ritual for the pair.

One night Mingi was fixated upon writing his report to his superior, when a servant scuttled in.

"Mr Choi has requested to see you again, Master." Placing down his ink nibbed pen, Mingi let out deep sigh permitting the priest to enter his study. A broad-shouldered man strolled into the room, face wrought with wickedness.

"Can I help you, Mr Choi?"

"It's Father Choi, Count Song. I shall hope god forgives you for your disrespect." Mingi bit his tongue, impatience seething through him as he echoed San's devious stare. "It's rather, I can help you. It has come to my attention that there have been reported cases of paranormal activity around the manor." The vampire snickered, knowing it was better to stay relaxed. Throughout his lifetime, he'd been accused of immortality, the matter resolved dubiously.

"Is that so, Father-" San held out his hand, silencing the vampire. Mingi wanted nothing more than to grapple his hands around the man's neck.

"There's no hiding from me. I know you're a vampire Song." Each word felt like taunt, an attempt to instil a sense of action from Mingi that would only prove San's 'allegation' against him. "And I have the cure you've been looking for."

Mrs Song, sped down the hallway to her husband's office. Eyebrows furrowed as she noticed San being escorted out by a maid, attired in the typical black silk gown suited for his position. Staggering to the door, she swooped into the office-ignoring Mingi's dazed look and the formalities.

“What did he want?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about him. Come over here.” Gently, he pulled her into his laps. Slightly irked by his dismissal, she leant into his touch, fingers circulating through his hair. For a moment, her mind went cloudy, envisioning a blur of a figure transcending down the hallway next to a servant, the throbbing sensation in her temple deepened. Maybe it was just a group of maids making their way to their quarters. “Darling Miss Min, the treasure of my heart, please would you do me the honour of accompanying me in the rose garden?” Playfully, she hummed pretending to be contemplative.

“Darling Mr Song, it would be my honour to accompany you in the rose gardens. Though it's too dark out, how would we see anything?"

"Never mind that, I find that thing's are much more peaceful in the night than during the day."

"Let's just stay here like this." Slumping down a little, she curled up in a ball resting her head against his chest, eyes closed as a shot of pain seethed through her. Her rationality was decomposing, and she hated every moment of it.

All she could think about was Mingi. All she wanted was Mingi. To feel the strong hold of his arms around her forever, to feel the brush of his lips against her skin, forever. Is this what it felt like to love? To adore? Goodness, she used to chastise such emotion primarily because she had felt the predatory gaze of men her whole life but when Mingi looked at her, it was if she embodied of the moon itself. For he, a dead being, felt his heart beat again at the mere sight of her. There was something so pure and domestic about the fact she was wrapped up in his arms, falling asleep to his whispers.

As she had promised Mingi, she accompanied him through his luscious rose gardens- an abundance of deep red roses enamouring the air. Her husband was correct, there was a beauty to the night relinquishing all of the fears that one associated to it. The moon hung serenely in the night, scintillating down at her husband. With the twisting of his stare, she snapped her head back toward the roses. Suddenly, the rain began to heavily beat down, the wind nipping at their skin. Encompassing her smaller hand into his, he dragged her back into the manor. A heavy thud emulated, as he tightly fixed the door. The pair exhaled synchronously, before he led her back to her room. With the candles already the lit, the heat juxtaposed from the chaos of the weather relaxing her muscles.

Mingi stared down at her, enraptured in her beauty. He could not help himself as he glazed his fingers over her skin. Erratic breaths infiltrated the air, leaning closer and closer to each other.

"I need you in all the ways holy and sinful, my dear. I want you as mine, eternally." I love you.

“I’m yours.” She breathed out, lulled by the intensity of their emotions. That was all it took for him to break. His touch eradicated the symphony of aches seething within her bones, the taste of him like opium reaching back for more and more. She could not get enough of him, and him her. Everything about the way the ardour flooded through them that night was divine and if it was all just a passionate dream she didn’t want to wake up. She could spend the rest of eternity stuck within this dream and she wouldn’t complain.

“If I asked you to follow me, without telling you where I was going, would you come with me?” He asked her one evening, tangled in each other’s arms in her room. Her finger drew down the bridge of his nose, over the curvature of his pink, plump lips.

“I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.” She announced. I'd follow you anyway for I am your devoted slave. His dimpled smile and siren eyes, pulled her off her bed taking her to the opposite ends of the manor. As they approached deeper into what seemed to be Mingi’s quarters- it became much more colder. The windows were obscured by thick black velvet, hallways narrower and not a single candelabra in sight to guide them. Yet Mingi seemed to know where they were going, she followed him aimlessly as cattle did to a shepherd.

They glided up a set of staircases, his arms around her waist as glimpsing through the window overlooking the vast lawn. The night was beginning to settle in, the lights from the village evaporating. Resting his chin on her head, he nestled his face into her hair- pressing his lips to the top of it.

A sharp pain protruded through her lower back, an agonising scream terrorising the hallways. Her knees weak from the pain- it was she was being mauled by horses on a race track, their strong legs thumping against her skin. Tormenting sobs illustrated the air, her body sliding down his back- Mingi sinking to the ground with her.

"Oh don't cry my blossom, please."

"How can I not? When you've hurt me. All this time you were just the devil in disguise." Choking on her cries, begging to the Lord to cease her pain.

"I'm not the devil, I am so much worse. For I spoke to him and he begged me not to hurt you. How does even a fallen angel sink to his knees before me?" Tears slid down his cheeks. She had never seen a statue cry before. He had corrupted her so much-even through the incessant pain she wanted to reach out and kiss away his tears.

"Why?" she managed to croak out. Letting out a gasp, his grip on her tightened as he slid out the dagger.

"It's just my nature. I needed you to bring me back to life. You were my key to mortality" He closed his eyes, her body wracking with sobs. San’s words ringing in his head. You have to make a sacrifice, kill the one you love the most in exchange for the gift of mortality. And he had become so deranged with living a thousand years, falling in love with her in each century only to have her taken away from him. Though he had stopped her several times from looking through the album. The truth was that Miss Min’s face lived as long and true as his own. A curse had set upon him when he had first become a vampire, that his lover would be given and torn away from him until the end of time. He just had to kill her this one time to break the cycle, her blood on his hands- the only cure ready to free him from his hellish state of mind.

“I thought you loved me.”

“I do love you. But it’s the things we love the most that are the ones we can’t have. My heart beats to your name. You brought me back to life.” A sudden roar flooded up the hill, the dissonance hitching a breath in her throat.

“You lied to me Song Mingi.” Her shaking hand, attempted to crawl backwards away from him, but with no strength left in her bones- she slipped against the stairs. He took everything from her, all her love, all her purity, all her sanity- moulding it into something that became utilitarian for him. You said nobody could hurt me. You wouldn’t let anyone lay a hand on me. “If I were to be ever reborn, I ask of the heavens to keep me away from you- for being in love with you was the greatest curse that has been bestowed upon me.” In the finality of her receding breaths, her body warped against the staircase- her soul gone with the howl of the wind.

•••

All Right Reserved © the-midnight-blooms

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

‘min’ meaning wisdom

A/N: It honestly feels like such a relief having published this. Mingi I love you so much but why did you give me this much grief? also, i didn’t intend to kill so many people off but i cant hold back i guess 🫣 i hope you guys liked vampire mingi <33

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

[adragonsfriend]

Yoda and the Story of Zhuangzi's wife

We've all heard Yoda's words about letting go in Revenge of the Sith,

"Careful you must be when sensing the future, Anakin. The fear of loss is a path to the dark side…Death is a natural part of life. Rejoice for those around you who transform into the Force. Mourn them, do not. Miss them, do not. Attachment leads to jealousy. The shadow of greed, that is."

It's one of the phrases most often used to call Yoda unfeeling, cold, mean to Anakin, etcetera, and I would like to look at the same lesson presented in nearly the same circumstance, but one with does not have Anakin, and therefore everyone's feelings about Anakin, plastered all over it.

The story of Zhuangzi's wife is a taoist one which was brought up to me as a point of comparison by @tai-feng:

莊子妻死，惠子弔之，莊子則方箕踞鼓盆而歌。惠子曰：與人居長子，老身死，不哭亦足矣，又鼓盆而歌，不亦甚乎。 Zhuangzi's wife died. When Huizi (his friend) went to convey his condolences, he found Zhuangzi sitting with his legs sprawled out, pounding on a tub and singing. "You lived with her, she brought up your children and grew old," said Huizi. "It should be enough simply not to weep at her death. But pounding on a tub and singing—this is going too far, isn't it?" 莊子曰：不然。是其始死也，我獨何能無概然。察其始而本無生，非徒無生也，而本無形，非徒無形也，而本無氣。雜乎芒芴之間，變而有氣，氣變而有形，形變而有生，今又變而之死，是相與為春秋冬夏四時行也。 Zhuangzi said, "You're wrong. When she first died, do you think I didn't grieve like anyone else? But I looked back to her beginning and the time before she was born. Not only the time before she was born, but the time before she had a body. Not only the time before she had a body, but the time before she had a spirit. In the midst of the jumble of wonder and mystery a change took place and she had a spirit. Another change and she had a body. Another change and she was born. Now there's been another change and she's dead. It's just like the progression of the four seasons, spring, summer, fall, winter." 人且偃然寢於巨室，而我噭噭然隨而哭之，自以為不通乎命，故止也。 "Now she's going to lie down peacefully in a vast room. If I were to follow after her bawling and sobbing, it would show that I don't understand anything about fate. So I stopped."

— Zhuangzi, chapter 18 (Watson translation)

Zhuangzi is perhaps gentler than Yoda in the way he presents the lesson; he leads Huizi through his own thought process to his ultimate conclusion rather than stating a pure philosophical ideal, but his circumstances are also different than Yoda's.

Huizi serves as a stand in for a student listening to the story for the first time. He is totally naive to the lesson Zhuangzi has to teach him.

Anakin comes to Yoda as an adult, seeking advice, not as a child whose every decision should have to be monitored by the adults around him. When Anakin is unwilling to share the details of his situation, it is not Yoda's place to interrogate him for those details or solve his problems for him.

Personally, (no one rip me apart for oversimplifying a little here) I do not interrogate my friends for every detail anytime they say they are having a rough time, no matter how curious I might be. I listen to the details they want to share, ask for clarifying details if they are relevant, and if I am told enough to recognize a way I could help, I offer them that help. If they refuse my help, or do not offer me a way to help, I offer what advice or what comfort I can. I do not barge into their life and start making decisions for them, because they are adults with reasonable understandings of the world and are more capable of making decisions for themselves than I am, no matter how much I want to be able to make all their problems go away.

To put it another way, I let go of my curiosity, my desire to prove myself helpful, and my desire for a perfect world in order to respect the autonomy of my friends by allowing them to decide how to live and what help to accept.

Anakin gives Yoda nothing to work with except that he is having visions of the possible pain, suffering, or death of someone close to him. They are in the middle of a war, there is pain, suffering, and death everywhere. The person closest to Anakin that Yoda knows about is Obi-Wan, another adult that can take care of himself. Frankly, even if Yoda suspected anything, Padmé is an adult who can take care of herself.

Anakin is an adult who comes to Yoda for advice, not a child seeking an intervention, and Yoda offers him the best advice he has, in a manner that Anakin clearly understands, because he responds to the speech by asking,

"What must I do, Master Yoda?"

He understands what Yoda is saying and asks more about what it means for him. This is the moment where he implies, truthfully or not, that he is ready to learn the lesson, and that he can deal with the problem on his own. There is nothing else Yoda can to without more concrete details but offer him a final instruction,

"Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose."

Sometimes the idea that George Lucas had religious inspirations outside of Christianity when it came to the central themes of Star Wars is greatly distrusted in the fandom, but a lot of Star Wars actually validates the fact that he was interested in a lot more than borrowing Samurai aesthetics. It is more common, in my experience, to see the eastern influenced parts of Jedi philosophy denigrated, misunderstood, and over-simplified than the parts which are influenced by christianity.

To me it is difficult, if not impossible, to reconcile concepts of unconditional love and absolute forgiveness without also understanding what it means to let go of attachment.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Eros: Chapter Eight

Eros: Married to Dream of the Endless, you find yourself sent back in time to Ancient Greece where you, unfortunately, meet Oneiros. Fresh off a divorce and drowning the sorrows of his son’s death by indulging in the Panathenaia, you find yourself trapped beneath the lustful gaze of your future husband. In your defense, he seduced you first…

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Material.

To Note: Morpheus x Wife!Reader, Time Travel, Oneiros is used for AncientGreek!Morpheus.

Word Count: ~3.4k

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You know better than to egg your husband on, but you are, after all, a glutton for punishment. So when Morpheus' eyes turn brilliant silver and your world shifts around your naked bodies, you realize you've just provoked him into making a point.

"Beloved, if you are still able to use your legs come the morrow, I am not jealous."

You most definitely are not going to be able to use your legs tomorrow, and probably the day after either. Morpheus' fingers trace a fiery path across your skin, leaving you with a burning desire that matches the intensity of his gaze. The air crackles with anticipation as he draws you closer, his breath hot against your ear.

"You asked for this, my love," he whispers, his voice sending shivers down your spine. And oh, how you welcome the sweet agony of his touch. In a heartbeat, Morpheus lifts you up effortlessly and carries you to your large, plush bed. Every muscle in his body seems to hum with barely restrained power as he lays you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours. The look in his eyes is primal, full of desire and hunger that sends a thrill through your entire being.

His hands roam over your exposed skin, tracing the marks already there and igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume every rational thought. With a low growl, he claims your lips in a searing kiss, a promise of what is to come. Your body responds eagerly to his touch, arching into him as if seeking more, needing more. What a lusty bitch you are being. And he is going to devour every molecule of it.

His lips leave yours as his hands cradle one of your legs, and you watch in rapt attention as he nuzzles the delicate skin of your inner thigh. Then his tongue darts out, tracing a line from your knee to your hip, and you can feel the heat of his breath and the dampness of his tongue against your skin. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you feel your pulse throbbing in your veins, matching the rhythm of his kisses.

With a low groan, he sinks his teeth into the tender flesh of your thigh, blooming marks to match the ones you already have. Pleasure ricochets up your spine, making you twitch. His tongue dances over the bite, soothing and teasing the sting away as he rubs the sensitive area, sending waves of pleasure ebbing and flowing through your body.

The room fills with the sounds of his tongue lapping up the releases clinging to your skin, and you grip the sheets beneath you, your body shaking with need. You moan softly, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you. You open your eyes, and in the dim light, you see him looking up at you, his hungry gaze locking with yours. He smiles, the predator finally unleashed.

His teeth graze your hip, and the pain-pleasure mix sends you into a frenzy, your hips rising to meet him, seeking out more of his relentless touch. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, a living inferno that threatens to consume you whole. His hands tighten around your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he anchors himself to you.

Thus begins the cleanup of your thighs before Morpheus, undoubtedly, makes another mess, this time by his cock. His tongue carves paths along your hypersensitive flesh, collecting the remnants of both you and his younger self, savoring the intoxicating taste.

His tongue continues its dance, teasing and tempting, as he caresses the sensitive nerves leading to the apex of your need. The electric sensations rip through your body, sparking a growing intensity within you. You can feel his breath, warm and moist, against your skin, and when his lips finally meet the delicate and engorged flesh of your cunt, you whine in anticipation.

His tongue plunges deep, teasing and flicking against your most sensitive spots as you moan in pleasure. His rhythm is steady, building your desire to overwhelming heights. You can feel the wetness seeping from your cunt, mixing with the saliva and staining his tongue with your taste.

The room now echoes with the sounds of your passionate cries and the wet slurping of his mouth. You think you can handle it, but as he begins to suck, you find yourself gasping for breath. It is more intense than you could have ever imagined; he is drawing out your essence, and you are helpless to stop him. You grip the sheets as the wave of pleasure begins to crest and crash over you.

His lips are now locked around your clit, his tongue swirling and flicking in a rhythm that has you writhing beneath him. You can feel the orgasm building, an unstoppable force that threatens to consume you whole. You call out his name, pleading for relief as the tension within you grows. Each stroke of his tongue feels like a lightning bolt, jolting through your nerves and intensifying the pleasure.

Your body arches off the bed, your hips bucking wildly as the climax hits you with the force of a thousand suns. You feel your muscles clench and release, your nerves dancing in an ecstatic frenzy. The room pulses with the intensity of your orgasm, the air thick with the scent of your arousal.

As the waves of pleasure subside, you lay there panting, completely spent. Morpheus gently lifts his head, his eyes locked on yours. There is a hunger in his gaze, a promise of more to come. With a knowing smile, he kisses your inner thigh, his warm breath whispering against your skin.

You gaze at him, breathless and swollen with desire. His eyes are dark and intense, mirroring the intensity of your feelings. With a slow, sensual movement, he traces the lines of your body with his fingers, sending shivers of anticipation down your spine.

"You are exquisite," he growls, his voice low and pulsing with a primal energy. "I need you now, more than ever."

Your heart races, the thought of his touch sending waves of warmth through your entire being. With a nod of consent, you pull him closer, your eyes locked on his. His lips meet yours in a passionate kiss, his tongue delving deep, exploring the sweetness of your mouth.

Your fingers now tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. As his lips leave yours, they trail down your neck, his teeth gently nibbling at your skin.

His hands roam your body, tracing the curves and dips with deliberate intention. You can feel the heat radiating from his skin, as if he carries the entire world's desire within him. The room seems to sway around you, lost in the swell of your passion.

As his fingers reach the delicate skin at the small of your back, you let out a soft moan, feeling yourself surrender to his touch. The need within you grows, and as he pulls away from the kiss, you can see it mirrored in his eyes.

He positions himself between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours as he slides inside you. The sensation is one of pure ecstasy, a fusion of two bodies embraced in the raw and primal hunger that has consumed you both.

You know how truly fucked you are when his thrusts start out slow.

Each movement is deliberate, calculated, as if he is savoring every second of the connection between the two of you. His eyes are still locked onto yours, his gaze intense, unwavering.

Your eyes roll back, pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave. Each foray of his hips sends electric pulses through your body, your cunt tightening with every thrust. You can't help but arch your back, meeting him with the same hunger that burns in his eyes. Even the minutes without him felt like eternity to you.

The room becomes a symphony of louder, more passionate sounds, the wet slapping of skin on skin, and shared moans and gasps as the intensity of your connection grows. His hips move faster now, each thrust deeper, driving you both higher and higher into the frenzy of need.

You feel the tension building again in your core, the familiar ache of the orgasm about to consume you. You claw at the sheets beneath you, your nails digging into the fabric as a low, primal growl escapes your lips.

He drives into you harder, his eyes never leaving yours, his gaze now filled with raw lust. The pleasure builds, the release inevitable. Your entire body tenses as the wave of orgasm crashes over you, your cries filling the room as you are consumed by the pleasure.

You hear him growling, his own release imminent, and then he is coming too, hot and explosive as he fills your more than abused cunt with his seed. You feel him collapse on top of you, his body shaking with the aftershocks of his release. Your breaths become synchronized, and you lie there, spent and entwined, the only sounds in the room being your still ragged breathing and the occasional twitch of his hips as the last remnants of his orgasm continue to pulse within him.

When your fingers find his hair and you stroke them through the midnight strands, you feel Morpheus nuzzle his face into your neck. The silent tears you can feel against your inflamed skin almost tear your heart open yet again.

You clutch him closer to you, wrapping your arms tight while curling a leg around his.

“It hurt so much to see you like that,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion. Morpheus' arms constrict, his jaw tight as he kisses the side of your neck. “I couldn’t— I couldn’t just stand around and watch you in pain.”

“Is that why you hid from me?” Morpheus’s words are almost lost against your flesh, but you catch them.

You nod, unable to speak, the pain in your heart echoing the pain in your physical body.

“Oh, Morpheus,” you say softly, “I tried to make it better. I tried so hard to make you forget that pain. But I’m worried I made it worse.”

"Do not speak of such things, beloved," Morpheus murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. He gently pulls back to look into your eyes, his own blazing silver. “You gave me shelter in a time when I had lost myself in my own shortcomings.”

He leans in to kiss you, tenderly brushing his lips against yours, his warmth seeping into your worry-filled heart.

“I do have a question,” you state, your mind lingering on the feral fucking you and Oneiros had spent days partaking in.

"Yes?" he replies, tracing the curve of your cheek with his thumb, still just as amazed and enamored by your beauty as he had been over 2000 years ago. Your gaze turns frank.

“Why haven’t you ever fucked me like that?” Morpheus draws back, the corners of his lips twitching as he considers your question. His eyes never leave yours, and a strange mix of emotions flashes in his gaze before settling into a thoughtful, almost wistful expression.

"You... you mean during the... the time... during your mortal life?" he asks, his voice slightly thick as he struggles to find the words. "You are the one that my being would be destroyed and that the fabric of the universe would unravel should anything ever happen to you," he continues, ever dramatic, his thumb still gently stroking your cheek. Then his eyes darken a shade. “But given your lascivious actions in Panathenaia and insinuations of jealousy…”

“Gird my loins?” you offer with a teasing smirk. Silver glimmers with stars and you sink into your mattress at the look your husband gives you. You really should stop egging your husband on.

His eyes fill with a desire you have never seen before, a hunger that seems to come from a place deep within. And then, without warning, he moves, his lips crushing fiercely against yours as he devours you in a kiss that promises passion beyond anything you could have imagined.

Your heart races as his hands suddenly hold your face, urging you to open your mouth and accept his tongue. You comply, the kiss becoming more intense, fueled by the unspoken desires that have been building between you for eons. You feel his lips exploring every inch of your mouth, his tongue dancing with yours in a rhythm that syncopates with the lustful beating of your hearts.

You press your body against his, your breasts, soft and sensitive, flush against a chest chiseled from sheets of stardust. Your nails dig into his broad shoulders as you kiss him back, lost in the torrent of desire coursing through your veins. The room seems to dance with the pulsating energy of a thousand galaxies, and you can feel the echo of a thousand heartbeats thrumming in sync with yours.

Morpheus's hand drifts down from your face, tracing the curve of your neck, and then moves lower to cup your breast. You moan against his lips, your eyes fluttering as he expertly strokes the sensitive peak with his thumb, blooming a wildfire of sensations that make you squirm beneath him. With each stroke of his thumb, your desire intensifies, and you become increasingly aware of the hard length of his erection pressing against your leg.

“Morpheus,” you gasp in between ferocious kisses that make it difficult to form words. “Stop toying with me!” You make an effort to buck your hips up, basking in the electric feel of his cock sliding against your cunt.

His lips leave yours, trailing up your jawline, and he whispers, "I've wanted this for so long," as he nips at your earlobe. "And I have no intention of toying with you."

With that, he releases your breast and slides his hands down your waist to your hips, pulling you close against him. His erection, now fully erect and pulsing with desire, presses against your soaking sore lips. You whimper softly as he begins to grind against you, both of you lost in the building passion.

His hands drift down to your thighs, his fingers digging into the soft skin as he squeezes and lifts you to wrap your legs around him. You arch your back, your heels digging into his back, meeting his teasing thrusts eagerly. So close but not in you yet.

Morpheus slowly breaks the tender kiss, his warm breath caressing your ear as he whispers, "Let's make love, my beloved. So you may intimately know the one to whom you have promised your heart." The weight of his words hangs in the air, thick and alluring like a foggy night.

As he speaks, he slips the head of his throbbing cock between your dripping folds, slowly pushing into you inch by delicious inch. You cry out at the exquisite sensation, your body trembling with anticipation. He reaches around and cups your breast again, tweaking your sensitive nipple, causing you to air out a strained groan.

You grip his back, your nails digging into his skin, desperate for more of him. The pounding of your heart echoes in your ears as he continues to thrust, his pace becoming more frenzied with each passing second. The room swirls around you, a kaleidoscope of colors and shadows, as your body surrenders to the pleasure he is bringing.

With an overwhelming yearning for release, you let out a guttural moan, his name escaping your lips like a plea. The intoxicating whirlwind of lust consumes you both, drowning out any sense of time or place. Morpheus' laughter echoes around you, a deep rumble that sends shivers down your spine and ignites a fire within you. He intensifies his movements, his body becoming a relentless force upon yours as he delves deeper and harder, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you like a thunderous storm. Each collision of your bodies is filled with the raw intensity of desire, leaving you both breathless and lost in the ecstasy of the moment.

As the intensity builds to a fever pitch, you feel yourself teetering on the edge of oblivion. Your body is no longer your own; it belongs to Morpheus, and he is taking you to new heights of pleasure. With each thrust, he seems to be unlocking something deep within you, breaking down any barriers that had previously held you back.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, and your breaths come in ragged gasps as you cling to him with your nails. Every muscle in your exhausted body is taut, braced for the explosive release that has been building since the moment his lips touched yours once more.

Morpheus's hands roam over your body, exploring every curve and dip as he continues to move relentlessly inside you. His lips trail hot kisses along your neck and shoulders, and his words fall upon your skin like a delicate caress.

"You are mine," he growls against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "And I am yours."

The mere sound of his assertion sends a searing wave of heat coursing through you, heightening the exquisite agony that has you clawing for release.

Your body responds to his dominance, whipping your thoughts and desires into a feverish frenzy. You wriggle beneath him, craving to be completely subsumed by him—anchored to him as he continues to thrust, chasing that ephemeral edge that hangs within reach.

Every muscle in your body tightens, each nerve ending on fire as he drives you to the precipice of ecstasy, and you know there is only one place to fall.

And so you do.

As your body surrenders to the waves of pleasure washing over you, your cunt flutters and flexes around his cock, squeezing him tightly. Your heart races in unison with his, your breath hitching with each other's ragged gasps. You are no longer just two bodies intertwined but one entity consumed by the unrelenting force of desire.

The aftermath leaves you breathless and drenched in sweat, your limbs shaking as you collapse against the bed sheets. You shift in place as your body screams at you that it has had enough. For now.

“I don’t think I can use my legs now,” you softly complain, letting your arms hang loose around Morpheus. “And I need a bath. I miss shampoo, and the jets in my bath.”

“Allow me to carry you," Morpheus whispers, his lips grazing your forehead tenderly. You mourn the loss of his body against yours and even wince a little as his cock slides free from your abused cunt. He gently lifts you into his arms and carries you toward the archway of your bath. You take this moment to press your face into his neck, indulging in his natural coolness.

"Take your time, I will wait," Morpheus says, setting you gently on the edge of the bathtub. You air out a short huff.

“I said I needed a bath, I didn’t say I needed a bath alone.” Your statement surprises Morpheus, as he thought that after your torrid affair in Athens and subsequent act of rather aggressive passion upon returning home, you would want space. He certainly wouldn’t hold it against you if you refused to let him touch you intimately for the next few days, even a week. But no, you flutter your eyes at him in a beckoning call that implores Morpheus to join you.

Wordlessly, he complies with your request, stepping into the bubbling tub before reaching for your body still perched at the edge. As he sits down, he cradles your body within his arms and pulls you close, the water steaming and enveloping you both. The warm water immediately begins to soothe your tense muscles, washing away the remnants of sweat and exertion.

“Do you know what happened?” you softly ask after a few moments of silence. Morpheus maintains a passive face while anger surfaces within his eyes. It pains him to utter the truth.

“No,” he states lowly, a tone you rarely hear. “But I shall explore great lengths to ensure that it does not happen again.”

“I know you will,” you whisper. Your fingers trace a gentle pattern on his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his skin. "But for now, let's focus on the present. I missed you. I missed you greatly."

He leans down and presses his lips to yours, kissing you lightly yet with the passion of a thousand poets. Your fingertips glide along his jaw, tangling in his unruly hair as he continues to kiss you. You will never be sure of what occurred when you entered the Ocean of Dreams. But one thing is certain: no matter what time you find yourself in, you will undoubtedly end up within Morpheus’s arms, one way or another. At least in your defense, he will definitely seduce you first.

Date Published: 6/19/24

Last Edit: 6/19/24

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[saintsenara]

What are your top campy Voldemort moments?

literally everything he does in goblet of fire.

the man is just dropping bitchy little banger after bitchy little banger - but specific kudos go to the following, all of which the dark lord can be pictured saying while holding a cocktail...

this:

“Wormtail, I need somebody with brains, somebody whose loyalty has never wavered, and you, unfortunately, fulfill neither requirement.”

this:

“Liar,” said the second voice again, the cruel amusement more pronounced than ever. “However, I do not deny that her information was invaluable. Without it, I could never have formed our plan, and for that, you will have your reward, Wormtail. I will allow you to perform an essential task for me, one that many of my followers would give their right hands to perform...”

this [which he says while wormtail is right there]:

“Nagini,” said the cold voice, “you are out of luck. I will not be feeding Wormtail to you, after all... but never mind..."

this ["it is a disappointment to me... i confess myself disappointed" has genuinely entered my vocabulary]:

“And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living? “And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort... perhaps they now pay allegiance to another... perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?” At the mention of Dumbledore’s name, the members of the circle stirred, and some muttered and shook their heads. Voldemort ignored them. “It is a disappointment to me... I confess myself disappointed...”

this [lucius was gagged!]:

“My Lord, I was constantly on the alert,” came Lucius Malfoy’s voice swiftly from beneath the hood. “Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have prevented me -”   “And yet you ran from my Mark, when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky last summer?” said Voldemort lazily, and Mr. Malfoy stopped talking abruptly.

this [he is hamming it up here and it sends me every time]:

“I miscalculated, my friends, I admit it. My curse was deflected by the woman’s foolish sacrifice, and it rebounded upon myself. Aaah... pain beyond pain, my friends; nothing could have prepared me for it. I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost... but still, I was alive. What I was, even I do not know... I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal - to conquer death. And now, I was tested, and it appeared that one or more of my experiments had worked... for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it. Nevertheless, I was as powerless as the weakest creature alive, and without the means to help myself... for I had no body, and every spell that might have helped me required the use of a wand... “I remember only forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second, to exist... I settled in a faraway place, in a forest, and I waited... Surely, one of my faithful Death Eaters would try and find me... one of them would come and perform the magic I could not, to restore me to a body... but I waited in vain...”

and this:

“You won’t?” said Voldemort quietly, and the Death Eaters were not laughing now. “You won’t say no? Harry, obedience is a virtue I need to teach you before you die... Perhaps another little dose of pain?”

iconic, i fear.

[creedslove]

THE PIKE CHRISTMAS 🎄☃️🎁

Marcus Pike x f!reader

Summary: you and Marcus have a daughter together, co-parenting after your relationship ended but one Christmas together might change it all 🎄

Warnings: fluff, mentions of Marcus' disastrous love life, happy ending

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS 🎄🎁

5.7k words

When Olivia was born, Marcus’ life had taken a completely different turn, he had always been a man who dreamed of a family, didn't work with his first wife, then he moved on through a series of relationships that never seemed to take him anywhere until he met Teresa Lisbon. He wouldn't be able to tell why he fell for her as had as he did, he wasn't dumb or clueless as some people assume, he knew she wasn't into him as much as he was into her, and even if that hurt him deep down inside, he thought eventually things would fall right back into place, if she had said yes to his invitation to ditch those pizzas after the end of their mission for pancakes, and then to start sleeping at his place, then going out on a regular basis, until he simply proposed to her in the middle of the hallway at work, it wasn't the most romantic thing he could've done, he was usually a traditional guy, wedding ring, nice dinner, maybe even a serenade and an exchange of love vows before popping the real question, but he did what he could at that moment, what the occasion allowed and thinking of it in retrospect, it was actually a good thing he didn't waste that much time, effort and money into that proposal, because well, even if Marcus Pike was overall a gentle and understanding man, he also would have appreciated if she said no instead of leading him into believing she actually wanted to marry him. It would've hurt him at the time, but just like ripping off a band-aid, it would be quick and straightforward and the pain would go away faster than it did when she cooked him up, giving him hopes for a future together.

So when Teresa broke his heart and treated him as if he was barely an acquaintance to her, he became wary. He didn't like to think of relationships and he closed himself up to any kind of flirtation and stuff like that. He was going through so many changes into his life: a new city, a new position at work, now he wasn't just agent Pike, he was the head of the art department of the FBI, he was a boss, he had more responsibility and less free time, and even if Marcus was aware of his looks and the fact both men and women found him attractive, the fact he was an intelligent man, he made good money and carried a bunch of positive adjectives that could easily get him a possible list of interested women, he chose to step away. So when he met you, he straight up ignored his feelings, the way his palms got sweaty, how pleasant your perfume was and the way his stupid heart skipped a beat whenever you displayed your gorgeous smile at him. A part of him desperately wanted to connect with you, get to know you better, ask you out on a date, and another part of himself begged him not to do it, knowing he wouldn't be able to take another harsh strike of rejection and start over again. Marcus wasn't an old man, he was getting close to middle age, and even if a part of him kept hauntingly reminding him of the fact he hadn't been able to build up a family at that age, he was also so hopeful he was still too young to give up love.

Eventually he couldn't fight his desire for you and a simple lunch between you both escalated to a series of regular dates, and whereas all of his relationships followed the same course of an organized timeline: getting to know each other, officially dating, getting engaged and finally getting married. You, on the other hand, was a complete different ride, it seemed you were going through the same path, following the same stages until you weren't anymore and you showed up at his door on a Thursday night with teary eyes and a pregnancy test in hands, just a few months after you two started dating. That was a whole new ride for him; he was not expecting to become a father even if he wanted to, it still felt too sudden, you both were having more fun than actually having a commitment together, and if he was going to be honest, he didn't actually want to jump into marriage right then, it was risky, scary and he felt it was doomed to be another failure in his love life, he was willing to step up and be a dad to the baby you both were going to have in a matter of months, but he was torn between not wanting to get married just then - as Marcus Pike wasn't opposed to marriage at all - and not wanting to be seen as the asshole who didn't marry the woman he got pregnant. It didn't matter what his colleagues, his family or friends thought of him at that matter, he just didn't want to be seen like that by you. So when you had a heartfelt conversation with him, opening up and listing the reasons why you didn't want to get married he felt a wave of relief over him. You both got to an agreement: you would co-parent your baby, Marcus would pay you child support and everyone would be happy. Even if there was still a lot of mixed feelings, words left unspoken and the prospect of a successful relationship that didn't have enough time to mature on its own, so it was better to close the agreement in being co-parents and friends, it was better than nothing.

You couldn't complain at all, even if you buried deep your feelings for Marcus, he was definitely the best guy to have a baby with, for once, he actually cared about it, he was genuinely happy to become a father even if you weren't a couple any longer, he still made sure to go to all the appointments and exams he was able to, work still got in the way of one or two but he made it to as many as he could. Marcus wouldn't miss the opportunity to get his baby girl whatever he thought she might like some day: toys, clothes, blankets, little shoes. It was a pleasure to spend on her. You still remembered the day he found out you were expecting a girl: he cried. He was never strong enough to hold back his emotions, not when you had a new ultrasound in progress and he could hear his baby's heartbeats loud and clear. And he cried again when you gave birth, he was there the whole time, holding your hand, looking almost as terrified as you were, and the moment her strong little lungs let out a loud wail, you could see the tears running down his cheek freely, warming and melting your heart, mixed up with the pang of not being with Marcus, not going home with him at the end of the day, but with the peaceful assurance you had the luck to find a great man to have a child with.

Olivia was the name picked in agreement by the two of you, but Marcus simply called her Livy, she was his Livy, his sweet tiny little Livy, and even when you asked him why he'd chosen that nickname he shrugged, not having a meaningful or strong explanation, he just liked the sound of it, it made his heart swell with love just to picture the face of that one beautiful princess who would be called his Livy Pike.

The first time you were surprised by the nickname was an odd - but very pleasant evening - you'd spent next to Marcus. He usually had the habit of letting you know when he was going to drop a visit or even call and see if he was allowed to, but that night he got to your place unannounced, looking like he'd had a rough day. He refused your offers to serve him a beer, a glass of wine or even make dinner, he simply asked you to spend some time with you and Olivia, who was still safely tucked in your womb. There was no denying his request, you nodded and lay back on the couch, while he placed his hand on your lap, his face resting against your warm, round pregnant belly and talking to his baby girl. He whispered a bunch of sweet nothings to her, in hopes she would be able to recognize his voice and know how much she was already loved by him. He caressed the sides of your stomach, while your hand went to his smooth, messy hair, playing with his growing curls, exactly the way you used to when you both were a couple, having a glimpse of what life would be like if you two had stayed together after the shock of the pregnancy turned into happiness.

What you didn't know was that Marcus wasn't just having a rough day, it had been more than that, more than just a rough week, it'd been a rough few months. Months of investigation of what was supposed to be pieces of art trafficking, it was supposed to be just about paintings, sculptures and statues being trafficked, but unfortunately, it'd been more than that. It was all a facade for a much worse operation: human trafficking. And that made Marcus so miserable and depressed, he just needed to be reminded there was still something good in the world, he needed time with you and his precious little Livy.

He glanced at your Christmas tree and realized Christmas would be in a few days. He'd been so involved in the investigation and all the tension and stress that comes with it, he had barely acknowledged the upcoming holiday. He hadn't even decorated his apartment like he usually did, he hadn't even bought himself his plane tickets to fly back to Texas and see his family. There was still so much he needed to do but the realization that was going to be the last Christmas he would spend without having a tiny baby in his arms and finally having a little someone call him ‘daddy’, made him smile.

“She'll be here, celebrating with us, next year”

•••

Olivia's first Christmas was going to be printed in Marcus’ memories forever. He didn't actually spend Christmas day with her, as he traditionally went back to his hometown to see his family, but he made sure to get everything done in advance: house decoration, presents, gift-wrapping and everything a dad should be up to on such a special date. Before his baby girl was born, he didn't see the point in decorating only for himself; of course he would set small Christmas tree ornaments and call it a decoration, but that was about it. However, after his precious Olivia came to the world to brighten his life, he felt he owed it to her all the magic he could display. So in a matter of days, Marcus had purchased a brand new Christmas tree, several ornaments and lights and seeing his baby's excited face paid off. One of Pike's favorite memories was when he left a nearly one-year-old Olivia playing with her blocks on the living room carpet for a split second, just to make sure her vegetable soup was ready and returned to find her giggling self ripping off the gift wrap of one of the presents underneath the tree. She didn't know she was supposed to wait a couple of days more, she didn't know technically that was her mama's present, what her daddy had bought you, she just got mesmerized at the bright beautiful colors and went to explore. Marcus felt like he was going to explode into a puddle of love for his daughter. He was truly blessed and forever thankful to you for having got the best present of all.

And so another couple of Christmas passed and his beautiful, lovely, princess Olivia was now a gorgeous and adorable three-year-old toddler, almost going four, which meant Marcus’ heart was often balanced between the pang of seeing his baby grow way too fast and the pride he felt of seeing her blossom into an extraordinary child.

•••

“Higher daddy, higher!” Olivia squealed with happiness and excitement as her dad lifted her up, his grip tight on her sides so she wouldn't slip as she held the angel ornament and put it on top of the tree with tiny little hands. She felt the thrill of being held up so high, because Olivia loved how strong her daddy was and how he always made her fly on his arms; she loved spending weekends at his daddy's place, even if she'd rather have her mommy with them, she still had a lot of fun. Looking around the living, where she had helped her daddy decorate everything, made her happy, she loved the lights, the tree and the little Christmas ballerinas that dance to a sad but beautiful song inside that box. Her daddy had explained to her that it was called “art” and both him and her mommy really liked it, and that art thing made them feel many different things, that was why sometimes something was so pretty that could make her cry.

But Olivia had no time to cry, she was too busy spying the gifts that began to gather around the living room. She knew some were for her, some were for mommy and some were for grandma and grandpa, but most of them were for her. Marcus pulled his daughter closer, snuggling her and feeling her heart beating fast inside her chest. He loved that tiny little princess with all his being, and sometimes such love was overwhelming, as he never really thought he could have something as good as that. He thought of you and his heart dropped a little, picturing what things would have been like if you both had gotten married once you found out about Olivia, he knew you wanted to be free, to work and finish your studies, but he was never oppose to that, if anything, he would've supported you just the same. Even if he wasn't in the right state of mind for a marriage, he still enjoyed picturing you as his wife. He would buy you a beautiful diamond ring, make sure you were happy and satisfied with the life he could provide you, but after some time, he just accepted that maybe the timing wasn't good and his chance was over. Simple as that.

As he put Olivia down and walked to the kitchen with her, he held her hand, who was excitedly waiting for her mac&cheese. His daddy wasn't as much of a good cook as her mommy was, but his mac&cheese was the best in the whole wide world. He served her some in her pink plastic plate and chuckled to see her kicking her legs absent-mindedly while waiting for dinner. Marcus sighed, you were back in his mind, imagine how many family dinners you three could have had together over these years. Of course there were plenty of times you invited Marcus over for dinner, or he did the same with you whenever you were there to pick up Olivia, but it wasn't the same and he just knew it.

“Are you excited for Christmas, baby girl?” He asked Olivia, who chewed her food eagerly, loving the taste of it, seeing her nod and smile.

“I wish we spent it together daddy, you, me and mommy” she pouted, looking like a tiny puppy, which broke Marcus’ heart. He hated that he could never spend that special time with his precious Livy and even more so that you weren't there as well. He cleared his throat and caressed her cheek, her face being tiny against the palm of his hand.

“I'd love that too, honey, but you know, you spend Christmas with mama and I go back to Texas to see grandma and grandpa” he offered her a smile “unless mama let me take you, would you like to go with dada? I bet you'd love to spend a sunny and warm Christmas playing in the pool with your cousins..”

Marcus knew better than anyone he shouldn't really hype up kids the way he just did, but he was also caught in the moment, for a moment he had a glimpse of what spending Christmas day with his daughter would be like, where she could actually visit his parents' home, see his childhood bedroom and the toys he used to play with when he was her age, he would like Olivia to be able to spend that holiday under the warm sun, in one of her gorgeous little dresses, and not in the snowy gray weather of DC. At that moment, he took a decision: he was going to talk to you about it, you had a good relationship, he was sure all it would take was a good conversation and you would let him have Olivia for the holidays, everyone would be happy at end: they would be able to spend more time together and you would have a well-deserved break from the maternity duty.

When you showed up two hours after the time you were supposed to have picked up your daughter, Marcus was aware of your delay, having read the texts you sent warning him of how things at work got complicated and later on how traffic was simply impossible, he did what he could to make your life a little easier, and that included bathing Olivia and helping her into her beautiful reindeer jammies and tucking her in. Then he prepared you a big sandwich, after all, he couldn't cook even if his life depended on it, but if there were two things he could make like a champ, was definitely his mac&cheese and his gigantic sandwiches. He immediately opened the door to you, getting lost into you. You were so beautiful, your body was mesmerizing, your smile was enough to make his heart flutter and for a moment he couldn't believe a woman as gorgeous as you could have been with him, and not only that, you could have had a baby with him. After so many rejections in life, it was still quite difficult for him to believe that was even possible. The way you looked at him, with your eyes sparkling, the same sweet innocence your daughter carried and how small snowflakes were still on your hair, made him fall in love with you just a little bit harder than usual. Even if it was an impossible love to live, it didn't mean it wasn't there.

He invited you inside, which you gladly accepted, greeting him politely and taking off your coat. He guided you to the kitchen, where he'd prepared you something to warm up - hot chocolate - and a big sandwich, sitting next to you, and loving every single minute where he could simply look at your beautiful face and listen to your voice, as you talked about your day, that way, it would be easier for him to daydream you were just a married couple spending some quality time together after a busy day.

•••

“... so all I'm saying is that I could bring Olivia back and then you both could-”

“No”

“But my mom would love to have her over with us for the holidays an-”

“Marcus I said no”

You sighed exhausted at that conversation, you knew something was up the moment you set foot into your ex’s apartment, you thought maybe he was happy to see you, but apparently all he wanted was to convince you to let him take your baby girl away for the holidays. You shook your head and tried wiping away those thoughts. There was no reason you should get on the defensive at that moment, Marcus had always been nothing but nice and gentle to you, he didn't want to steal Olivia away, in fact, his request was even kind of reasonable, even if you weren't going to agree with it. He had such hopeful eyes, those stupid eyes that made you fall in love with him, because you could see the truth in them, the honesty, the kindness Marcus held onto your heart, and those were the same eyes that prevented you from moving on, you would do so much for him if you could, but not that. It was the only thing you wouldn't give up.

He ran his thumb over his bottom lip - an old habit of his that usually went unknown - and shook his head, sighing in frustration. He couldn't understand why you wouldn't give in just a little, he didn't understand why you played so hard to get when it came to that. You had always agreed on everything as a couple and as parents, he didn't see the reason why you were behaving that way.

“Why not?!” He insisted and for a moment you had the impression of talking with a stubborn child. You'd already said you wouldn't agree to it, but he kept on pushing it, and even if a part of you was annoyed and started to get cranky, you had to be reasonable and remind yourself there was no reason to fight, he was just Marcus, your sweet lovely Marcus, who happened to be the best dad in the world and all he was asking was to spend Christmas next to his little girl. You buried your face into your hands, taking a deep breath and organizing your thoughts for a while before you could face him again.

“I said no because you already have your family to spend Christmas with and I don't, Marcus. If I let Olivia go with you, I'll be completely alone, not to mention the fact she's never been that far away from me before, but that's not what worries me…” you finally admitted out loud. You opened your heart to him for the first time in a very long time. After suppressing your feelings and locking them into a tiny box in the bottom of your heart, they were surfacing once more.

“All I'm saying is that, if you take Olivia, I'll be completely alone at Christmas and I don't want that, I don't want to have to invite myself over to friend's dinner parties and stuff like that, it's depressing and Christmas should be about family, so if you are already traveling and visiting yours, it's only fair I get to spend it with my daughter” you explained it to him.

“Our daughter” he interrupted you and you realized you were acting on the defensive the entire time. You felt insecure, always fearing Olivia loved her dad more than she loved you, even if it sounded madness because yes, she loved her daddy with all her ring little heart, but parenthood wasn't a competition, and even if you understood that, you also had another fear: Olivia simply getting used to distancing herself from you, and then your mind took you to several dark places, where you could only picture the worst scenarios of Marcus remarrying someone eventually, simply because he was too good of a man to remain single; and it scared you your daughter would simply choose to be around her dad and his new wife. You couldn't help suffering in anticipation over a rejection that might not even happen but still haunted it nonetheless. He placed his hand on top of yours, the familiar warmth making your heart skip a beat as he looked into your eyes.

“You could come with us, we could all travel to Texas… What do you say?” and it shattered your heart to have to say no to him once more; Marcus was so sweet but also innocent to think that could even be a possibility.

“I can't Marcus” you said and now he noticed there were some tears threatening to spill down your eyes. He was running out of options and needed to know why you were playing so hard to get, before he could inquire with you, you sighed and continued “you know that's not possible…I'd love to travel with you and Olivia, as a family, I'd love to be able to visit your family, but you know I can't, because you know how your mom feels about me, and not only that, your sisters too”

To say Marcus’ family didn't like you was an understatement. They hated you. And they didn't make any effort to hide it from you, not behind Marcus’ back at least. You didn't know if his mom got overprotective due to the heartbreaks he went through over the last couple of years, or if she was one of those obsessive moms who thought no one was good enough for her son. Either way, you could still feel the burning gaze they shot you when they laid their eyes on you since the first time you'd met. It had been on Olivia’s first birthday party and they didn't hide their thoughts on you having a child with Marcus, nor the fact they straight up assumed you were simply a gold digger who was landing a great child support from the newest head of the art department from the FBI, special agent Marcus Pike.

The man, on the other hand, wasn't clueless, he knew his mom wasn't very fond of you, but he couldn't imagine to what extent that was, he thought it was just some normal rivalry and shook his head, apologizing to you, because of course he would apologize. He was a gentleman after all, and he never wanted anyone or anything hurting you. You sighed and licked your lips, a soft blush spreading across your cheeks

“I think what I mean is that I wish we could all spend Christmas together, you, Olivia and me” you admitted “I don't want to be alone, and I don't want you to be without our daughter, I just wish we had a solution for this”

“We do, honey… I'm not traveling anymore, I'm spending Christmas with you both”

•••

When the realization that Marcus would actually spend Christmas with you and Olivia hit, you were in a mix of anxiety and excitement; on one hand, you wanted everything to be perfect, you couldn't wait to have him around and see the joy in your daughter's face. At first Marcus was supposed to come only for the Christmas lunch, but after some thinking you decided to invite him over for the Eve dinner and he could simply stay over, which he agreed immediately, thrilled to know he would get to spend that long with the two of you. Olivia couldn't contain herself, she had already made drawings to her dad, set all her favorite dolls in order so she could play with him and begged you twice to pick a Disney movie to watch, she'd never been that enthusiastic and you'd be lying if you said you weren't excited too. It was like a dream of having a complete family was coming true; both you and Olivia were looking forward to seeing him, picking up dresses to wear and welcome him home, it was thrilling to think of him, it wasn't a secret to anyone how much you really liked him, and though you had wrong timing together, sometimes it felt like things would work between the two of you, and that was what you honestly hoped for. Preparing some easy dinner, you saw how Olivia jumped off the couch the moment the doorbell rang, you barely had time to open the door and Marcus could set foot inside the house before she jumped on him. Marcus was a big man and quite handy too, so he managed to balance a large bag of gifts, a bottle of wine and a toddler in his arms.

You welcomed him inside with a smile, glad to see him, as Olivia finally got off him, running to her bedroom to find whatever drawing she wanted to show him and helping him place down the table the things he brought, you both hugged. He held you in his arms for several seconds, no words exchanged, no greetings, simply acting out the feelings you perhaps had been keeping too buried deep. He buried his face into your shoulder, taking in as much of you as he could, loving your smell and how you still seemed to fit perfectly against his body. He caressed your face and smiled, saying how good it was to see you.

Dinner was very pleasant in his company, Olivia was so excited she seemed like a puppy, which brought you and Marcus to laughter. It was nice having a nice time like that, it felt like you had a family and it was very good. Sharing a bottle of wine, you and your ex-boyfriend were sitting on the carpet, long after your daughter was asleep and safely tucked in, you both were just hanging out, having your fun and chatting about your old times together. You couldn't stop yourself from drooling over Marcus. God, he was so handsome and sweet, he was also smart and polite, which was a very dangerous combination you'd tried first-hand, hence the whole reason why you ended up pregnant. He tilted his head and laughed, making you lose yourself into him.

“... I said I can still smell you on me” he repeated himself, snapping you out of your daydreaming and making you nearly spit out your wine. He had said what?!

“What?!” The blush spreading across your cheek had a little to do with wine, the way he simply dropped those lines and placed a strand of hair behind your ear made your heart race.

“I meant from earlier, when we greeted each other and your perfume is still lingering on me… I like it” Marcus was a little drunk, you could tell it, he'd always been a cute drunk, always snuggly and willing to progress love words. You chuckled and stroked his cheek.

“I'm glad you liked it… would you believe me if I told you I am wearing it for you?” You decided to instigate him just a little, surprised and amused to feel his hand pulling you closer by the waist, his face so close to yours you could feel his faltering breathing before he finally kissed you. Sealing your lips together, you wrapped your arms around him, deepening the kiss more and more, moaning softly into his mouth, wishing and hoping that moment would last forever. His lips were just as soft as you remembered and the more you leaned against him, the more you desired Marcus. He was tall, strong, he always smelled so perfectly and all you could think of that moment was why did it take so long for the two of you to set things straight? Even if you weren't setting things straight, why did it take you guys so long to actually kiss and simply enjoy each other's touch. You couldn't actually tell, but perhaps that was a Christmas miracle. Breaking the kiss was hard, but the way Marcus’ big hand stroked your cheek, so gently as he looked at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, was worthy. The way he whispered your name and invested in another kiss, not having enough of you. He wanted more, he didn't want to be just Olivia's dad, he wanted to be there for you too, to hold you after a long day of work, to be able to kiss and stroke you gently and make you his. He didn't need a mistletoe to kiss you over and over and even if it technically wasn't Christmas yet, that was the best gift he could've got.

“I need you” he whispered against your lips “I'm tired of hiding my feelings for you, tired of pretending I'm glad when I'm not, when all I want is Olivia and you in my life, baby girl”

You could've jumped out of happiness right there and then. Marcus wanted you, just as much as you wanted him; it wasn't just delusional to think of a future together, all you had to do was say yes to him. When you were about to kiss Marcus once more, Olivia waddled into the living room, with her special Christmas PJs and messy bed hair and jumped onto his lap.

“Hi daddy!” She yawned cutely and snuggled him, which caused the two of you to chuckle in a soft blush and put your kiss aside for a little while.

You wouldn't be able to tell exactly what time you fell asleep with your family, but when you did wake up, you were in your bed - Marcus had carried you to the bedroom as the gentleman he was, Olivia had been tucked once more between the two of you and drifted off to a sweet slumber, which didn't prevent her from waking up extremely early and squealing at the top of her little lungs in excitement once she spotted the presents Santa had left around the living room, making you chuckle, as she tugged your sleeve and took you to the tree.

“Where's daddy, mommy?” Her beautiful sparkly eyes stared into your own at the same time Marcus walked in with a tray full of fresh made pancakes. Of course the sweet, lovely Marcus Pike would wake up early and make breakfast for his family. Placing the plate down, he smiled at his daughter's excitement, as she shredded all those colorful sparkly gift wrappings. You turned to him, calling him for an embrace, as he wrapped his arms around the two of you.

“I want us to have this every year, everyday of a family waking up together, please honey” Marcus whispered against your neck, and in return, you simply kissed his lips, showing him exactly your answer, you wanted the same too.

Olivia got her toys, her plushies and her cute summer dresses, you gave Marcus new bass strings and a brand new shirt that would just look perfect on him, tightening to the right places, and in return he gifted you a golden bracelet. But in reality, what you had gifted each other was Olivia and you were both about to gift her a brand new family, one that started at Christmas and would go on for as long as there was love between you all.

____

[withlovesstuff]

until you remember

fem!reader 18+ DARK fic- Dubcon, Noncon, Predator/Prey, Eventual smut, gross behavior, stalking.

It’s always dark, in the dreams. A cover of night so black you can’t see in front of you, it makes your feet stumble like a newborn fawn. The moss from the forest floor burrows its way in between your toes, you grimace at the feeling. 

You must keep moving. It is echoed in your mind by a voice much like your own. 

The sleeping gown that had once kept you warm, its only job had been to act as a barrier between your soft skin and thick sheets that enveloped you. But, your gown is now in tatters, your barrier ripped to shreds, the cotton torn by branches, thorns, hands. 

The night air washes over your exposed legs and chest, so cold. Why did you ever leave your bed? You were so warm.  Your mind can’t seem to remember the reason, whatever coaxed you from the safety of your bed is gone, erased from your mind, but you still try to remember.

You were reading, then the candle flickered, the draft, yes the draft. Lifting from the bed, you had gone over to the window. To close it, you needed to close the window because of the draft, yes. But when you reached the window, the air was still, there was no wind, it was quiet, almost like the forest surrounding your home was holding its breath- 

Shooting pain from your head pulls you away from the scrambling thoughts,your brain doesn’t want to remember, your brain hurts when it remembers. 

You bring one hand to your face and outstretch the other in front of you, blindly searching for something to grasp, to lean against. You're so tired.  

Your legs are burning and you don’t know if it is because of the running or the cold, your hand is wet, your exposed skin is numb-

Why is your hand wet? 

Your outstretched hand finally meets something dry and rough- bark, a tree! 

Lifting your hand from your face, you hold it in front of you, but you still can’t see. 

Frustration eats at you, but your brain screams at you.

You must keep moving. 

The air burns your lungs, but you continue to suck in breaths, desperate for your heart rate to slow. A part of you is always scared when you can hear your heart beating in your ears, because that means they can hear it all the better.

You continue your run much faster than before since you had tumbled onto a dirt path, that means it leads to something right? It must! It has to! 

Loose rocks scrape your feet, you want to cry, you're surprised you haven’t yet. Your desperate, your body is not going to be able to run much longer, you need to find someone, anyone. That’s it. You’d pray to god, but after feeling those things touch you, your sure he can’t answer you. 

You crane your neck when you hear it. A sound you can’t describe, a sound your ears have never before heard. You see the waning moon, so pretty, you wonder why it isn’t giving you any  light, you wonder if it’s real at all, because it seems to flicker. Much like your candle did, however this time there’s something in front of the moon, blocking it from your view, but only for a moment then it falls, revealing the moon right where it was before, still not giving you any light. Picking your jaw up, you have time to take a sad half step before it crashes down in front of you, shaking the earth under your feet. 

“Hennnn, slow down, aye?” 

Slow down? Why on earth would you slow down? This wasn’t a playful game of tag, this was strictly cat and mouse. Only whatever was just growling words at you isn’t a cat. 

 They’re trying to swallow you whole. For fun.The alarms in your head are screaming at you so loudly you can barely hear the shaking of branches surrounding the area. You surprised yourself with how fast you bolted up and over the tree that had landed in front of you. Even with the vast amount of fear coursing through you, you hadn’t froze.

You must keep moving.

The brain in your head repeats those incessant words over and over

You're not far, keep moving.

even as scarred hands wrap around your waist

You’re not far, keep moving.   

even as your dirty feet are lifted from the forest floor

You’re not far, keep moving.

Your mind still tries to give you hope.

You never make it, in the dreams. You always wake up right as whatever was chasing you finally catches you, a part of you thinks it’s your brain finally saving you. You always breathe out a ‘thankyou’ to yourself as you wipe the sweat from your brow. You never want to know what happens next. And as you ready yourself for work the dream slowly fades, before nestling itself warmly in the back of your head. Inevitably you do have it again, but until then, the dream sits quietly, only allowing two intricate details to claw at your skull. 

Two pairs of eyes. 

You remember them vividly.

You remember mahogany with honey specs looking at you through thick blonde lashes. 

You remember blown out pupils adorning angry sea irises, so much so that you lift your tongue and feel grains of sand pricking the roof of your mouth.

The eyes haunt you so beautifully, not only do they plague your dreams, you swear that sometimes it seems like they’re on you for real. And funny enough they are. 

They watch you often, mostly to make sure no one thinks about taking what they had claimed so long ago.

On occasion they also break into your apartment. Some of them choose to bury their nose in the panties that sit on top of your hamper before pocketing the thin lace, some lick the small vibrator that's hidden at the bottom of your drawer like your some kind of prude, some just to jerk off on your sheets, while those more restrained go to your fridge and spit in the coffee creamer you use every morning.

They thumb through your journal too, angry curses falling from some of their lips, because for the life of them, they can’t figure out why you remember two pairs of eyes and not four:(

[unclewaynemunson]

It was winter '86 when Nancy found out what it felt like to return to your hometown after having moved away. She had managed to skip Thanksgiving, giving her mother some vague excuse about needing to study for her midterms, but there was no way she could get out of Christmas. So here she was, wrapped in a thick coat and matching scarf, finding herself back on the very streets she had wanted so desperately to leave behind.

Moving to Boston had been a liberation for her. It had been the only way to break free from everything that happened over the past three years. Life had become normal again: she had made friends, gone to parties, taken interesting classes... She had finally been able to breathe fresh air again.

It wasn't like everything was magically alright all of a sudden, of course. She still slept with a gun beside her bed – praying that her roommate Jess would never find out about that – and she wondered if the pain of not having Barb to share all these new experiences with would ever fade away. But she was doing better. The pain wasn't as sharp anymore, far away from the streets that did nothing but remind her.

Now, it was the day before Christmas Eve and she was walking around town, with no aim but to flee from her mother's stress about needing everything about the upcoming days to be perfect.

It felt weird, walking these familiar streets again after having been away. She felt like an intruder in what once used to be her town, a place she had left behind for a reason. She still knew every road, every building, she still had memories waiting for her at every corner... But those streets weren't hers anymore.

All of these memories were about Barb. Barb, who would never get out of Hawkins. Barb, whose skeleton was decaying in the dark and twisted version of her town, right underneath the pavement Nancy was walking on. Barb, who had a gravestone with her name on it while another girl was now growing up in the room in the house that had once been hers. These streets would always stay Barb's. It was a narrative that was finished, a book that had reached its ending, and Nancy was forcing it to stay open by merely walking here.

The streets were quiet: as cold and dark as they were supposed to be on the night before Christmas Eve. Lights were twinkling in the houses Nancy passed, and on the few occasions she did cross paths with someone else, she'd always think – just for a second – that it was Barb, still sixteen and risen from her early grave to haunt her.

Wherever she went, she found shadows that only she could see, darker than they were supposed to be. She saw the shadow of their lemonade stand on the corner of Barb's street. She saw the silhouettes of two little girls with pigtails in their hair cycling hand-in-hand towards the middle school building. She saw them giggling on their way to the swimming pool, looking at store windows on Main Street after they got their first pocket money, walking out of the library with big piles of books in their arms; she saw Barb waiting for her at the community center after Nancy's ballet practice, and she saw herself on the way to Barb's to walk Bobby the dog with her. She saw two shadows on the playground, gossiping on top of the jungle gym that was shaped like a pirate ship; two shadows on their way to the pumpkin patch on the edge of town; two shadows playing tag in the woods... Two shadows leading her exactly to the last place they'd been together, where the walls of a big house were stained with Nancy's mistakes on that fateful warm November night in '83. The place where the two shadows had stopped being interlinked; where one of them had wanted other things than the other and they each went their own separate way. Where they got ripped apart from each other for good.

Nancy just stood there, unmoving and hidden away by the shadows of the evening, staring at the stones of Steve Harrington's house with no intention of going in and saying hi. She had no idea how much time passed until the door opened and a girl stepped outside.

For a moment, Nancy genuinely believed that her mere gaze had managed to summon Barb out of the swimming pool that was her grave, to finally become something far more horrifying than a shadow. It was a moment long enough to make her lose her guard and stumble forward over the pavement.

“Nance?”

It was Robin. The girl who stepped out of the house was Robin Buckley. Tall, freckled face, blue eyes... But that was all the resemblance she had to Barb

“What are you doing here?”

Nancy took a big breath and shrugged, trying to shake off the uncanny feeling.

“I was just taking a walk,” she said, trying to seem normal - or at least as normal as this situation would allow her.

Robin stared at her for a few seconds, a strange look in her eyes, as if she was trying to decipher some secret code written on Nancy's face.

Then, she nodded. “Okay,” she said, her voice carefully neutral. “Wanna walk home with me? I was gonna bike, but I can call Steve when I get home and ask him to bring me my bike tomorrow.”

Nancy could easily admit that aimlessly roaming the empty streets of Hawkins with Robin by her side sounded much more appealing than all by herself, so she agreed and allowed Robin to distract her with easy conversation while they left the big houses of Loch Nora behind them.

The two of them had kept in touch, with Robin in college in Indianapolis and Nancy at Emerson. They wrote each other letters and called almost every week. And when Nancy had arrived in Hawkins a few days ago, being around Robin again had no doubt been one of the good things about being back.

The presence of Robin beside her reminded Nancy of all kinds of other memories laid out on those streets; ones that didn't include Barb. They passed the corner where she and Steve had once made out in his car, not long after they got back together at the end of '83. They passed the playground with the trampoline where she and Mike had spent countless afternoons launching a laughing baby Holly into the air. They passed the lunchroom where she and Fred would hang out together every time they had a newspaper deadline coming up. They passed the dirt road leading up to the Byers' house, where Jonathan had run after her that day they broke up to give her a hug and make sure they'd part as friends and not just as exes. And finally, they passed the edge of the woods where she and Robin had walked side-by-side and Robin had smiled at the ground, almost shy, when Nancy asked her if they were friends, officially. Nancy remembered that as clear as if it had happened yesterday: amidst all the horrors, the fear, and the looming threats on their lives, had been this genuine smile. It had given her yet another reason to keep trying to win that fight no matter how badly the odds were stacked against them. It had warmed something deep inside of her and made her realize that her problems with Jonathan were beyond trying to save.

Now, more than nine months later and with the feeling that she'd known Robin for much longer than that, Nancy looked to her right to find that same smile playing around Robin's lips, as if she was lost in the exact same memory as Nancy.

Barb would probably keep haunting the streets of Hawkins forever, never letting that uncanny feeling in Nancy's gut fade away whenever she'd visit her old hometown. Her ghost would make the fading pain flare up, sharp and fresh all over again. But this street right here, following the edge of the woods and leading into Robin's neighborhood, was untainted by memories of Barb. The two of them had no business ever going here – contrary to Robin.

Nancy breathed out and asked herself what Barb would want her to do right now.

She'd want you to heal, Nance, Robin once told her, months ago, when Nancy had finally found the courage to talk out loud about everything that happened.

So on this cold winter night, she stretched out her hand and grabbed Robin's. She could feel warmth through their gloves, sparking all the way through her arm and chest, right into her cheeks. Robin's smile deepened and she squeezed Nancy's fingers, not letting go until they reached her front door.

Maybe being back in Hawkins wasn't as bad as Nancy thought it would be.

Ronancetober day 8: uncanny. Inspired by the song These Streets by Bastille