#Green Round Emerald stone

[fazalkhan2914]

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[cherrixpie]

HOW NOT TO DATE A SLYTHERIN

part four of five

↬ being harry potter's sister wouldn't make dating theodore nott any easier - which was why you tried to hide it. only, you could only lie to your brother for so long...

↬ sfw; fluff & angst; wc: 5.4k; cw: suggestive, partial nudity; secret relationship trope, potter!reader, griffindor! reader

( masterlist )

The castle was alive with anticipation, the crisp morning air buzzing with excitement of match day. The first quidditch match of the season, Griffindor versus Slytherin, was to take part today. After breakfast, you would join your team on the pitch and -hopefully- win the game. The first game of the season had always been the most nerve wracking to you, but with the new layer of excitement of playing against your secret boyfriend, you were vibrating with anticipation.

As you made your way towards the Great Hall, the sound of distant cheers and chants already echoed from the grounds outside, early fans eager to secure the best seats. Griffindor red and Slytherin green clashed in waves of color as students of either house swarmed towards breakfast. Though you didn't stick out in your quidditch attire that was as scarlet red as the hats, capes and scarfs of the Griffindor fans, the people who noticed you wished you good luck for the match.

Rounding the corner near the staircase, you nearly collided with Theo, who was casually leaning against the stone wall, his broom slung over his shoulder and his emerald scarf lazily wrapped around his neck. You knew he had been waiting for you when your eyes met. After last night, you had been worried your argument would result in a permanent rift between you, but his eyes lit up when they locked with yours.

“Well well,” he drawled, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “If it isn't Gryffindor’s star chaser. Shouldn't you be off practicing some last-minute heroics?”

You pretended to be annoyed rather than filled to the brim with adoration and rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help the small smile that crept onto your face. “Funny. I was just about to ask if Slytherin had finally resorted to bribing Madam Hooch. Seems like the only way you’d stand a chance today.”

Glancing around the deserted booth under the staircase, Theo pushed himself off the wall and strode slowly towards you. You uncrossed your arms to take his hand, and there you stood, brooms in one hand, holding onto each other with the second. Finally, the subtle smile reached Theo’s eyes as he played with your fingers. “You’ll be great today.”

“You too,” you smiled with exhilaration and took a step closer. Your eyes darted around the small space nervously, but there was no one to see you. So you stood on your tip toes and pecked Theo’s lips softly. What you hadn't anticipated was Theo jolting and surging at you, chasing your retreating lips until he had them locked in a soft caress of his own. A surprised moan escaped you and Theo chuckled softly into your mouth. One hand held your jaw still as he kissed you senseless, the other trailed down to toy with the hem of your jersey.

Kisses with Theo were always a careful mix of fervent passion on your part and disciplined control on his. It was no different now, as Theo lead the kiss, caressing all the right places, balancing that perfect combination of tender and dominating. You fisted your hands in his shirt and pulled him impossibly closer. Suddenly, a cool hand closed around both your wrists, yanking them away and over your hand, making you stumble as your back hit the wall. One of Theo’s hand held your wrists in place over your hand, the other lifted your chin to gain access to your neck.

“Tesoro,” he sighed against your skin, “let me give you a good luck token for the match.” You knew what he meant, and your suspicions were only confirmed when you saw the hungry look in his eyes. You twitched under his heavy gaze and his eyes grew impossibly darker. “Theo… no one can see.”

When he used his index finger to draw a line down your throat towards your collar bone, he left a row of goosebumps in its wake that he took in with great satisfaction. The soft material of your quidditch uniform gave in to his pull as he exposed part of your cleavage. “They won't,” he promised in an impossibly soft voice. “I’ll do it where nobody can see.”

You could barely hear your whispered “okay” over the thundering of your heart beat. The fear of being caught paired with the thrill of anticipation and his dark, hungry eyes culminated in the uncontrollable beating of your heart against your ribcage, as if it wanted to escape from your body, to seek shelter in the meticulous hands of your lover.

Theo dipped his head down to the exposed skin of your cleavage and left a trail of pecks before he found a suitable spot. Biting down on it, he relished in the little gasp it elicited from you. As Theo worked diligently on perfecting the mark, you slipped your hands from his grip and buried them in his dark locks. In response, Theo let out a small groan and lifted his head, tugging up your jersey with a satisfied little smirk. “Now you’re ready.”

During breakfast at the Griffindor table, you kept tugging at your jersey to a point when Hermoine asked wether you were okay. You stocked it up to performance anxiety. When Harry, Ron, Ginny and you left for the quidditch pitch, several people all over the table patted you on the shoulders. Their shouted wishes of luck followed you all the way out of the Great Hall and down the grounds toward the stadium, where you were joined by the rest of the team.

Harry didn't bother with much of a speech, but after yesterday’s brawl, he seemed determined to wipe the smirk off of Malfoy’s face. A notion you couldn't object to. After revising your strategy, the team stepped out onto the pitch, where the Slytherins and Madam Hooch were already waiting. The hollers and booing of a green and red mass of people drowned out any other noise, like the splatter of rain.

The snowfall of the day before had been replaced by a thick rain that made it almost impossible to see farther than a few feet. Not very favorable conditions. You could barely make out Theo within the midst of the Slytherin players. Harry and Malfoy shook hands with particulars nasty scowls on their faces, before you all mounted your brooms and shot up into the rainy mist above. Madam Hooch released the quaffel, Ginny got a hold of it and the game was on.

It was almost impossible to differentiate between friend and foe when your vision was clouded by rain and mist. Your only reconciliation was that the Slytherins weren't any better off than you. It took at least ten minutes for the first goal by Slytherin that had only succeeded because an exasperated Theo had given up on the attempt to pass the Quaffel around as it would be inevitably lost to the mist or a Griffindor player, and did a lucky solo run, completely catching Ron off guard.

After some more failed attempts from both sides, Ginny finally managed to goal for Griffindor. You as well, a few minutes later, because one of Slytherin’s beaters flew into you full force, vision obstructed by the downpour, and Madam Hooch granted a free kick to you. But soon after that, Slytherin had the lead once more. As the game went on, it became increasingly hard to keep track of the score. Though you were pretty sure your team had earned sixty points, you had no idea how many goals Slytherin had. By now you were shaking and clattering your teeth and your hands felt frozen to your broom. If Harry didn't catch the snitch soon, you’d get frostbite.

Nobody flew in formation or followed strategy anymore. When Theo flew past you with the Quaffel, quickly approaching the rings, you took up the chase. You had lost sight of your third chaser for a while now, but you managed to attract Ginny’s attention, who followed you hot on your heels. Seeking cover, you let yourself drop to a few feet under Theo but did not lessen your speed. Waiting until he was only a short distance away from the rings and raised his hand with the Quaffel to dunk it into one of them, you made a sharp turn upwards.

It was risky, but you played on his protective instincts. Theo sensed an approaching figure and lowered his arm. You, on the other hand, shot towards him perpendicularly and caught him off guard. To avoid a collision which he -other than you- would have been able to pull through, Theo turned his broom in a rapid motion. Ginny used the opportunity to knock the Quaffel out of his hands. You caught it, locking eyes with a startled Theo for a split second, and the two of you set off in the direction of the Slytherin rings.

Steering your broom through green and red flashes, you accelerated your speed. Wherever your beaters were, they were doing a fantastic job, as you and Ginny passed through the Slytherins without any bludgers knocking you off your brooms, passing the Quaffel back and forth. When the rings came into sight, you took the lead, shielded your face against the rain to aim and threw the ball. It hit. But another thing hit, too.

WHAM

A sudden pain shot through your body and your hands slipped off your broom. It was so horrible you must have screamed, but your head and senses were numb and unresponsive. You were vaguely aware that the pain originated from your stomach region. That was all, before your body failed you and you could feel yourself falling into darkness.

“Open your eyes, idiota!”

You snapped your eyes open and the first thing you saw was Theo, hovering over you. Just then, you realized he was holding you in his arms and kneeling on the ground of the quidditch pitch. It could have only been a few seconds you blacked out, but judging by the stings and aching all over your body, as well as the fact you were lying beside the stands, you had knocked into the wooden wall of the stands in your fall, where he must’ve caught you. Oh crap. Theo had caught you.

“Get off!” you hushed, scrambling back to your feet even as pain shot through your body at the slightest movement. A particularly nasty ache made you stumble and Theo caught you once more, frowning at you. “Where does it hurt? Where did it hit you?” Oh, right. It must've been a bludger at last. “Can you hear me?” Theo asked and you registered the worry laced into every syllable. Raw, unconcealed fear.

“Y-yeah,” you gritted through clenched teeth and clawed at your side where the bludger had made its impact. It must've been shot from short distance, because rarely had a bludger hit hurt this bad. “Midriff, left side.”

When his hand brushed over the hurting spot, you let out a whimper of agony and Theo quickly retracted it. If it hadn't been for the pain clouding your mind, you’d have teased him for his visible distress. “Where's my broom?” you choked out and Theo looked at you incredulously. “You’re going to Madam Pomphrey, Tesoro. Now.”

“What?” you exclaimed, vaguely aware of voices approaching. You didn't have much time. “No, Theo, I need to play! One of my chasers has taken off, you’ll win! Wait, is that why you’re-”

“Cazzo , Tesoro,” Theo cursed, sending wary glances to the side. “I don't care about winning, I’ll throw the match with you if that's what it takes.”

Suddenly, a familiar voice shouted your name and Theo’s face hardened as Hermoine reached you, looking concerned and rather disheveled. “Are you okay? Madam Pomphrey is on the way.” Obviously under the impression that Theo was harassing you, she gave him a sinister scowl. “What are you doing here, Nott?”

Theo, who’d settled for a mask of indifference once more, let out a mere “tch”, set you down on the grass with a suspicious precariousness, and reached for his broom when-

“HARRY POTTER HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH!” the commentator roared and you breathed out a sigh of relief. About time. “GRIFFINDOR WINS!” announced the speakers and even through the slashing and splashing of the rainfall, your ears were thrumming at the hollers and shouts from the Griffindors.

Though you couldn't see them approaching, soft thuds announced the arrival of your teammates around you. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Theo walk over to his team where he ran into a furious Malfoy, gesticulating heatedly. “Are you okay?” Ginny asked as she and Harry kneeled down to your level. “That damn bludger,” Harry cursed, still holding the snitch. “That Slytherin beater hit you from a few feet distance, Madam Hooch should’ve given him a reprimand!”

“I’m okay,” you assured them and stood up shakily. Hermoine helped you support your weight. “Great job,” you told your brother, ruffling his unruly hair. “I was beginning to think we’d send an imposter in your place.” Even Harry laughed, though he still looked very disconcerted. “What was that guy Nott doing? Did he hex you?”

Oh, most certainly, yes.

“He caught me,” you said in a neutral voice, as if the mere mention of his name didn't have your stomach do cartwheels. Sceptical expressions surrounded you, but they all shrugged it off- all except Ginny. “I’d have gone after you,” she explained apologetically, “But Nott was shooting down like damn lightning and I didn't want to get in the way of that.”

“Weird guy,” you said in an effort to diffuse Hermoine's suspicious look. Harry stepped forward to support your weight, but you let go of Hermoine to demonstrate your walking ability. “I’m fine, I’m okay, just a little bruised up.”

Indeed, none of the others seemed very eager to concentrate on your injuries. Everyone was in the mood for celebration as they changed out of their quidditch robes, already planning the winners party. As they walked out one after the other, you volunteered for cleaning duties, an unpopular job, especially after a won match. “I’ll be there in ten,” you shouted after your brother and Ron leaving for the castle and shut the door.

With a pained groan, you sat down on one of the benches. You hadn't even changed yet, in fear of what you would find on your stomach. Earlier, Madam Pomphrey had cleared you while muttering about the dangers of Quidditch. She had recommended murtlap essence, and you checked the medical closet for it. You found a bottle of the potion and set it down on the bench. The sound of the pouring rain still pelting the roof of the changing room filled the quiet hair as you reached for the hem of your jersey, wincing as your shoulder protested the movement. You thought you were alone- until a quiet knock on the doorframe behind you made you freeze.

“Do you always take this long after a match, or are you just stalling?”

Theo's voice was low, but it carried a certain edge that hindered the casual tone. As you tugged your jersey down in a haste, you spun around to see him leaning against the doorframe. His hair was still damp from the rain, the dark locks were clinging to his forehead. The faintests of smiles tugged at his lips, but it was a little grim, matching the somber look in his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” you repeated the words you’d been echoing for the last half hour. You hoped a convincing smile would ease his nerves, but his gaze only sharpened when your casual shrug made you wince. “Don't lie to me, tesoro,” Theo said softly, drawing closer to you. He came to a halt and you frowned at the pained look in his eyes. “Bell is a maledetto coglione, Voleva ucciderti? Non hai idea di quanto desiderassi farlo cadere dalla scopa!”

Theo seemed to talk himself into a rage, rambling on in Italian as his careful hands brushed over your chin down your arms, inspecting your bruises and cuts. You wouldn't deny that you loved to hear him talk Italian, especially when his quiet voice was brimming with controlled fury. Fiddling with the hem of your jersey, you searched for his eyes but he didn't meet yours. “Theo?” you asked, locking your fingers so he would stop with his inspection. “Don't put Bell in the hospital wing again, yeah?”

Theo glared at you and freed his hand to guide you down onto the bench. “Take off your shirt.” Even though it was a purely practical request, you felt a surge of excitement and nervousness. You froze for a second, then held onto the hem of your jersey and attempted to pull it over your head, but flinched at the pain. Theo helped you, carefully prying it off of you.

Theo’s hands froze the moment the jersey slipped over your head, leaving your skin bare save for the bruises blooming across your ribs and shoulders. His usual sharp retorts or smirking comments were conspicuously absent as his eyes lingered, first on the angry purple marks and then, almost hesitantly, on the soft curve of your body.

He swallowed hard, his fingers brushing your arm lightly as if unsure where to look or how to act. “You’re… very hurt,” he murmured finally, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it, but there was a flicker of something else -something unspoken- flickering in his gaze before he quickly turned his attention back to the task at hand. He reached for the murtlap serum, grabbing the air at first attempt before pulling himself together and seizing the bottle and a cloth.

No words were exchanged as he started tending to your bruises, first the large one on your midriff that was the color of an angry red. When his soft fingers, dapped in murtlap essence, touched your skin, you took a sharp inhale and breathed rapidly. Theo could have smothered himself for the lingering of his eyes on your chest. He attempted to keep his focus on you and started treating the bruise.

You felt the relief of pain in an instant and sighed. “Thanks, Theo.” A light grunt was all you got in response, but the tender care of his fingers was answer enough. Though the murtlap was cool, his his touch left you uncomfortably warm and you tried not to squirm under his deft fingers.

The topic of intimacy was still a shy topic in your relationship. You knew his prior liaisons had been primarily sexual. Thus, you avoided the topic, seeing as your experience was almost none next to his. In any of your relationships, you had never gone beyond kissing and making out, and didn't know wether Theo even knew you were a virgin, let alone wether he’d want to have sex with you after hearing it. Theo had never initiated anything either, seeming perfectly content with your relationship as it was. But you couldn't deny the occasional hunger, the daydreams, the not so innocent thoughts.

Theo’s voice caught your attention. His brows were furrowed as he worked on your scratches from the fall. “Should’ve kept looking out for bludgers, cara. Stupid gryffindor recklessness.” When you recognized the worry in his voice, you smiled and ran a hand through his damp hair. “I’ll make sure to do that.” He seemed content and locked your fingers. “Shirt goes on again, tesoro.”

The itching when you pulled your shirt over your head was nothing compared to the pain from before. As your eyes appeared over your collar once more, you saw Theo had stood up and was putting the murtlap essence back to its place of origin with a lot more fuzz than the task required. Maybe it was just your imagination playing tricks on you, but he seemed to avert his eyes and avoided to look at you.

Before you could contemplate this, Theo had turned around once more and handed you your cloak. “We should get back to our teams before our absence is noticed.” You would have liked to say something to diffuse the light hint of bitterness in his voice, but Theo gave you a calming smile and was out of the door in an instant. Still, the rain brewed up a symphony on the roof of the changing rooms, but your own thoughts sounded too loud for you to notice.

The Gryffindor common room was a cacophony of sound and color, the flickering firelight mingling with enchanted banners that decked the walls in red and gold. Laughter and cheers echoed from every corner, the victorious chants of your teammates nearly drowning out the music. The smell of butterbeer wafted through the room, mixing with the damp, earthy scent of post-match rain that still clung to everyone’s robes.

You smiled faintly as Seamus led an exaggerated reenactment of the game on a table, nearly knocking over a platter of snacks, but the sheer noise of it all pressed against your temples, leaving you torn between wanting to join the celebration and retreating to somewhere quiet. When Seamus started pulling out fireworks, you slipped out of the room through the portrait hole for a quick withdrawal.

Knowing that some of the others, including your friends, had sneaked down to the kitchens to supply the party with more butterbeer and snacks, you took the path down to the dungeons. Though you tread lightly to avoid detection by Filch or Mrs Norris, the sound of your footsteps echoed of the walls as you hurried down the stairs. It was wonderfully quiet, a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of the Griffindor common room, and you relished in the fresh, cool air that turned more moist the deeper you went.

Just as you were about to turn around a corner, you collided with a hard chest. Your prior speed made you stumble and you fell, closing your eyes and shielding yourself for the impact. It didn't come. Opening your eyes, your were met with the infamous raised eyebrow of Theodore Nott, hovering only inches above you. You could be slapped yourself for the breathless “Hi” that escaped you, but it made his lips curl with cold amusement. “Hello, tesoro, where are you off to in such a haste?”

“Kitchens,” you said sheepishly as he pulled you back up and steadied you on your feet. Theo threw a quick glance around the corridor before he slipped his hands into his pockets and switched to a more relaxed stand. Under his heavy gaze, you played with your fingers, trying not to think about the way he had been looking at you in the changing rooms “I forgot to tell you before, you played good,” Theo complimented you softly.

“Thanks,” you smiled. It was a weird situation. Usually, the two of you only talked like this in secret corridors, abandoned classrooms, locked broom cupboards or the astronomy tower, not out in the open. But it was night, and you supposed it was fine. And even if… You had been contemplating it ever since your argument yesterday. Would it be the end of the world if you just talked to Harry and the others about it? Even if they disapproved, you didn't want Theo to feel like an accessory, and sneaking around was not as fun as you thought.

Theo seemed to sense your thoughts had wandered off elsewhere and stepped towards you until your chests almost touched. When he flicked your forehead, you flinched and swatted his hand away. “Hey!”

“What are you thinking about?” Theo asked in a soft but demanding tone. You sighed. “Nothing.” But Theo was not thrown off the scent so easily. Deliberate hands wandered to your hips as he prepared for the attack, but you were faster. You gripped the collar of his shirt, pulled him down by it and kissed him.

The reaction was immediate. You were pulled flush against his body, his hands roamed under your shirt to your bare back making you shudder. “Jeez, Nott, your hands are ice cold,” you mumbled between kisses, but Theo pushed you back against the wall and seized your lips, swallowing every sound, every whimper that fell from them eagerly. You noticed that he avoided your bruised spots as his hands trailed over your bare skin and couldn't help the rush of affection that surged through you at his care.

“Someone could see us,” Theo muttered into the kiss, but you merely whimpered needily and buried your hands in his soft curls. “Then they see us.” The answer seemed to spur him on. It was as if it had awakened some primal part of him, tucked away behind his usual composure. The kiss turned messy as your lips clashed into each other without the usual rhyme and reason. When your eyes met his for a split second, you saw the dark hunger swirling inside them and breathed in shakily. It only seemed to spur him on even more as his head dipped back down and you felt his thigh coming up between your legs, eliciting a pathetic little whimper from you.

“What the bloody hell is going on here?”

Theo and you surged apart, or rather, you scrambled away and he made sure you didn't trip and fall in your haste to put some space between the two of you. Harry, Ron and Hermoine, as well as some other embarrassed looking griffindors, stood a few feet away from you, having just rounded the corner. Their arms were full of pastries, snacks and bottles of butterbeer and lemonade, safe for Harry's, who seemed to have dropped his load at the sight of you and Theo.

“What's it look like I'm doing?” you asked, chest heaving and hair probably a mess. Glancing at Theo, you saw he had leaned against the wall, watching Harry with sharp eyes. The message was clear. He left it up to you to resolve this, but the second Harry stepped over the line, he was a goner.

Your brother shook his head wildly, as if he couldn't believe what was happening and planned to shake the image out of his memory. He called your name incensedly. “Tell me I didn't just see you snogging Theodore Nott in the dungeons.”

With a quick glance at Theo, you decided it was all in. “Would you rather have me snog him in the astronomy tower?” you asked, a hint of sass creeping into your tone. “Because that's what I've been doing for the last months.” Ron and Hermoine looked at each other incredulously, but Harry looked straight up furious as he kicked the pastries aside to step closer to you. When you saw the look in his eyes and caught Theo's slight movement in the corner of your eye, you suddenly began to worry about an altercation between the two. An altercation that, with all your love for him, Harry had no chances of winning.

Harry had caught Theo’s movement as well and turned to him abruptly. “If you think I’m going to stand by and let this happen, you’ve got another thing coming.” You could've kissed Theo for remaining where he stood without blinking, leaving it up to you to resolve this. “Look, Harry,” you tried the diplomatical route. “Would you just listen to m-”

“Do you even know who he is? What he stands for?” Harry cut you off. You were hit with the sudden realization that the footsteps of multiple people were drawing closer, and indeed, a group of Slytherins that had been awoken by the sudden noise appeared in the hallway next to you, watching the conflict with great interest. “I know perfectly well-” you tried to answer but again, Harry didn't let you finish. “His father is a death eater! What, does that excite you?”

“Excuse me?” you hissed and saw Theo shift slightly. “Are you even listening to yourself right now, Harry?” But he probably wasn't. Your brother looked just about ready to tear down walls and you began to doubt wether you could even reason with him about this. “That's a horrible thing to say,” you shot back, folding your arms over your chest. “And Theo’s not his father.”

“Theo? Oh yes?” Harry said angrily, ignoring Hermoine tugging at his robes in an effort to calm him down. “He's just as bad as the rest of them, I don't know how you could be this naive!”

“Is it impossible for you to even entertain the possibility that I can look out for myself?” You hadn't realized you were shouting now as well. “Would you, just for one second, consider that I have a mind and a life of my own? That I can be trusted to make decisions in my life without you chiming in and questioning them?” Your breathing was labored and you tried to calm down, lowering your voice. “Why can't you accept that this was my choice, and it's a valid one? Why would you think you know Theo better than me? Do you think I can't trust my judgement, that I'm just a love-sick, hysterical, stupid schoolgirl who can't descipher reality and delusion?”

“Maybe you are!” Harry bellowed and you flinched, a sudden wave of hurt crashing down on you.

“You say that again,” a voice, soft and eerily composed, said, “and you’ll regret it.” The words hung gravely in the air as everyone, including the groups of Griffindors and Slytherins, stared at Theo, stunned by the both deliberate and utterly terrifying tone of his voice. But the speechlessness didn't last long.

“After everything we’ve been through,” Harry hissed at you, hurt brimming in his eyes, “this is how you repay me? By sneaking around with him?” His fists were clenched at his sides and he paid no attention to Hermoine's pleas to just leave.

“This isnt about you,” you breathed, aghast at his nerve, “This is about me. For once, this is just about me! God, Harry, why are you being so self-centered? This has nothing to do with you!”

“It has everything to do with me!” Harry shouted, stepping even closer. “I just don't get how you could be so stupid! You think he cares about you? He’s a Slytherin- he’s probably using you!” His words were hurtful and they stung worse than the bruises from earlier, but Harry wasn't done yet. “What happens when he gets bored of you? Have you thought about that? If you think Theodore Nott is interested in you, you’re even more naive than I thought.”

You knew he didn't mean it that way. But it still hurt you. This assumption that Theo could never like you for you, could never be interested in you apart from the fact that you were Harry Potter’s sister. That there was nothing about you that made you special, or lovable. That you had no idea what you were doing and no agency of your own. Just a stupid little girl fooling around with something she didn't understand. He was wrong. You told it to yourself over and over in your head as you stared at him silently, watching his anger shift into something else. He was wrong, Theo liked you. Right? But what did he like about you? What was there about you?

You hadn't realized you were crying, you only registered it when Theo himself stepped forward. Apart from the most threatening death glare you had ever seen from him, he didn't attack Harry. His attention was fixed on you, as if he was waiting for your command. But you could only stand there, under the eyes of your classmates, as tears ran down your face.

Harry seemed to realize now what he had said and took a step forward, but you took one back and let out a dry laugh. No words came out. Even if you had some to shoot back, defend Theo or stand up for yourself, they wouldn't have made it past the lump in your throat. Swallowing hard, you took another step back, then another, and before you knew it, you were fleeing up the stairs, ignoring the shouts behind you. You didn't know wether they were directed at you, or Harry, or Theo. You only wanted to get away.

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[obeymeluv]

Random Moments with Malleus [Malleus x Reader]

Random moments with Malleus Draconia (five parts)

I - Showing Support

He never expected the magicless human to be so bold as to approach him as the last class ended. But, then again, you weren't like all the other people in Twisted Wonderland. Savanaclaw and Octavinelle avoided him like the plague; his reputation preceded him across species and habitats. Those in Heartslabyul uttered his name with the same quiver and baited breath as their own housewarden!

And yet, here you stood, staring up at him with a squint to your eyes that he found both enchanting and amusing. "We fae are enrapturing, aren't we?" he teased, meeting your gaze in a polite bow. He resisted the urge to blow a piece of hair from his eyes.

"Ever so," you snorted as your grin widened. "But in all seriousness, don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Oh, that's right!" Lilia perked up beside him. "There's a--"

THE HOUSEWARDEN MEETING! his mind roared, eyes frantic and glittering. For ONCE he would be PRESENT! Deaf to the energy already swirling around him, the magic sparking betwixt his midnight strands and horns, Malleus disappeared in a plume of smoke.

"Good talk," you coughed, batting away the smoke. Lilia disappeared in similar fashion, bemoaning that Malleus would go straight to the meeting instead of grabbing his official robes. Sebek took off to stand guard outside said meeting as Silver apologized on behalf of all three.

"He really appreciates it," Silver swore, "he always wants to be included."

II - Giving Aid

Malleus doesn't know what stopped him but he felt his muscles coil at the last second and snatch your wrist as daintily as possible. He glared at you, eyes like hard-cut emeralds. "I will only say this once," he hissed, hunched over to avoid suspicion and keep himself quiet, "do not eat anything he offers!"

"Isn't it rude to deny the generosity of the fae?" you tried to wrestle your wrist back. Malleus readjusted his fingers subconsciously, keeping his long nails away from the delicate skin of your wrist. He, Lilia, and Sebek were doing their best to school you on the ways of the fae since you were now a resident of Twisted Wonderland and gifts and etiquette were top priority.

"Only when their cooking won't kill you!" "Heed Master Malleus!" Sebek rounded the corner sharply, growling quietly. You don't know if his sudden presence startled you or if it was the fact he was actually being quiet. "He speaks from experience!" "I beseech you, Child of Man," Malleus begins again as Sebek is summoned to finish setting the table with Silver. "Do not--"

"Dinner's ready! Come and get it!" Lilia's voice echoes in the stone walls of Diasomnia.

You'd heard stories but clearly these were childish exaggerations. Besides, Silver grew up fine and strong! Your confidence in Lilia dwindled rapidly as you looked at a bowl of purple...something...with bits of carrot and some kind of cream drizzled in. Whatever it was, it smelled sweet and smoky and you were concerned.

"A hearty soup!" Lilia smiled as he handed out rolls for said...soup...and talked about how it was a good choice for such abysmal weather outside. Silver steeled himself and relaxed his face as he slid the first spoonful in his mouth.

No help there, you thought as you looked for any hint of what it tasted like before you met your fate. Sebek's method seemed to be eating it too fast to care, much to Lilia's ire. The green-haired freshman ignored the lecture on his manners. You swallowed dryly and looked at anything else besides the soup and Lilia as the first spoonful slid down your throat.

Not too bad. Looks were deceiving! It tasted like purple yam and...coconut milk? The soup was silky and you didn't see what the problem was until you were a few bites in. That next spoonful seemed to breach a layer of shredded carrot and what you hoped was celery as a rush of bitter, bitter, bitter exploded on your tongue.

You don't know how you didn't gag. Silver noticed the flinch in your posture and started talking very loudly about his next training session. Sebek nearly deafened poor Silver as he begged for Lilia to tell you an old story. The old story would keep him occupied far longer than training pointers and regimens.

Should you blot the taste with rolls? They look normal! Or should you just eat it really fast and be done with it? The horrors of the soup deepened as you ate--tiny mushrooms were caught in something winding and kelp-like that hadn't been cut up properly. Something toasted and leaf-like crunched amidst another clump of carrot.

That was your last bite! Whatever that crunch was you were done! You wiped your mouth quietly, sweat beading on your brow as you tore into a roll to settle your stomach. You weren't sure how much time had passed but it was enough to eat two more rolls. The way your insides were dancing, you were sure you'd eaten an alchemy project instead of food.

The bitterness of the soup swarmed you, your guts writhing as you stood calmly. Don't talk! If you talk you're going to puke! you told yourself as you pushed in the chair. Your distress was like smoke on the wind to Malleus. "I shall walk you home, come Child of Man!" Malleus practically dragged you to the front door of Diasomnia. He made the jump to Ramshackle in a burst of green and you puked so hard you almost fell into the brush.

"I have you, Child of Man. It's alright," Malleus cooed, holding you by the waist. You begged him to take you to the tiny bathroom upstairs and he complied, holding your hair as you knelt in misery. "I have you," he assured as you painted the toilet purple.

III - Domesticity

Something in Malleus was riled and rigid when he realized he hadn't seen you all day. His forehead itched as more scales threatened to break the facade of human skin. It was most unusual not to see his Child of Man! Where could they be? Had something gone amiss? Were you injured and in need?

"Something on your mind?" Lilia winced against the building winds as clouds loomed overhead, dark and dreary. Their casual walk from Diasomnia to the main campus ended at the door of Ramshackle. His respectful knocks went unanswered and Malleus didn't know if he was more disappointed or worried.

"Not at all," Malleus lied with a straight face, holding his head high despite his dejection. A light drizzle began as he waited morosely under the shelter of your feeble porch.

"Are you sure?" Lilia put his hands on his hips and peered up at the stubborn prince, brow quirked. The rain drummed harder.

"I--" "Hurry, guys! We have to get it inside!"

The piercing reply died on Malleus' lips as three figures lit up the rain like watercolors bleeding across a canvas. You were running up the steps with your arms full of groceries, Ace and Deuce not far behind. Keys jingling and slipping in your hands, Malleus stepped aside as you, Ace, and Deuce all but tripped over each other to escape the weather.

Had you even seen him? Malleus stood nervously in the doorway, almost feeling like he was intruding on a moment. He forgot that humans traveled in packs for convenience and safety. Something clutched in his chest nauseatingly at the thought of Ace and Deuce caring for you.

He was glad they cared for you and ran errands with you, undoubtedly, but something made him sick all the same. "Offer to help!" Lilia gave him a shove, "Don't be a shadow in the doorway!"

Malleus swung his tail at the fae--not hard, just the end--but it was no use. Lilia was gone, bits of green magic snuffed out by the rain. He cleared his throat, three heads poking up and pooling together to assess the sudden intrusion.

You relaxed much quicker than the other two and he was pleased. Malleus smiled at you. Deuce and Ace excused themselves, something about drying off and changing into spare clothes as you began to root through the grocery bags. "May I?" Malleus drew up beside you, peeking curiously at the eggs and other sustenance you chose for yourself.

"Please!" you smiled so brightly for someone so small and wet. It was quiet adorable! He marveled at the quiet domestic bliss, the simplicity of putting away groceries. It was a novel experience for him since he grew up in a castle with kitchen help. You taught him how to cradle--not crush--the eggs and began to promptly fry up some meat when he accidentally sliced the package with a claw trying to put it in the fridge drawer.

You flipped the meat and motioned for him to sit as you tossed some bread in the nearby toaster. Malleus straightened his posture and nestled into a chair. Or would have, had he not touched something icy. The chair groaned and scratched the floor as he shoved it away with his tail, the appendage tangled around the legs.

"Oh! Hold on!" even if it was an old piece of furniture, you wanted to save it. You didn't have much to begin with. A lone bag clattered to the floor. "I forgot about those!" you laughed to yourself as you snatched up the plastic handle and fished out the item in one swing.

"Ice cream?" Malleus couldn't help but laugh, hand coming up to shield his fangs as he did so. Grandmother always said it was rude to bear your fangs in any situation but a mating ritual or war.

"For when you come to visit," you shook the box of pre-wrapped ice cream cones before putting them in the freezer. You rushed back to your pan with a hurried squawk as you tried to save the burning meat.

"I am most honored," Malleus chuckled as you turned to present him with two plates of toast and slightly burnt meat.

IV - Gentle Nights

He would like to say he used decades of cunning to arrange the wonderful and well-deserved sight in front of him but that would be a lie. It was almost laughably easy to be alone with you. Rare, yes, but easy enough. Lilia was enthralled in his online ventures, Silver was at the mercy of his drowsiness, and Sebek simply honored the wish of his dear future king to be alone with his beloved.

Malleus' heart hammered wildly in his chest at the sight of you. So soft, so smooth, so glorious and ethereal in a matching silk set. If you asked him, he was lounging and mustering all his fae wiles to beckon you into his embrace. If he was honest, the lounging was more being smitten and in awe of you and helplessly begging for a kiss with his eyes because his voice was nothing around you.

"Are you going to get under the covers or just lie there looking all pretty?" you leaned over him, the dragon falling readily onto his back as the heat of your body tickled his side. Your hair framed your face and he reached up to caress your cheek. Oblivious to the gentle tugs underneath him, Malleus snapped to attention when your cold foot snaked under his top. The hiss was ungodly and definitely fae; he recoiled with wounded eyes as you giggled and slipped under the bit of sheet you dislodged.

"Fiend!" he grumbled, throwing the tasseled shawl over you and tying it up. The fae grinned smugly, the two of you nose to nose.

"I'm trapped!" you gasped dramatically, arms encircling his neck. Kisses feathered against his cheek and started a winding path around his face. He slipped under the covers and fluffed them as he tucked them around you.

"Mine forever!" Malleus rubbed his chin against your forehead as he guided you down under his neck to protect you from his horns. His tail beat a steady rhythm into the bed as he kissed the crown of your head.

"Always." you kissed his fingertips, then his knuckles, as you laced your hands with his.

V - Beautiful Mornings

Being fae, he didn't need as much sleep as a human. Malleus relished in the moments of early dawn where the cocktail of oranges and yellows gave you the most beguiling glow as it diffused against the curtains in his room. He rolled carefully to his side to observe you, his happy gurgle low like a gentle rolling brook. Having another set of vocal chords could be quite damning and inconvenient sometimes but he couldn't even hate the way he loved you or how you inspired his draconic body to show it. The housewarden batted an errant strand from the curve of your face, freezing as you twitched.

His heart stilled, falling into a gentle bloom of adoration when you relaxed into his sheets. The smell of you and him in the morning was truly intoxicating. Malleus' pointed ears flexed as the slow shuffle of movement sounded nearby.

Lilia was waking up.

He had only a few minutes more to indulge in this mesmerizing sight before he was accosted. Your hand had wedged itself under his pillow, searching for him even in your sleep. Malleus freed it gently, kissing your palm before folding it against your body and straightening his side as carefully as possible. Tip-toeing to his vanity, Malleus settled carefully in the chair and tipped his hair back for the enchanted brush. Yawning softly into his hand, Malleus flicked a finger to the polishing cloth nearby and pointed to his right horn.

Malleus knew better than to do anything with eyeliner or mascara first thing in the morning. Lilia had a radar for such things and getting stabbed in the eye with a wand grew old long ago. He stared with bleary contentment at his own reflection, at the suggestion of you behind him, as Lilia cracked the door open.

I had suspicions the youngling stayed over! Lilia's eyes flicked from you to him, growing more stern as they did. His brows furrowed. What have I told you about this?

No eggs before marriage, Malleus smirked, eyes and brain waking up and beginning to shine with fae playfulness.

Besides that! Lilia rolled his eyes, I know I've told you--

We've done nothing uncouth, Lilia, Malleus looked away as the lipstick bobbed and pointed at the elder fae threateningly. Or with emphasis. It was hard for Lilia to tell. I just wanted to spend some time with them, Malleus rolled his head slightly as the cloth worked on his other horn, and if you wake them I shall fry all of your technology until it looks like the pheasant you turned to cinders last month.

Lilia turned up his nose at the youngster. Just see that your presentable and downstairs, young man!

In due time, Lilia, Malleus promised. He lined his eyes and fixed his lashes. The young prince was powdering his face when you hugged him sleepily. Malleus squeezed your hand against his chest affectionately as you grabbed the floating brush with the other and tended gingerly to his hair. "Good morning, beloved."

"Good morning, sweetheart." you kissed the scale on his forehead, fixing his bangs like he liked.

"You spoil me," he mused as you cradled his face in your palm and did your best to apply his lipstick. It was hard with him grinning like the fool he was for you.

"I try," you shrugged, now sitting in his lap to get his bottom lip.

"And you succeed." Malleus tipped your chin up and pressed a long kiss to your lips.

[slytherin-princess-x]

Slytherinmas day 28

New year wishes

Theo x y/n

Warnings: Nothing but a whole lotta fluff

Word count: 1262

A/n: sorry for the late one I rewrote this so many times to make sure it was perfect for you guys xoxo

The Slytherin common room buzzed with energy as the clock inched closer to midnight. The flickering green flames in the fireplace cast a warm glow over the room, illuminating the lavish decorations that hung from the stone walls. Streamers in shades of silver and emerald fluttered overhead, and a lavish feast sprawled across tables, laden with an assortment of delicacies. I could feel the excitement vibrating in the air, but my mind was elsewhere.

Everyone around me seemed to be caught up in the revelry, laughing and toasting with glasses filled with sparkling butterbeer, but I found it hard to concentrate on anything but the way your eyes sparkled when you laughed. I had been searching for you since I stepped into the common room, weaving through the crowd of students clad in their best robes, feeling a gnawing urgency to find you before the clock struck twelve.

“Oi, Theo!” my friend Draco called from across the room, a glass of fire whiskey in hand. “Come on! Join us!” He was flanked by a couple of his usual entourage, but the laughter they shared felt distant. I offered a distracted nod but kept scanning the crowd.

Where could you be? You had mentioned you would come, and I could almost picture you in that elegant dress that hugged you in all the right places. The thought alone sent a thrill through me and blood rushing round my body. I pushed through clusters of students, trying to catch a glimpse of your familiar silhouette, but all I saw were the faces of people I barely knew, or cared about for that matter. I needed you.

The music swelled, and I could hear the laughter growing louder. In a desperate attempt to keep my composure, I poured myself a glass of fire whiskey, the vibrant colors swirling together in the goblet. I took a deep breath, hoping the taste of the sharp drink would calm the anticipation swirling in my chest. But it only heightened it.

I paused for a moment, my gaze lingering on the large clock that hung over the mantle, its hands moving steadily toward midnight. I scanned the room again, hoping against hope that I would spot you before the countdown began. As I turned, I felt a sudden surge of determination wash over me. I couldn't let the night pass without at least having a moment with you.

I slipped into a quieter corner of the room, where the noise faded just enough for me to think. I could still see the revelry happening in the main area, but I focused on what I wanted. You.

Then, just as I was about to lose hope, I saw you across the room, sitting near the window under a table. Your laughter floated toward me like a beacon as you scrolled on your phone, and my heart raced. You looked radiant, framed by the soft light spilling in from the moonlit grounds. I felt an urgency welling up inside me, and I knew I had to get to you before the year changed

“Y/n?”

“Oh hey teddy.”

She looks up at me with that lopsided smile, no thought behind her beautiful eyes.

”Y/n, mi cara. What are you doing under that table, it's almost midnight.”(My dear). I can't help but question her offering my hand to help her up just as I notice her holding something.

“Uhm, well apparently if you eat 12 grapes under a table at Nye, good things will come to you in the year ahead. Pans did it last year and she got with draco on Valentine's.” I can't help but laugh slightly at her reasoning.

“So you’re doing this....how do you say it...ritual? For a boyfriend?” She shakes her head at me, a bashful smile plastered her face tucking a strand of hair behind her ear

“More for good luck teddy, but I wouldn't complain of a boyfriend came along with it. Come sit, I have plenty of grapes left for you” The small giggle that leaves her lips draws me in, shes like my own drug but she doesn't even know it. I comply, obviously, sitting beside her under the table my head ducked uncomfortably so I didn't whack it off the table.

“My good luck better be not getting neck cramp“ I huffed ever so quietly earning a small hand on my arm and her head on my shoulder muffling her laugh

“If you get neck cramp I'll give you a massage to make up for it”

She bats her eyes at me. I know she's joking but the thought of her hands dragging across my body can only send shivers up and down my body, kind of hoping I do hurt my neck.

I fixate on her eyes, her hair, just her. She breaks our eye contact with a nervous laugh.Like clockwork my hand reaches under her chin turning her head back to me. My eyes flicker all over her face, the way she nervously licked her lips gently biting her bottom lip. Without thinking I let my thumb rub her bottom lip pulling it from between her teeth. Her chest rises and falls more frequently heat rising up my neck as I realize what I did. Fuck, theo. I pull away clearing my throat.

“It's almost midnight, when do we have these?” I lean over her grabbing a handful of grapes.

“Uh- have what?” I suppress the smirk on my face nodding towards the grapes in her hand

“Those Principessa” (princess) she fumbles around to pick up her phone and the time read 11:59. Chanting began all around us

“10…”

“Shit we’re 2 grapes behind” she laughs putting one in her mouth

“9….”

“Hurry up teddy” I laugh at her muffled words her mouth filled with grapes, dio mio she’s gorgeous, even with her mouth filled to the brim with grapes. I watch her with an amused smirk as she picks up a grape, parting my lips and putting it in my mouth with that goddamn innocent look on her face. Fuck. Grapes. Grapes. Think about grapes, Theo. Mental images of feeding her grapes naked in Italy definitely isn’t helping

“5…” god 5 seconds and I’ve only had 1 grape. Fuck sake I want this, nah I need this. Yeah this definitely isn’t about the grapes anymore.

“3..” her laugh infects me, my mind, my body. My heart.

“2…” I can’t breathe when she isn’t near, I can’t go a day without hearing her call me Teddy. That stupid name that never leaves anyone else’s lips.

“1…” I watch her throat bob finishing her good luck thing. 1. ‘Happy fucking new year’ I tell myself before grabbing her throat and leaning in to kiss her. It was tentative at first—a soft brush that ignited a thousand butterflies in my stomach. I could taste the sweetness of the grapes her breath, and I was lost. She responded, tilting her head slightly to deepen the kiss. My heart soared, and I lost myself in the moment. It was everything I had imagined and more—her warmth enveloped me, grounding me while lifting me at the same time.

The kiss grew more urgent, more alive. I pulled her closer, wrapping my arms around her waist, feeling the softness of her body against mine. She fit perfectly, as if we were two pieces of a puzzle that had finally clicked together. I pull my head back holding her jaw so she’d facing me and not look away all cute and flustered.

“Is that enough luck for you?”

Taglist: @yootvi @redeemingvillains @littlemadamred @smut-anarchy

[buckets-and-trees]

Chosen, Part 1: Arrival

Characters/Pairings: eventual Bucky x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Word Count: 3.4k Summary: After surviving three rounds of interviews, you have been invited for a full-day to tour and interview at the estate and headquarters that belong to the Winged Heritage Foundation.

SERIES Content Warnings: SOFT!DARK STORY, cult themes, explicit smut, dubious consent and enthusiastic consent, veiled truths, gaslighting

CHAPTER Content Warnings: none

Notes: I started writing this story with the intention for it to be a long one-shot, but after it shot past 18k, I realized I would need to break it up into installments, so ... expect sort of a slow burn for the plot? Installments will be posted on Mondays and Thursdays.

Shout outs to @stargazingfangirl18, @witchywithwhiskey, @biteofcherry, and @vonalyn for helping me get my ideas sorted out for this trip!

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You scroll through the note in your phone with questions to ask during a final interview as the car pulls off the interstate and starts down a country highway lined with trees.

At least you hope this is the final interview.

You had applied for a basic administrative assistant position with the Winged Heritage Foundation, but after your first interview you had been called by a recruitment officer and asked if you would consider a different position with the organization, one that hadn’t been posted publicly.

You still don’t know what the position is you’re being considered for, but after two more interviews, you had been notified that you were a finalist and invited to a full-day interview and tour of the Foundation’s headquarters – an estate outside of the city. They had even arranged for a professional car service to pick you up and take you there. The offices in the city, where your previous three interviews had taken place, evidently handles most of the business operations for the Foundation, and the estate is where the more focused work takes place.

You are naturally a bit nervous for a fourth - and full day - interview, but you feel you like your nerves are at a healthy level - present but not paralyzing, a small buzz that will keep you focused.

The car slows as it approaches a break in the trees, and your driver signals to turn. As you round the corner, your breath catches in your throat. A wrought-iron gate stretches across a wide driveway, its intricate scrollwork spelling out "Winged Heritage" in elegant script. The gate swings open silently as your car approaches, as if by magic.

The driveway stretches before you, a winding ribbon of pale gravel cutting through a verdant landscape that takes your breath away. Ancient oaks and maples line the drive, their branches reaching across to form a dappled canopy overhead. Bright morning sunlight filters through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground.

As you travel deeper into the estate, meticulously manicured gardens unfold on either side. Vibrant flower beds burst with color - deep purple irises, sunny yellow daffodils, and blood-red roses. The gardens give way to rolling lawns of emerald green, dotted with sculpted topiaries in fantastical shapes.

As the car rounds another bend, a shimmering pond comes into view. Its surface is like polished glass, reflecting the azure sky and fluffy white clouds above. A family of swans glide gracefully across the water, their long necks arched in elegant curves. At the far end of the pond, a delicate bridge of white marble spans the narrowest point, its railings gilded with gold.

The driveway begins to climb a gentle slope, and as you crest the hill, your jaw drops at the sight before you. A magnificent mansion rises from the landscape, its pale stone walls glowing warmly in the morning sunlight. The architecture is a stunning blend of classical elegance, with graceful arches and intricate stonework that seems to ripple and dance as you approach.

The central facade is a masterpiece of symmetry, with wide steps leading up to a grand entrance flanked by towering columns. Ivy climbs the walls in artful patterns, as if guided by an invisible hand to accentuate the building's most beautiful features.

The car follows the curve of the driveway as it sweeps up to the grand entrance before coming to a stop. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself for what lies ahead. The driver opens your door, and you step out onto the gravel, the crunch beneath your feet grounding you in the moment.

A figure emerges from the ornate double doors at the top of the steps, and your heart skips a beat as you recognize her instantly. Natasha Romanoff, the Chief Recruitment Officer, descends the stairs with astonishing grace. Her vibrant red hair catches the sunlight, creating a halo effect that seems almost otherworldly. She's dressed in a sleek black pantsuit that exudes both professionalism and an air of mystery. As your eyes meet hers, you're struck by the intensity of her gaze - piercing green eyes that seem to look right through you.

As she draws closer, you notice a subtle smile playing at the corners of her mouth, a mix of confidence and what you suspect to be mischief. Over the course of your brief interactions up to this point, she had been nothing but professional, but you could feel some alluring pull or energy that seemed to run deep beneath the surface of her controlled demeanor. She had been present in your second interview, conducted the third with one of her associates, and had been the one to schedule you for this.

"Welcome," Natasha says, her voice smooth as silk. "We're so pleased you could join us today." She extends her hand, and you shake it, noting the firmness of her grip.

"Thank you for having me," you reply, proud that your voice doesn't betray your nerves. "The estate is absolutely breathtaking."

Natasha's smile widens slightly. "It is, isn't it? We find that beauty inspires greatness. But come, let's not linger in the driveway. We have a full day and much to show you."

She gestures towards the entrance, and you fall into step beside her as you ascend the stone steps. The massive doors swing open silently, revealing a grand foyer that takes your breath away. The ceiling soars overhead, at least three stories, adorned with an intricate fresco depicting a beautiful sky, birds in flight, and towering trees, bringing the beauty of the grounds into this entry.

Natasha guides you through a doorway off to the side of the foyer, leading you into a small sitting room. The space is elegantly decorated with plush couches, rich mahogany furniture, and intricate paintings on the walls.

"Please, have a seat," Natasha gestures towards one of the couches as she takes a seat in an armchair across from you. You sink into the soft cushions, trying to take in everything at once - the opulence of the room, Natasha's presence, and her piercing gaze.

"First things first,” Natasha says, a professional smile on her face, “the nature of what goes on here is very sensitive and so I'll need you to sign this NDA before we continue." She hands you a stack of paperwork and a pen.

You quickly skim through the document before signing it, feeling slightly uneasy about signing something so quickly without fully understanding what the day ahead of you will entail. But your curiosity outweighs your hesitation and when Natasha takes back the signed document, she slides it into a briefcase by her side.

"Now that's out of the way," she says smoothly, "let me tell you more about our foundation."

She proceeds to give you an overview of the Winged Heritage Foundation – an overview of its history, mission, and values. It's all very intriguing and impressive - but although what she shares is engaging, outside of supporting initiatives identified as important to its founder and possibly something to do preservation of history or historical places and artifacts, you still feel you don’t have any clearer of an idea of what the Foundation’s actual purpose is. But since you have an entire day here, you don’t press the point now, assuming some part of the day will be dedicated to diving deeper into the work they do.

"But enough about us," Natasha says with another enigmatic smile. "Let's talk about what brought you here today."

She pulls out your resume from her briefcase and goes over your experience and qualifications with sharp attention to detail. She asks probing questions that make you feel like she's reading between the lines of your professional achievements.

"Impressive," she comments once she's finished going over your resume. "Your professional and personal character references also speak very highly of you."

Your brow furrows slightly. “Sorry,” you interject, “I don’t remember giving personal references?”

“No, you did not. But we do a lot of work on our end to vet candidates at this point for positions like this. Surely you understand.”

You nod slowly and train your face back into a smile. At least whatever homework they seem to have done on you came back with a positive result.

She leans forward slightly, and you can feel the intensity of her gaze. "We need someone who's truly suited for the responsibilities, but personnel fit is also incredibly important to us.”

“Of course,” you respond. “And what responsibilities exactly would you be looking for me to fulfill?”

Natasha presses her lips together and seems to scrutinize your face more closely. “You’re being considered for two opportunities. Until later in the day when I’ve made a determination on which I’ll recommend you for, I won’t be disclosing that information to you.”

“Oh,” you’re a little surprised at her directness, but you suppose her reason for withholding the information is logical.

“As the Chief Recruitment Officer, I’m very good at what I do, so I’ll know your future with us by the end of the day.”

Natasha rises from her chair with fluid grace. "Shall we begin the tour?" she asks, extending her hand to help you up. You take it, noting the surprising strength in her grip. “I'm eager to show you the wonders of our estate."

She seems to hold your hand longer than necessary, or maybe it’s just your nerves, maybe you looked unsteady standing up and she was only ensuring you were okay.

As you follow her out of the sitting room, you're once again struck by the grandeur of the foyer. Natasha notices your gaze lingering on the fresco above. "That was commissioned by our founder," she explains. "It's said to depict the view from the highest peak of a mountain range that no longer exists."

She leads you down a long corridor, its walls lined with portraits of distinguished-looking individuals. "Our benefactors and notable members throughout the years," Natasha explains. "Each one has contributed significantly to our mission."

The corridor opens into a vast library that takes your breath away. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stretch as far as the eye can see, filled with leather-bound tomes. The air is heavy with the scent of old books and polished wood. Sunlight streams through tall windows, casting a warm glow over the room. The library is a bibliophile's dream, with rolling ladders affixed to the shelves, gorgeous wooden tables for spreading out books for research, and cozy reading nooks tucked into alcoves.

As you walk between the towering shelves, you notice that some of the books look ancient, their spines cracked and faded with age, some even appear to be bound in unfamiliar materials. Others appear to be in pristine condition, despite clearly being very old.

"Our collection is quite extensive," Natasha says, running her fingers along the spines of nearby books. "We have texts dating back centuries, some of which are the only surviving copies in the world."

"How do you preserve them so well?" you ask, unable to hide your fascination.

Natasha's lips curl into a mysterious smile. "We have our ways. Mostly it’s all down to our librarian Jarvis.”

She leads you through a set of double wooden doors at the other side of the library. Once you exit, Natasha leads you through a series of grand hallways, each more breathtaking than the last. The walls are adorned with tapestries and paintings that seem to come alive as you pass, their subjects' eyes following your movement. You could swear you see a figure in one portrait shift slightly, but when you look back, it's perfectly still.

"This wing houses our main offices and research facilities," Natasha explains as you walk. "We have state-of-the-art equipment for analyzing artifacts and documents, as well as a world-class conservation lab."

You pass by rooms filled with people working diligently at computers, their screens displaying what look like ancient texts and complex diagrams. In one room, you glimpse a team carefully examining what appears to be an old manuscript under specialized lighting.

As you continue down the hallway, you notice a door that seems different from the others. It's made of dark, heavy wood and adorned with intricate carvings. Unlike the other doors which are open or have glass panels, this one is firmly shut.

Natasha catches you looking at it. "That area is off-limits, I'm afraid. Some of our more... sensitive projects require absolute secrecy."

You nod but can't help feeling a prickle of curiosity. What could be behind that door that requires such concealment?

Natasha guides you to an elevator at the end of the hall. As you step inside, you notice there are more floors than you would have expected from the outside view of the mansion.

"We have quite extensive facilities underground," Natasha explains as she presses a button for one of the lower levels. "It allows us to maintain the historical integrity of the mansion's exterior while having all the modern amenities we need for our work."

The elevator descends smoothly, and when the doors open, you find yourself in a sleek, modern space that contrasts sharply with the ornate decor above. The walls are a pristine white, and the floors are polished concrete. The lighting is bright but not harsh, giving the space a clean, almost clinical feel.

Natasha leads you down a corridor lined with glass-walled rooms. In one, you see people in lab coats hunched over microscopes. In another, a group is gathered around a large touch screen, manipulating 3D models of what look like ancient artifacts.

"This is our primary research facility," Natasha says, leading you down a wide corridor. "We have some of the most advanced technology in the world at our disposal here."

As you walk, you pass by rooms with glass walls, allowing you to see inside. In one, you spot what looks like a holographic projection of a complex molecule rotating in mid-air. In another, a team of scientists in white lab coats huddle around a table, examining something you can't quite make out.

You pause for a moment, trying to take it all in. The contrast between the classical architecture upstairs and this futuristic facility is striking. "This is incredible," you say, unable to keep the awe from your voice. "I had no idea the Foundation had such advanced capabilities."

Natasha's lips curl into a satisfied smile. "We pride ourselves on being at the cutting edge of research and technology. It's essential for some of our work. We’re also one of the few science labs in the world that still is granted an affiliation with the nation of Wakanda."

As you continue down the corridor, you notice a few doors that aren't made of glass like the others. These are solid metal, with keycard readers and what look like biometric scanners next to them.

"What's behind those doors?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

Natasha's expression doesn't change, but you sense a slight shift in her demeanor. "Those are our most sensitive research areas. Access is strictly limited to senior researchers and leadership."

As if orchestrated for this precise moment, the doors slide open, and two men emerge, engaged in a heated discussion. Or, rather, one of them is heated, and the other is shooting back casual, sarcastic comments.

Natasha clears her throat, “Gentlemen.”

They both stop.

“We have company,” she says, gesturing to you.

The two men turn to face you, and your jaw nearly drops as you instantly recognize them. Standing before you are none other than Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, two of the most famous figures in the world and certainly at the Foundation.

Tony Stark, looking every bit the billionaire genius he's known to be, is dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that probably costs more than your current yearly salary. His goatee is perfectly trimmed, and his hair is styled with just the right amount of casual messiness. There's a faint blue glow visible beneath his shirt - the arc reactor that's become his trademark.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Tony says, his eyes sparkling with curiosity and mischief. He steps forward, extending his hand. "Tony Stark. But you probably knew that already."

As you shake his hand, you can't help but feel a bit starstruck. Tony Stark's grip is brief but firm and confident, his smile charming yet slightly calculating as he sizes you up.

"And this strapping specimen of American values is Steve Rogers," Tony adds, gesturing to the man beside him.

Steve, standing tall and broad-shouldered, offers you a warm smile that seems to light up the room. He's dressed more casually than Tony in khakis and a fitted blue shirt that barely contains his muscular frame. His handshake is strong but gentle, and his blue eyes radiate sincerity.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Steve says, his voice deep and reassuring. "I hope you're enjoying your tour of our facilities."

You manage to find your voice, introducing yourself. “The tour has been nothing but fascinating and impressive so far,” you affirm.

Tony's eyes gleam with interest. "Oh, you’re the one they’ve been wooing, eh? I was sent no less than five reminders this morning that I was to be on my best behavior,” he discloses with a wink.

Natasha rolls her eyes, and you have the suspicion Steve only barely restrains himself from doing so.

"Anyway, welcome to the Foundation," Tony says.

"Stark is supposed to be one of our most valuable researchers," Natasha explains.

"Eh, that’s why you send Steve down to get me back in line when I’m pursuing tangential projects."

This time Steve does roll his eyes.

You can't help but chuckle at the banter between Tony and Steve. Their dynamic is exactly as you'd imagined from what you've seen in the media - Tony's quick wit and sarcasm playing off Steve's more serious demeanor.

"So, what do you think of our little operation so far?" Tony asks, gesturing broadly at the surrounding facility. "Pretty impressive, right?"

Before you can answer, Natasha interjects smoothly. "I'm sure our guest is finding everything quite fascinating, but we should continue the tour. I'm sure you both have important work to get back to."

Tony raises an eyebrow at Natasha, a silent exchange seeming to pass between them. "Right, right. Important work. Can't keep the world waiting, can we?" He turns back to you with a grin. "It was a pleasure meeting you. I’m sure we’ll be seeing you around."

“You’ll at the very least be seeing me,” Steve says. “I believe I’m scheduled to join you for lunch.”

“And I’m not invited?” Tony protests, but he sports an unrepentant grin rather than any genuine offense.

Steve puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder to steer him away, “You’re not the Executive Director of the Foundation, so, no.”

Tony shrugs out of his grip, “And remind me why that is?”

“‘All administrative, no science,’ as you aptly put it so many times when you remind me why you don’t want to listen to what I say.”

“Right,” Tony replies, but does fall into step with Steve heading down the corridor.

As they leave, you can't help but feel a mix of excitement and bewilderment. Meeting two such prominent figures so casually during your interview process only adds to the surreal nature of this experience.

Natasha gently touches your elbow and guides you away from the metal doors and continues down the corridor. "My apologies for that interruption," she says, though her tone suggests she's not entirely displeased. "Mr. Stark has a tendency to... make an impression."

You nod, still processing the encounter. "It's no problem at all. I'm just surprised to see them here. I knew they were involved with the Foundation, but I didn't realize they were so hands-on."

Natasha's lips curl into a knowing smile. "The Winged Heritage Foundation values the direct involvement of all its key members. You'll find that everyone here, regardless of their public status or their position in our organization, contributes actively to our mission.”

She leads you through more state-of-the-art laboratories and research facilities, each more impressive than the last, before returning to the elevator to bring you surface-level again.

As the elevator ascends, you find your mind racing with questions. The encounter with Stark and Rogers, the glimpses of cutting-edge technology, and the air of mystery surrounding certain areas of the facility have only heightened your curiosity about the true nature of the Winged Heritage Foundation is, showing you so much, but not truly illuminating any answers.  

NEXT PART: LUNCH

Welcome to the Winged Heritage Foundation, lovelies. This is only the beginning... Where will this day take you? And what is going on here?

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[toulousewayne]

🌿🍃Toxic Lover: Pt: II

Nightwing X male!reader with a former team who had become Poison Ivy like meta-human.

Summary:Your a former Titan teammate, you and Dick have unresolved feelings and you become infected with the same toxins and chemicals that turned Poison Ivy into a meta-human.

————-

“They Can Bury Us Deep, But We Always Grow.”

Batman sat perched on the rooftops of Gotham. It was a rainy night, much preferred these nights. Most of the crime was kept to the shadows it made it easier for him.

“Batman,we’ve got a problem,”Oracle’s voice filled his coms. “Fill me in.” He jumped off the building and glided north of his location.

——

A man walks outside of the Stacked Deck Bar, and takes a puff from his cigarette. He walks into the alleyway and takes a swig of his flask.

He rounds the corner to see a shadow figure standing before him.

“It’s the freakin’ bat,” he takes out his pistol but it’s knocked out of his grips my a WingDing. The next thing he knows he’s thrown against a nearby dumpster.

“You murderer.” Nightwing snarled at the man before his feet. He kicked him in the stomach, then picked him up and flung him to the other side of the alley.

“L-look I’m sorry about you friend—it’s wasn’t personal.” He’s met with a powerful shock to the gut.

“AHHH-pplease.”

“That’s enough, honey,”A thin cloud of pink and gold mist surrounded the two men, Y/n emerged be held by tree branches pink petals. “It’s good to see you,Nolan wasn’t it. however, the last time we meet you killed me along with your friends.” Y/n grinned. He sported a new pale green skin tone now, his normal (E/C) eyes were a deep emerald. Leaves and vines woven together to map pants and some wrapped around his forearms and torso.

He lowered himself and walked over to Nightwing placing a hand on his emblem. “You know I should really thing you, you allowed me to be a better version of myself,”

“You’re welcome-“Nightwing kicked him in the gut again.

Y/n crossed his arms across his chest. “Though I could have done without the new color. No matter it’s time you answer my questions.” He waved his hand and Nightwing backed away from the goon. Y/n crouched down and blow from his palm, more of the same pink dust engulfed him squared in the face and almost immediately his grimace morphed into a blank stare.

“Now what I want to know two things. What is the name of the scientist that gave you the order to kill me, and last where is Poison Ivy?”

———

The Batmobile came to a screeching haunt behind several police cruisers. He leaped out and walked past the small crowd held back by officers.

A officer lifted a yellow tape and he entered the crime scene. Gordon stood a foot away from two white sheets, Spoiler and Red Robin stood at the bodies scanning them before joining Batman and the Commissioner.

“They two of the best people on the force,” Gordon puffed after taking a drag from his Pipe.

“Any leads?” Batman turned to the two heroes. Red Robin hand him a zip lock bag with several deep green leaves.

“Posion Ivy, she’s been quiet.” Spoiler folded her arms.

Batman walked past them and removed the sheets to observe the bodies. It’s definitely something Ivy could have done but Batman isn’t so sure. He knows that’s she’s been MIA for months.

He rises his head and looks straight ahead. “Gotham Cemetery.” He mumbles. He stands up and walks towards it.

“Is he himself?” Gordon turns to the two who shrug.

—

Batman enters the cemetery and walks past the stone statues. He moves like a black phantom through out the grounds until he stops in front of what was supposed to be a fresh grave. Red Robin and Spoiler approach and stop themselves.

“What happened?” She questions. Vines and purple flowers grown from the grave and have consumed it. The casket is in the heart of the greenery and is split open. And no body inside.

Batman turned to the two, before worry took over his masked features. “Has anyone spoke to Nightwing tonight?”

“Not since the afternoon, he said he was patrolling the East End tonight.” Red Robin replied.

“You think Y/n did this?” Spoiler looked back at the grave and back to Batman who was practically running towards the entrance.

“Alfred I need to find Nightwing he’s not answering his com links.” The Batmobile came to a roaring stop at the cemetery gates and Batman hopped inside before racing down the street.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been able to locate him Sir. His tracker when down two hours ago.” He sighed.

Batman gripped the steering wheel.”Any last know location.”

“Allow me to check,”Alfred typed a few keys before giving him the last location,”Robinson Park Sir, the Botanical Gardens.” The Batmobile raced and roar onto Pioneer Bridge towards the other part of the city.

——

One man stumbles and falls down a few stairs and coughs. As he runs down a hallway into a warehouse.

“Please have Mercy!” He cries as he ducks behind a crate.

“Mercy,I’ll show you mercy.” A voice boomed in the dark room. The man cowered in fear before he flew back from his hiding spot and was carried up fifty feet in the air. He was wrapped in an oversized vine and was being constrained.

Y/n moved into his view ontop of an another vine and smirked. He had his arm resting on his knee and leaned forward towards the man’s face.

“So sad isn’t it. We take for granted the gifts Mother Nature can offer us,” he plucks a maroon flower from his vine that looks between a cross of a tulip and rose. He twirled the flower and looked back at the man. Before smirking.

“So tell me Wilson, where can I find the scientist?” Before the man could reply Y/n blow on the flower and black particles landed on his face. He started to cough and scream in pain.

“He’s meeting the Boss I don’t know who but he’s meeting him Chinatown. PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!” He screamed in terror before a massive coughing fit and his limbs go limp.

Y/n lowers himself down and allows the vines to drop the body with a loud crack. Nightwing stood a few feet from where the man landed. He stare at him for a while before Y/n came into his view.

“Where are we going?” Y/n placed a kiss to his cheek. Y/n took his leave with Dick in tow.

“To make one more stop.”

——

Batman crashed through the same skyline Nightwing had to find the place abandoned. He took a look around with a flashlight.

He came to a makeshift bed and found the same leaves Red Robin gave him.

He turned on his scanner and turned the leave over. “Alfred identify and breakdown these leaves basic components.”

“Right away Sir. These two leaves have the same trace amount of pheromones. The scanners indicate they are of a stronger concentration. The combination is similar to the lab where Nightwing and is team were a few nights ago.”

Batman turned and looked at the ground. He found a WingDing and a remnant of a sleep dart. The same Nightwing gauntlet. “Nightwing must of found Y/n and tried to stop him.”

Alfred hummed, “Do you think he killed Master Richard.”

Batman kneeled down a traced his finger to find them covered in a green dust. “Unlikely, what happened to him he still cares for Dick.” He stood up and grappled out of the greenhouse. He glides down to the street and gets back into the Batmobile.

“The attack on Y/n in the lab must of caused a biological shock and rewrite his DNA the same way it did Ivy. But what I can figure out is what’s motivate?” He began to drive before another call rang.

“It’s Ms Gordon I’ll patch her through.” Soon the ringing stopped and Barbara’s voice filled the car.

“Batman we found two bodies.”

“Where?”

“One at the Stacked Deck an hour ago Red Hood is on the scene with Bullock. And another at a warehouse at Dixon Docks,Batgirl is there with Robin now.”

“My word, Sir my analysis is completed. There is another drug mixed in that was scanned at the fire. It’s a drug called Tomgenalixe. It’s a substance used in modern day Hallucinogens and can be used to create mind altering effects.”

“Mind Control.” Batman and Oracle reply.

“So Y/n isn’t just killing people for fun, he’s been controlled too.” Oracle took a deep sigh.

Batman gripped the steering wheel.”We need to find them. Alfred can you track Y/n’s pheromones?”

Alfred typed at the Batcomputer. “Sir his tracking is leading to the Diamond District.”

Batman raced back towards the highway. “Oracle take the components of the drugs and chemicals and synthesize and antitoxin. Have someone bring it to me. Alfred, have Red Robin and Spoiler meet me at my location.”

“Working on it, I’ll have Red Hood and Batgirl pick up the antioxins as soon as it ready.” Oracle signed off.

“Sir, when you arrive what will you do?”

Batman didn’t answer as thunder crashed across the night sky.

“I’m going to save them.”

———-

“Where’s my cut?” The scientist hissed at the man in a chair turned away from him.

The man chuckled. “Your cut, you were supposed to bring me a new drug. You burned your research. I can’t get any of that funding back, and now Lex Luthor has questions about fire you caused.” The man stood before as Black Man rises from his seat and the scientist cowers.

“I’m—“ SMACK

“You little runt, you work for me and you’ll get paid when the fuck I say so.” He snarled. He grabbed a wad of cash from his pocket and threw it at him.

“Now get back and figure out the poison, you still have the plant woman in holding?”

“Yes, she’s secure downstairs.” He took the cash. But before he could leave he was kicked square in the jaw and crumbled to the floor.

Black Mask turns to see Nightwing giving his a death stare. “What brings you here?”

The doors burst open with three of his goons with green glowing eyes and Y/n strolling behind them.

“I’m here for a little payback.” Y/n smirked. He outstretched his arm and vines bursts from the floor and tied up Black Mask.

“You crazy bitch I’ll kill you.” Y/n yawned. “Boys take care of him,” he turned to the scientist. “I think you have someone who doesn’t belong to you, don’t worry I’ll kill you when this over just like I did you henchmen.”

“Boss!” The large man who had did most of the damage to Y/n emerged through another door. Nightwing sprang into action and brutal fought him. It didn’t take long before he hit the ground hard.

Y/n crossed the room and stood over the dazed man.

“Remember it’s nothing personal.” Y/n dropped seeds into his gapped open mouth and vines and flower rapidly grew from his mouth and stomach.

“That’s sick.” Black Mask gagged before getting punch by Nightwing.

Y/n nodded and then two armed guards took Black Mask away. The other waiting for them and Nightwing grabbed the Scientist.

“Let’s go.” He barked. Y/n and the other guard followed him. The arrived in a basement that was like a huge underground bunker.

They ventured until the came to a catwalk and bellow was a cell in center with Ivy unconscious.

“Well it seems you’ve severed your purpose.” Y/n turned to the man that uttered the order to kill him and before he could grab him a Batarang nearly took his hand off.

Batman leaped down and glared at the group.”That’s enough, you’ve taken to many lives tonight I won’t let you take more Y/n. This isn’t you.”

Y/n pursed his lips and brief a chuckle. “What do you know about Y/n?” Batman eyed down below and saw Ivy talking almost as a puppet.

“Ivy, you’ve been controlling him from the start.”

Ivy/Y/n chuckled. “I can’t take all the credit you seen when they turned Y/n into this new and improved version of himself. We form a connection, and the more his powers grew—“

“The greater your control became.” Batman finished. Ivy chuckled in her cell.

“He makes a fine successor, does need some weeding but no matter he’ll do fine to kill you.” Y/n caused two large vines to sprout beside Batman who leaped down and landed on his feet. He cartwheel out the way of a shock from Nightwing.

“I know you can hear me, don’t make me have to put down.” Nightwing smirked,”Come and try.” He lunged at Batman and the two attacked and blocked each others moves.

Red Robin and Spoiler crashed the room and took out the guard and Spoiler went after Y/n to jumped onto a moving vine.

“Y/n snap out of it you’re still in there.” She pleaded. Y/n formed another overgrown plant to seat her away like fly. He caused a giant Venus Flytrap to sprout and it held him in place.

“This will be your tomb.” He laughed wickedly.

——

Black Mask stood ontop of the building with rifles at his head.

“Jump.” One order. He moved his leg out to jump before he heard gunfire and the sounds of punches. He nervously turned to see Red Hood and Batgirl.

“I’m saved—“ he was lassoed by Batgirl who tied him to a pipe. Before following Red Hood into the building.

“Hell let me Go!”

—-

Nightwing kicked Batman in the chest sending him stumbling.

Red Robin back flipped out the way of a vine nearly crushing him.

“Give up.” Ivy hissed.

Red Hood and Batgirl arrived. Batgirl grabbed a vine and began to run up it to Y/n and Red Hood leaped down and fired a few rounds at Nightwing which distracted him long enough for Batman to land a punch.

He stagger and when to fight him some more giving Red Hood the chance to fire a dart the hit Nightwing in the neck. He growled before he slowly turned and fell into Batman’s arms going limp.

Batgirl managed to get a clear shot and injected Y/n with large dose. He felt tired fell onto the catwalk, Red Robin check on him before injecting an orange liquid into Y/n arm.

“This will break the connection to Ivy.”

Ivy screamed in pain like a part of her had been stabbed. “You’re going to Arkham.” Batman stood before her and she was about to shout before green mist filled her cell and she collapsed.

“Hey Oracle whip up something for her too.” Batgirl chimed in.

Batman grinned and turned to Nightwing and sighed.

———-

Y/n felt like everything that happened was a fever dream. Killing them men that assaulted him, rising from the dead like an uprooted carrot and his finale fight with the Batfamily.

He sat up with an instant migraine. He rubbed his temples from the bright lights and turned to the side to see a shadow.

“Where am I?” His voice was hoarse and scratchy.

“You’re in Arkham.” Batman sighed and came into the light of the cell.

Y/n took in his surroundings and it was in a cell in Arkham. He was also in hospital gown with a collar around his neck.

“So I’m in jail?” He raised a brow the Dark Knight. Batman took a stance at the foot of the bed.

“Not exactly, what do you remember?” His voice was full of concern and worry. Not the same voice typical of Batman.

Y/n rubbed his temples for a brief movement. “I remember the taxi driver…I vaguely remember two officers and then everything went black. Did I hurt them?”

“They’re dead. Poison Ivy took control over your mind after you transition into a meta-human.”

Y/n felt all the air suck of his lungs. “You’re here because I know you’ll be under careful observation,” he lifted his gaze to the ceiling and Y/n followed. Vents were overhead them.

“This cell is constantly being pumped with an antitoxin that helps with the more advanced powers. It won’t rid them completely but you’ll be in control.” He walked closer to the doors.

“You should be in for a few more days, once that finished I’ll come get you myself. Gordon has already dropped any charges and no one knows Y/n L/N was the new Poison Ivy.”

“Did I hurt him?”

“I don’t know what your—“

“Damnit yes you do. I know I didn’t just kill two people. I hope I can..live with that. But did I hurt him?” Tears formed in the young man’s eyes and streamed down his face.

“No.” Batman whispered.

“Oh.” He wiped his face. “Can I see him?”

“I can’t allow that, you didn’t hurt him but Ivy used your feelings for him to make into your mind-controlled bodyguard. You killed people Y/n…He’s still recovering in the cave. Y/n it may be best to give it time.” Batman exited the cell where Gordon was waiting and the two walked away into the Asylum.

Everything began to flash before Y/n and he flopped back on the uncomfortable cot. Before sleep took him back and he dozed off.

[luveline]

Hello! Would it be alright to request something where prince!steve and his Princess attend their first formal event together?

tysm for requesting ♡ prince steve au

"Don't spill anything," Steve advises under his breath. "Your corset is alabaster." 

"I know. I feel like breathing the wrong way is gonna crack it like papier mache." 

He snorts, adjusting your hand on his arm to the correct position where you stand around a corner from the grand staircase. You wince as rich laughter bounces off the marble steps, the sound wrought with a feeling akin to hounds snapping at your heels. 

"Your nails look nice," Steve says. 

He's already complimented your face, your hair, and your dress. There's not much left to praise, but he finds something anyhow, and a flush of pleasure warms your skin. "Thank you," you say, looking down at your painted nails, a shimmering mother of pearl lacquer coating each one. The cost rivals a month's groceries. "They had so many colours… we started with red, but I thought it looked silly on me. My hands are weird." 

"Your hands are perfect." His eyes shine with sincerity, lips pulled into an amused smile that feels like a well-aimed bop to the chest. "I can get you more. Nail lacquer, I mean. There's a small Sri Lankan boutique by Cordelian House, they have all that intricate cosmetic stuff. It's where Munson gets his kohl sticks." He smiles at you reassuringly. "I'm trying to distract you. It's not working, is it?" 

"I'm going to mess up. Your mom– the queen–" 

"You can call her my mom. That's what she is." Steve nods his understanding of the things you've said without saying them. "She'll be disappointed if you mess up. But I won't be. I'm proud of you for even putting on the dress. I'd be proud of you if you didn't." 

You lick your lips, cherry balm sticky on the tip of your tongue. "Thank you, Steve." 

He says things like this with little regard for how forward it is. Not that subtlety is required. While antiquated in some aspects, the contemporary royal society is loudly lustful. You and Steve could be intimate together now weeks before the wedding and nobody would bat an eye, but you suspect that he's just as unprepared for that as you are, no matter how gently he covers your hand with his. 

There's a short sound like a bird call. Steve straightens his back, his thumb drawing a half circle across your fingers. "Ready?" he asks. 

You nod. You don't really have a choice. 

They announce you together, Prince Steven and his Soul Marked Y/N. It sounds ridiculous to hear his name after weeks of Please, call me Steve, or anything else but Steven. Doubly so to hear you announced as his and not yourself. A simple 'Miss' would have sufficed. Braced for a night of similar small agonies, you hold tight to Steve's arm and begin your descent down the grand staircase and into the foyer. The palace is a structure of white stone that shines silver in some lights, impossible walls of selenite and gauzy silks. The steps are more solid, a plain marble that clicks under the soles of your short heels. 

"Don't let me fall," you say under your breath, the hush of the crowd nearly occluding your voice completely. 

"Never." You can hear his polite smile. "Don't panic." 

You can't not panic, sweat at your naked collar, pearls like beads of ice bobbing with each step you take. The second you reach the floor you deflate with an exhale, your back clicking at the sudden decompression. There's a brief round of applause at your arrival before the cheery music begins anew, the dancing begins again, and the many faces that surround you blur into jewels and elegant clothes, fabrics coloured manilla white, snailshell purple, emerald green, a rainbow of satins swirling this way and that as girls are pushed into spins to the right of the foyer under the ballroom chandelier. 

"You'll dance with me, yeah?" Steve asks tentatively. 

You meet his eyes, all their soft brown gazing at you like you're worth his worry. His lashes twitch as his gaze darts swiftly down and up again. 

"Do I have something?" you ask, lifting your chin. 

"Lipstick. I can fix it?" He brings his hand to your lips before you've answered, using the trimmed nail of his pinky finger to wipe at your lip. You turn still as a porcelain statue, a shiver rushing down your chest at the warmth of his touch.

"You'll dance with me?" he asks again, his knuckle brushing your chin as he drops his hand. 

"Of course I'll dance with you, Steve. We're expected to." 

He throws a glance at the people around you and steps closer. "I want to dance with you because you want to dance. We don't have to do anything. Not this ball, not the dance. Not the wedding." He sighs. "You have choices." 

"No. I don't." Because there glows your wrist. Threads of translucency like spider web and downy feather combined, a sorry hue of blue. 

"Yes, you do," he whispers. "You want to leave? We'll leave right now. I just want you to be happy, and with me." 

You think about it. The weight of hundreds of eyes on your shoulders and the restriction of your corset is making you nauseous. If you left, that sickness would go. But Steve wouldn't get to dance with you.

"I don't want to leave," you say, not sure if you're lying or not. You'd quite like to have his hands on your hips again. And sometimes before the dip he breathes in your ear, says something soft, like Keep going, you got it. 

"No?" he asks, relieved. 

"No. Let's dance. We need the practice…" You offer your hand. He takes it, the smudge of lipstick on his pinky finger like a heart. "I'm sorry. I want to dance." 

"What are you sorry for?" he asks, leaning down to kiss the highest point of your cheek. "Let's dance. If you mess up, I'll mess up worse. I promise. I'll chicken dance in front of everybody." 

[astroismypassion]

Astrology observations 🌌🌌

Credit goes to my Tumblr blog @astroismypassion

🌌 Virgo MC can’t really get away with “bad decisions”. For example, if they don’t eat well, overindulge, they are more likely to get backlash or criticism from people.

💙 Retrograde Mars people can often percieve themselves as not enough sexually desirable. They might think people don’t want to have sex with them.

💜 People with Capricorn Moon or Moon in the 10th house and other Earth Moon feel like their mental health starts get better if they just begin doing chores.

🌌 Neptune in the 4th house and Pisces IC native is that family member that can’t ever be blamed. Family members might even fear hurting this native due to how innocent they are and that they have the most unconditional love out of all family members.

💙 Gemini Suns are scared of gossip. Because they are aware of the fact that even a made-up thing can be turned into “a fact” too quickly and that people can end up taking a misconstructed thing as the whole reality.

💜 To me Virgo Venus has “minimalist” aesthetic, Taurus Venus “quiet luxury” aesthetic, Pisces Venus “coastal grand daughter” or “cottagecore” aesthetic and Capricorn Venus “preppy” or “dark academia” aesthetic.

🌌 I noticed Scorpio Moons most often only have one active social media account. Like they would use JUST Tiktok or just Tumblr, just Instagram and nothing else.

💙 Neptune in the 1st house women enjoy colouring their hair and changing colour. This is even more prominent if they also have Uranus in the 1st house.

💜 Women with Virgo Mars might have a husband that is gluten or dairy free. Also, your partner might have really nice skin if Virgo Mars is located in the 9th house or the 2nd, but if it’s in the 8th house or aspected with Pluto, he could actually struggle with keeping a healthy skin, could be prone to acne.

🌌 Musicians who have Gemini North Node or North Node in the 3rd house were discovered on Youtube or on a social media platform.

💙People with Scorpio over the 12th house or Pluto in the 12th house might help or serve ill people, such as granting the wish of critically ill people.

💜 You might buy food, food brands or meals from people who share your Moon sign. As an example: if you are Taurus Moon, you buy food items made by Taurus Sun people. If you are ans Aries Moon, you support food brands made by Aries Sun.

🌌 Leo Rising hair always stands out. Even if they are bald, have buzz cut, thin or frizzy hair. People tend to remember their hair the most.

💙 Gemini Mercury loove saying “fun fact…”. 😂

💜 Sagittarius Mars natives might really like their first time (having sex).

🌌 And also a side note, I noticed a pattern that people tend to describe their first time mostly with their Mars sign traits. If it’s Cancer Mars, they felt really comfortable and it was probably with someone they really, really liked and had a crush on for a very long time. Virgo Mars could point that it might have been a quickie or you paused and had a second round. It could also mean that you first started with a hand job, oral. Taurus Mars could also mean your first time started with a blow job (Taurus rules throat). Like 8th house sign also comes into the consideration.

💙 Taurus Moon people love having a drink with them. They love a cup or glass in hands. Such as grabing a smoothie, a cup of coffee, tea or a matcha. It just comforts them.

💜 Pisces Venus looks really good in emerald green clothing.

🌌 I noticed that one MC that is really common among celebrities that almost never (or very rarely) receives hate is Taurus MC celebrities. Real life examples would be Emma Chamberlain, Selena Gomez, Emma Stone, Margot Robbie, Eddie Redmayne, Blake Lively, Gemma Arterton etc. These people are really, really loved by the public. Also sometimes Capricorn Venus or Venus in the 10th house, but not to the same extent as Taurus MC. They can’t do wrong in the public’s eye. It’s like it’s very NOT to like them.

💙 Virgo Lilith women enjoy wearing bows and ribbons in their hair.

💜 People with Gemini Descendant or Gemini over the 7th house often talk down on their own beauty. They might have really glowing skin, but would still say “Yeah, but it’s still not *perfect* looking skin”. Or they might point out more their “beauty/appearance quirks” (uneven teeth, frizzy hair etc.) just so that people don’t end up idealizing them too much or build expectations for them.

🌌 I noticed Capricorn Moons with time love more luxurious pieces, otherwise in younger years (before Saturn Return) they quite love rather cheap stuff.

💙If you have Gemini over the 7th house people can often question the character of your spouse, committed partner. If you have Gemini over the 4th house people can question your mother's character or that of your loved ones, close friends.

💜 Men with Libra Moon often feel threatened by beautiful, conventionally attractive women. However, they also have this deep need of satisfying perfect beauty so they often pick models as their partner or women that look well-balanced, harmonious and have striking physical features, which sometimes intimidates them even more.

🌌 Pluto in the 8th house people or Scorpio over the 8th house might have regrets if they quit a sport they were really passionate about. They have more guilt than others of not sticking with it.

💙 I can’t stress enough how important is for Cancer Moons and Moon in the 4th house to stay in touch with the things they grew up with. It soothes them the best and it really benefits their emotional and mental wellbeing. If you have this placements, watch movies or series you enjoyed when growing up, build a pillow fort, listen to top hits from that time that remind of childhood/teenage nostalgia.

💜 The public and people always want Virgo MC to leak that daily routine👀 Like people are so interested in how they spend their day and what their day-to-day life looks like.

🌌 Virgo Moon (but also Gemini Moon to a certain extent) can act very stingy in their home. They would keep the lights off just so that the electricity bill will be smaller.

💙 I noticed people that are the most consistent with daily work outs tend to have Capricorn Moon or Moon in the 10th house. Because they can detach from feelings, even when they don’t feel like working out.

💜 Leo Risings often end up doing a job, profession or have a career that doesn’t really feel like a regular job. It’s like one of their hobbies for them. They also are found in jobs where they entertain, not necessarily on stage, it can also be on a social media platform.

Credit goes to my Tumblr blog @astroismypassion

[noise-vs-signal]

Serpentine Vibrations

Sing the notes of the scale, ascending the ladder (spine) from lowest to highest.

Move on to sounding the vowel from each note. Feel how your mouth changes shape for each one, and practice different ways of singing and vibrating these.

For each vowel visualise and feel the appropriate planetary sphere at each station along your central axis (axis mundi).

The low bass of Red Mars, molten magma, iron will, will to live, life force. Om, ॐ, Aum, primeval sound, Omega, Ω, Ouroboros, world serpent, coiled 3 and a 1/2 times at the base of the spine, the base of the world tree.

The songs of Orange Mercury, the serpent undulating across the desert sands, sibilant syllables, the sacred letters and words, the world as language, Aleph, א, the Alphabet, Alpha and Omega, twin serpents twined round the caduceus, the spiral of DNA.

The music of the Yellow Sun, light and beauty, Eros, desire, energy and electricity, the serpent basking in the Sun, its warmth and heat, curled round the fire.

The release and pleasure of Green Venus, Amor, Love, Aphrodite, Viriditas, Mother Nature, Gaia, the emerald scales of the serpent, emerald stone in the crown of Lucifer, Morning Star, Venus.

The clarion call of Blue Jupiter, the bass note of Mars now at a higher level, Odin, All Father, the song of the runes, cerulean sky, Ouranos, Odysseus, πολύτροπος, shape shifter, serpent twisting and turning.

The symphony of the Indigo Moon, her different phases, from dark to light, the mirror of Artemis, the wisdom of Athena, Ariadne, Shiva's 3rd Eye, serpent shedding its skin, shedding the outer world.

The vibration and frequencies of Ultraviolet Saturn, Time encircling us, the fire in which we burn, Kali dancing on Shiva's corpse, Ecstasy, Serpent becoming the Great Dragon, the Phoenix, Exit into Eternity ...

[shewasverynice]

Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen 

⚠️ SPOILER HEAVY ⚠️

Major Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death 

Full tags/warnings on Chapter links post

Major Characters: Original Character, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Ieiri Shoko, Yaga Masamichi, Nanami Kento, Haibara Yu, Tsukumo Yuki, Choso

‎‧₊˚✧ Chapter 26 ✧˚₊‧

The first years and second years all slumped against the wall in the tiny bit of shade that was left. The sun was up high, melting everything into soup and making the air feel like you were spinning around in an air fryer. Summer had arrived violently.

"I, Satoru Gojo, being of mostly sound mind…"

"You writing your will?" Shoko mumbled.

"Yeah." He answered.

"In the dirt?" She asked, letting her head tip over to look at it.

"Yeah." He answered again, still lazily drawing the characters in the dirt beside him.

At least until Shoko brought her foot down and messed it all up. He didn't even have the energy to fuss and just let his hand lay flat on the ground. He just closed his eyes and groaned.

"Last year we went to the water park," Suguru mentioned, draping his arm over his eyes for some kind of sweaty relief. It was better than nothing.

"That place is closed for some kind of renovation…" Sarah sighed, just letting her hand still holding he phone land on her chest.

"So… what should we do?" Haibara asked, then jumped as Sarah suddenly stood up.

"We're gonna do a great American tradition!" She said, placing her hands on her hips. "Everyone? Come with me!"

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The grand hall of the castle is an imposing sight. Golden chandeliers hang high above, casting shimmering light across polished stone floors. Massive banners bearing the kingdom's crest line the walls, flanking a throne of carved oak and gilded accents. The King sits with an air of quiet authority, his crown catching the light as he gazes upon the party standing before him. The leader of the group is Areval, the high elf paladin. His tall and commanding frame radiates strength and determination. His gleaming plate mail is adorned with intricate patterns of green and white, reminiscent of forest leaves interwoven with silver streams. His hand rests on the hilt of his longsword, and his piercing emerald eyes meet the King’s without hesitation. Beside him stands Dylan, a wiry rogue cloaked in dark leathers. His face is obscured by a scarf that covers him from his nose to his neck, leaving only sharp, calculating eyes visible. His posture is casual, but his fingers rest close to his belt, ready for trouble. The King’s gaze shifts to Fayette, the cleric. She wears white robes embroidered with golden threads, though her expression of disinterest stands in stark contrast to the holiness of her attire. Her staff is slung casually across her back, and she leans slightly to one side, as though the weight of the world bores her more than it burdens her. Beside her is Edgar, the fighter. Young and brimming with vitality, his grin is broad enough to rival the sun. His muscles strain against the leather straps of his armor, and a massive sword rests easily on his shoulder as though it weighs nothing. His bright eyes dart around the room with an eagerness that borders on impatience. Finally, the King’s gaze falls on Nanami, the wizard. A blonde-haired youth with round glasses perched on his nose, he stands quietly at the back of the group, clutching a weathered tome of spells. His robes are practical, and his demeanor is polite but reserved. The faint scent of parchment and ink seems to follow him, and the way he adjusts his glasses suggests he’s always deep in thought. The King rises slowly from his throne, his voice resonating across the hall. "Adventurers, you stand before me not as knights sworn to my banner, but as champions of courage and skill. The Swamplands to the east have grown foul with the stench of undeath. Corpses rise from the muck, and swarms of insects, creatures of grotesque size, claim all who dare tread there. My people cannot live in fear, and so I turn to you." His words are heavy, but his eyes are hopeful. "The task before you is not for the faint of heart. There will be horrors in those marshes that defy reason. Yet, for your bravery, I promise rewards fitting of legends: gold, land, and titles that will secure your names in history." The King pauses, his expression softening. "But more than that, you will have the gratitude of a kingdom. You shall be remembered not for the spoils you claim, but for the lives you save. Go now with my blessing, and may the gods guide your path. Return to us as heroes." With a final nod, he motions for the party to leave. The heavy wooden doors of the throne room creak open, revealing the vast world beyond. The call to adventure beckons, and the Swamplands await.

"Okay uh… so are we at the swamp yet?" Haibara asked.

"No, Edgar, don't be silly," Satoru said, narrowing his eyes at Haibara, "We're still in the King's throne room of course!"

"I suppose we should be going then?" Suguru asked, "Perhaps we should head over to the stables?"

"Wonderful idea, Dylan!" Satoru said, placing his hand on his chest. "Let us go! The swamp awaits!"

"How is this an American tradition?" Nanami mumbled, glancing at his plate of pancakes that still sat untouched besides his character sheet.

"Okay well, Japan doesn't have like… shitty breakfast chains okay?" Sarah grumbled, looking up from her notes. "There's nowhere here where you can slam an OJ and stab and orc normally. This café didn't mind if we hang out for a few hours in the AC."

The adventurers find themselves at the bustling marketplace near the city gates. Areval, ever the negotiator, steps forward to discuss terms with a merchant who deals in carts and horses. The man, a stout fellow with a heavy apron and a knowing smirk, sizes up the group. He quickly realizes this isn't a casual outing—they’re heading somewhere dangerous. After a bit of haggling, the party secures a sturdy wooden cart, its wheels reinforced with iron bands, and a reliable draft horse named Ember.

Fayette, ever disinterested, barely glances at the arrangement, while Edgar enthusiastically pats the horse on the neck. "Good girl," he says with a wide grin, his hand coming away slightly dusty.

Dylan inspects the cart's underside with a rogue's suspicion, ensuring there are no hidden flaws. Nanami, already seated in the cart, flips through his spellbook, occasionally glancing around as if trying to memorize every detail of their surroundings.

With the cart packed and the reins in Arrival’s steady hands, the group sets out. The road starts wide and smooth, flanked by open fields and the occasional farmhouse. The sun sinks lower, painting the sky with streaks of orange and purple. As the hours pass, the forest looms ahead, its dark canopy beckoning like an ominous gate.

The transition is gradual. The dirt path narrows, and the trees grow closer together. Their thick trunks rise like ancient sentinels, their branches intertwining to create a lattice of shadow. The once-vibrant chatter of birds fades, replaced by the distant creak of swaying boughs. Fayette lets out a long sigh, her staff resting lazily against the side of the cart. “Why do these places always feel cursed?” she mutters, her voice low but audible in the growing quiet.

Edgar, undeterred, flexes his arms. “It’s just trees,” he says with a chuckle. “What’s the worst they can do? Fall on us?”

Dylan’s eyes dart from shadow to shadow, his hand hovering near the hilt of a dagger. “You’d be surprised,” he murmurs, his tone betraying none of the humor Edgar attempts.

The last rays of sunlight disappear behind the treetops, and the forest takes on an entirely different character. The path beneath the wheels becomes uneven, dotted with roots and stones. Ember snorts in mild discomfort, her ears twitching at every faint sound. Nanami, adjusting his glasses, mutters an incantation under his breath, causing a faint orb of light to hover above the cart. It casts a pale glow, illuminating the immediate area but leaving the deeper woods in darkness.

The sounds of night creep in. At first, it’s the chirp of crickets and the rustle of leaves. Then come more unnerving noises—the distant hoot of an owl, the snapping of twigs in the underbrush, and a low, guttural croak that none of them can quite place. The shadows seem to move just beyond the light’s reach, and the air grows damp and heavy.

Arrival tightens his grip on the reins. “Stay sharp,” he warns, his voice calm but firm. “This is where the path becomes perilous.”

"How would you know that?" Shoko asked, raising her brow. "Areval doesn't look like a swamp kinda guy."

"He— uhh … he had a wild childhood?" Satoru mumbled, immediately waiting that down on his character sheet.

The cart jolts as one of its wheels catches on a root. Edgar jumps out with a laugh to push it free, his strength making quick work of the obstacle. As he climbs back in, Fayette yawns and leans back, though her staff remains within easy reach.

Dylan’s voice cuts through the night. “Something’s following us.” He’s crouched low, his eyes scanning the dark edges of the trail.

Nanami stiffens, clutching his spellbook tightly. “Are you certain?”

The rogue doesn’t answer immediately, his focus intense. Finally, he nods. “I heard it twice now. Heavy, deliberate steps. It’s keeping its distance for now, but it’s there.”

The group falls silent, the cart’s creaking wheels and the horses' steady hooves the only sounds for a moment. Then, as if on cue, a louder snap echoes through the woods.

Areval pulls the cart to a stop and draws his sword. “We face it here,” he says with authority, his voice cutting through the tension like steel. “Whatever it is, we don’t let it take us by surprise.”

The party dismounts, weapons drawn and ready, as the dense forest around them seems to hold its breath wh—

"Thank you!" Sarah said brightly to the waitress as she dropped off a fresh glass of water.

"Oh man," Satoru groaned with the rest of the group.

"We were really getting into it!" Suguru sighed.

"Keep going!" Haibara urged, "What's out there?!"

The trees part like curtains, and the forest seems to shrink under the weight of the massive figure stepping into the light. A towering blue ogre, his skin shimmering faintly in the magical light from Nanami's orb, emerges from the underbrush. His eyes are unlike any you’ve seen—brilliant golden orbs that gleam with intelligence and menace. He stands nearly twice Edgar’s height, his thick arms crossed over a barrel-like chest. Despite his intimidating presence, he holds his hands up, palms open, in what could almost be called a gesture of peace.

“Stay your weapons, little ones,” he rumbles, his voice deep and resonant, like distant thunder. His lips curl into a smug grin, revealing sharp, yellowed teeth. “If it comes to battle, you will not leave this forest alive. I wish to talk.”

The party exchanges glances, hands still resting on their weapons. Dylan shifts his weight slightly, his fingers twitching near the hilt of a dagger. Edgar looks to Arrival, who nods once before stepping forward. His sword remains in hand, its polished surface gleaming faintly in the magical light.

“What do you want?” Arrival demands, his voice calm but commanding. His emerald eyes lock onto the ogre’s golden ones, unflinching.

The ogre uncrosses his arms and gestures lazily toward the group. “You’re heading to the swamp, yes? The cursed marshes where the dead do not stay dead?” He chuckles, a low, gravelly sound. “I need something from there. A wand, wielded by the woman who controls the zombies. Bring it to me, and I will let you pass without… incident.”

Nanami speaks up hesitantly, his voice quiet. “Why do you want it?”

The ogre’s grin widens, but he says nothing for a moment, letting the question hang in the air. Then he chuckles again, the sound more menacing this time. “That’s none of your concern, little wizard. You bring me the wand, or you deal with the consequences of refusal. Those are your choices.”

The party huddles together a short distance away, their voices low but tense. Arrival keeps his eyes on the ogre, his sword at the ready, while the rest of the group deliberates.

“This is clearly a trap,” Fayette says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She leans on her staff, “We go fetch the wand, and then he kills us and takes it. End of story.”

“We could just fight him now,” Edgar suggests, his grin faltering as he glances back at the ogre. “But… he’s really big. And blue. That’s gotta mean something, right?”

Dylan rolls his eyes. “We don’t need to decide anything now,” he says, his voice sharp and pragmatic. “We tell him yes, we get to the swamp, and then we figure out if we actually want to give him the wand. Simple.”

“That sounds mean,” Edgar huffed, crossing his arms.

“Why shouldn’t we be mean?” Fayette counters with a raised brow. “He’s a giant ogre who could kill us at any moment. I don’t think he’s worried about our feelings.”

Areval raises a hand, silencing the group. “This isn’t about being mean or nice,” he says firmly. “It’s about survival. If agreeing keeps us alive, then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll deal with the rest when we have the wand.”

Nanami nods reluctantly, clutching his spellbook. “We don’t have much choice, do we?”

With the decision made, the group turns back to face the ogre. Areval steps forward, lowering his sword slightly but keeping it ready.

“We’ll get the wand,” he says evenly. “But no harm comes to us, or the deal is off.”

The ogre’s grin returns, broader than ever. “Good,” he says, his golden eyes gleaming. “You are wise, little ones. I will be watching.”

Without another word, he steps back into the shadows of the forest, his massive form disappearing as quickly as it appeared. The sounds of the night return, though the weight of his presence lingers in the air. The party climbs back into the cart, their thoughts heavy as they press on toward the swamp, the ogre’s words echoing in their minds.

"Serious question," Satoru interrupted, "Is that a thing we could have fought?"

"Why would I tell you that?" Sarah asked with a chuckle, "You still might end up fighting him."

"Because," Satoru said with a grin.

"I'm not stupid," Sarah said, mirroring his grin.

"You could be?" Satoru fluttered his eyelashes.

The swamp looms ahead, shrouded in mist and shadow. As the party approaches, they are greeted by a miasma of odors that nearly makes them gag. The acrid stench of rot mingles with the damp, moldy smell of decaying vegetation. Beneath it all lingers the metallic tang of blood, sharp and coppery, as if the earth itself has been wounded and left to fester. The stagnant air clings to them like a suffocating veil, thick and unyielding.

Nanami wrinkles his nose and pulls his robe tighter around himself. “This is worse than I imagined,” he mutters.

Fayette waves a hand in front of her face, her expression of mild annoyance unchanged. “It’s a swamp,” she says flatly. “What did you expect? Roses?”

The cart halts as they near the edge of the path, and Areval climbs down to secure the horse to a sturdy-looking tree. The horse snorts and shifts nervously, ears flicking in every direction. “Easy, girl,” he murmurs, giving her a reassuring pat. “You’ll be safe here.”

The group gathers their gear and looks ahead. The path is barely distinguishable, a muddy track barely visible beneath the shallow pools of dark water that cover much of the ground. Gnarled, leafless trees rise from the swamp like skeletal fingers, their twisted branches clawing at the sky. The occasional thick root snakes across the path, threatening to trip the unwary.

Areval scowls at the scene before them, his green-and-white plate mail catching faint glints of light from Nanami’s orb. “This is going to be miserable,” he says grimly.

“Especially for you,” Dylan quips, gesturing to the heavy armor. “Bet you’ll sink like a rock in that stuff.”

Areval shrugs, unbothered. “I’d rather sink than be unprotected. Besides,” he adds with a faint smirk, “you’d just pull me out, wouldn’t you?”

Dylan rolls his eyes but says nothing as they set off down the path. The swamp’s stillness presses in around them, unnerving in its intensity. Dylan’s sharp ears pick up nothing—not the croak of frogs, the hum of insects, or the splash of unseen creatures in the water. It is eerily silent, the kind of silence that speaks of unnatural things.

“Too quiet,” Dylan mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. He pauses, tilting his head as if to catch any faint sound. “There’s nothing. No frogs, no birds, not even mosquitoes. Something’s wrong here.”

The party instinctively tightens their formation, weapons at the ready. Each step through the water sends ripples outward, the sound of their splashes the only thing breaking the oppressive silence.

Edgar’s usually cheerful expression is gone, replaced by a wary frown. “Shouldn’t there be… something?” he asks, gripping his sword tightly. “Anything? Even an alligator?”

Nanami nods, his voice low. “The quiet is unnatural. It’s like the swamp is… watching us.”

Fayette, ever unimpressed, sighs. “We’re walking into a cursed swamp ruled by a zombie-controlling witch. What did you expect, a picnic?”

As the group moves deeper into the swamp, the mist thickens, swirling around their legs like ghostly tendrils. The path becomes harder to follow, the mud sucking at their boots with every step. The water grows darker, and strange shapes can be seen beneath its surface—branches, roots, or something else entirely.

Areval pauses, his hand raised to signal the group to stop. His eyes scan the murky landscape, his grip on his sword tightening. “Stay alert,” he says quietly. “Whatever’s out there, it’s waiting for us to make a mistake.”

The silence breaks abruptly, shattered by the sharp cracking of branches and the unmistakable sloshing of water. It comes from all around—close, too close. The swamp feels alive now, the oppressive stillness giving way to chaos as shadows move in the mist. “Positions!” Areval barks, his voice cutting through the confusion. He raises his shield, the polished surface catching faint reflections of the mist and murk. His sword gleams as he draws it, the metal singing in the night. Dylan melts into the shadows near a cluster of gnarled trees, his movements swift and silent. Fayette steps back, gripping her staff tightly, her bored expression replaced by one of grim determination. Edgar lets out a whoop, his grin returning as he unslings his massive greatsword, the blade glinting with anticipation. Nanami fumbles for his spellbook, his round glasses fogged slightly from the damp air, but his eyes are sharp and focused. The first figure emerges from the mist—a shambling corpse, its rotting flesh hanging loosely from its bones. Its hollow eyes glow faintly with a sickly green light, its jaws snapping as it lurches forward. More follow, dragging themselves out of the water and from behind twisted trees, their moans rising into a horrifying chorus. “Here they come!” Edgar shouts, stepping forward with his greatsword raised.

"So, which one do I roll for damage?" Haibara asked, looking over his dice.

"No, first you have to roll to hit," Sarah said with a laugh, "So pick up the d20 and roll it."

"D20?" Haibara asked, only to be handed the twenty sided die from Satoru. One zombie charges at Edgar, its clawed hands outstretched. He swings his blade in a wide arc, cleaving through the creature’s midsection with a wet, sickening thud. The top half of the zombie falls into the water, still twitching as it drags itself forward, but Edgar plants his boot on its skull, driving it into the mud. Areval steps into the fray, his shield raised as a pair of zombies close in on him. One swipes at him with bony claws, but the attack glances off his shield. He counters with a precise thrust of his sword, piercing the creature’s chest. It stumbles but doesn’t fall. With a grimace, Areval pulls his sword free and swings again, this time severing its head. The second zombie claws at his armor, leaving shallow scratches, but he shoves it back with his shield and finishes it with a clean slash. From the shadows, Dylan darts forward, his twin daggers flashing. He plunges one blade into the back of a zombie’s neck, twisting it before pulling it free. The creature collapses into the water, and Dylan vanishes again, moving to his next target. Fayette raises her staff, muttering an incantation under her breath. A pulse of radiant light erupts from her hands, washing over a cluster of zombies. The light burns through their decayed flesh, leaving them smoking and writhing as they fall. Nanami flips through his spellbook frantically, finally settling on a spell. He points at a group of zombies advancing on the party and chants a string of arcane words. A firebolt erupts from his hand, striking one of the creatures and engulfing it in flames. The zombie staggers, its grotesque form lit up like a macabre torch. Despite the party’s efforts, the undead keep coming. The swamp itself seems to be birthing them, more rising from the water and muck with every passing moment. The air is thick with the smell of rot and burned flesh, the sound of splashing water and clashing weapons echoing through the mist. “We’re being overwhelmed!” Nanami shouts, his voice tinged with panic as he casts another spell. “We hold the line!” Areval calls back, cutting down another zombie. “We’ve faced worse than this!” Dylan reappears at his side, wiping blood and ichor from one of his daggers. “Speak for yourself,” he mutters, his eyes scanning the battlefield. “This is starting to feel like a losing game.” Edgar lets out a triumphant laugh as he cleaves through another foe, his sheer strength carving a path through the horde. “This is what I live for!” he roars, though his breaths are coming heavier now. Fayette casts another radiant spell, her voice sharp. “Less talking, more fighting!” The clash of steel and bone echoes through the swamp as the party fights on, their movements growing more frantic with each passing moment. Just as Dylan drives his dagger into the spine of another zombie, everything stops. The undead freeze mid-motion, their bodies locked in grotesque poses. The faint green glow in their eyes flickers but does not fade. An eerie stillness returns to the swamp, oppressive and unnatural.

“What the…” Edgar mutters, stepping back and hefting his greatsword defensively.

“Hold!” Areval commands, his shield raised. His eyes dart over the unmoving horde. “Everyone, back together. Now.”

The party quickly regroups, forming a tight circle with their backs to one another. Weapons at the ready, they scan their surroundings as the zombies stand unnervingly still. Some twitch violently, their heads jerking to the side, but none advance. Instead, a strange rhythmic swaying begins, as though the horde is being pulled by invisible strings.

A low, guttural chuckle breaks the silence, followed by the sound of shuffling footsteps. The wall of zombies directly ahead parts with a sickening squelch, and through the opening steps an ancient woman, her frame hunched and frail. Her face is a maze of wrinkles, so deep and numerous that her eyes are nearly obscured by folds of sagging skin. She wears a tattered purple shawl over a patchwork dress, her gnarled hands clutching the fabric tightly. Her movements are deliberate, almost theatrical, as she pauses to throw one edge of the shawl over her bony shoulder with an air of exaggerated elegance.

“Well, now!” she croaks, her voice sharp and grating, dripping with disdain. “What’s this sorry lot doin’ stompin’ through my swamp like a pack o’ wild hogs? Y’all got no manners, no sense, no purpose! Ain’t nobody teach ya better?”

The party exchanges confused glances, each of them still on edge. Edgar shifts uncomfortably, his grip on his greatsword tightening. “Uh… who—”

“Don’t you ‘uh’ me, boy!” the old woman snaps, jabbing a crooked finger in his direction. “You stand there all big ‘n dumb like a sack o’ bricks, thinkin’ you can just waltz in here uninvited?”

“Ma’am,” Areval begins cautiously, lowering his sword just slightly. “We—”

“Oh, don’t you ‘ma’am’ me neither!” she cuts him off, her voice rising in pitch. “I ain’t no dainty debutante waitin’ for tea and biscuits! You think I’m gonna roll out a welcome mat for a bunch o’ armored buffoons and sneaky cutthroats?”

Dylan opens his mouth to retort, but the woman waves her hand dismissively. “And you—bet you think you’re clever, skulkin’ around like a flea-bitten alley cat. I seen smarter rocks!”

Nanami blinks behind his fogged glasses, raising a hand hesitantly. “Excuse me—”

“Excuse you?!” she interrupts, hobbling a step closer. “I don’t need no excuses from you, string bean! You barely look old enough to be outta your mama’s pantry, let alone throwin’ sparks ‘round my swamp!”

Fayette crosses her arms, unimpressed. “Are you done?” she asks dryly.

The old woman’s lips purse into a thin line, and then she grins—an unsettling, toothless grin. “Well, now, ain’t you a sour one? Got somethin’ crawlin’ up your robes, girl? Or is that just your face?”

The cleric rolls her eyes, but before she can respond, the woman digs into the folds of her dress. From a hidden pocket, she retrieves a set of false teeth, which she promptly jams into her mouth with a loud click. “Now,” she says, her voice suddenly clearer but no less sharp, “let’s try this again. Who the hell are you, and what are you doin’ tramping through my property?”

"Oh, this lady is great," Satoru laughed.

"Yeah? You would've loved my grandma," Sarah giggled.

"She still alive?" He asked, picking up a chip to eat.

"I… think so?" Sarah said slowly, her brows furrowing.

"OH— Well I—I uhh…"

Arrival steps forward cautiously, keeping his tone measured. “We didn’t realize this was your land,” he says, his eyes never leaving hers. “We’ve been sent to investigate the undead presence in this swamp. If you could—”

“Investigate?!” the woman barks, her eyes flashing with annoyance. “I’ll tell ya what’s goin’ on here! Nosy fools like you pokin’ their heads where they don’t belong, stirrin’ up trouble, makin’ my babies restless!” She gestures dramatically to the frozen zombies around her.

“Babies?” Dylan mutters, incredulous.

“Yes, babies!” she snaps, rounding on him. “They don’t need no prissy adventurers comin’ in here with their swords and spells, hackin’ and burnin’ like it’s some kinda sport!”

Edgar looks at the others and whispers, “Is it just me, or is this getting weird?”

“It’s always been weird,” Fayette replies under her breath.

The old woman huffs and glares at the group. “Now, unless y’all got a damn good reason to be here, I suggest you turn yourselves right ‘round and scuttle on outta my swamp before I make you regret it.”

The zombies twitch and sway once more, as if punctuating her words, their glowing eyes fixed on the party.

Areval takes a measured step forward, lowering his sword as he adjusts his stance. His voice carries the steady authority of a paladin accustomed to negotiation. “Madam, the king has sent us to address the growing concerns about the undead in these swamps. Multiple parties before us—”

Before he can finish, the old woman strides forward and slaps her bony hand against the metal of his breastplate with surprising force, producing a sharp clang as her rings strike the plate.

“Enough o’ that,” she snaps, her face twisted into a scowl. “I told the last four groups the same thing I’m tellin’ you: I’ve got permission from God to be here!”

The group collectively freezes, exchanging uncertain glances. Dylan shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck as Fayette raises an eyebrow.

“Uh…” Fayette begins cautiously, her tone skeptical. “Which god might you be referring to?”

The old woman turns to her with an exasperated huff, as if the cleric had just asked the world’s dumbest question. “The only real one!” she replies, her voice sharp and final.

Areval’s brow furrows. “Madam, all the gods are real. Their blessings and magic are the source of much of what we—”

“Razzle dazzle!” the old woman interrupts, waving her hand dismissively. Her expression shifts into one of smug certainty, and she grins, revealing her crooked false teeth. “That’s all just fireworks and party tricks. The real magic comes from the big one, the main God. The one who don’t bother with temples and priests ‘cause He’s too busy keepin’ the world turnin’!”

The party stares at her, the silence stretching as their confusion deepens. Nanami adjusts his round glasses and opens his mouth to speak but immediately thinks better of it, his lips snapping shut.

The old woman lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes so hard it seems she’s looking into the back of her skull. “Oh, for heaven’s sake! You lot are slower than a three-legged tortoise in molasses. Follow me, and I’ll show ya!”

With a flourish of her shawl, she spins on her heel and begins to shuffle away, the mud squelching beneath her feet as she gestures for the party to follow. The zombies remain frozen, their heads twitching slightly to track the group as the adventurers cautiously fall into step behind the woman.

“I’ve got the proof you’re all too dense to understand,” she calls over her shoulder, her voice brimming with smug superiority. “Maybe seein’ it’ll knock some sense into ya!”

Dylan sidles up next to Fayette, speaking in a low voice. “This is going well.”

Fayette doesn’t even look at him. “Shut up, Dylan.”

Edgar leans toward Areval as they trudge through the muck. “Do you think this ‘big god’ thing has anything to do with the undead?”

Areval shakes his head, his expression grim. “I don’t know. Stay vigilant.”

The old woman cackles ahead of them, clearly enjoying the tension. “Don’t fret, shiny boy! I’ll explain it all nice and slow when we get to my house. You’ll see. You’ll all see.”

The swamp seems darker as they press on, the stench growing worse with every step. The path becomes narrower, flanked by gnarled trees whose twisted branches claw at the air like skeletal fingers. Somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of water dripping breaks the silence, an ominous rhythm to accompany their uneasy march.

Sarah sat back and closed her notes and the rest of the group sighed with both annoyance and relief.

"Why do you always gotta end these on a cliff hanger?" Satoru asked, chuckling as he ruffled her hair.

She swatted at him and grinned, "Because it's more fun that way and I know you wont skip."

"Pff, I'd never miss one!" Satoru laughed.

"Yeah, thanks for running these for us!" Haibara said happily, "I love it!"

"Glad you all like it." Sarah said with a satisfied smile, packing up her pencils and dice. The group chattered amongst themseves for a moment, when Sarah caught Nanami's eyes on her. She looked up at him and tilted her head.

"So, when can we play again?" Nanami asked quietly, making sure no one else had noticed.

"Whenever you want," Sarah said softly, keeping that secret between the two of them.

Prev Main Next

Taglist: @inthedarkshadows000

[minecraft]

gem cuts rant

imo when it comes to gem cuts round brilliant is soulless and uninteresting. like the shape itself feels like it removes soul from stones somehow. old mine cuts are fucking awesome. oval cut is similar to round but actually has a soothing egg-like energy to it. ascher cut is cool as fuck but only on lighter colored stones. cushion and pear cut are way underrated. square princess is ugly most of the time usually unless the stones are pink or very light colored. emerald cut is overrated and should only be used on emeralds or green stones and octagon radiant is way nicer and better looking than emerald cut like 90% of the time. trillion cut is dumb but i kind of like it even though i feel like i shouldn't. marquise cut feels cheap and "off" to me somehow and heart shaped is great but is definitely a love it or hate it type deal. better for red and pink stones because ofc.

[fazalkhan2914]

Fine-quality rubies have gradually increased in value per carat Of all the coloured gemstones, rubies can fetch the greatest prices. Fine-quality rubies have been steadily increasing in Pigeon Blood Ruby price per carat, frequently surpassing previous auction records. In the case of superior-grade material, minute variations in colour might translate into substantial variations in value. https://www.takatgemssr.com/blog/fine-quality-rubies-have-gradually-increased-in-value-per-carat.html

[smudgingpumpkins]

BELTANE

May Day / Fire Festival

When is Beltane?

It is celebrated on the first day of May, marking the near-beginning of summertime. May 1st is roughly the halfway point between the spring equinox and the summer solstice.

What does Beltane mean?

"Beltane" can be inferred as the Gaelic word for "bright fire." It signifies that the days are growing longer and warmer, and welcomes fertility, life, and love. The veil between the human world and the spirit world has become thin, connecting us to fairies, nature spirits, and the dead.

Who does Beltane celebrate?

One may worship any fertility deity on Beltane, including Cernunnos, the Celtic God of vegetation, fauna, and fertility; Flora, the Roman Goddess of flowers, fertility, and springtime; and Belenus, the Celtic God of the sun, fire, and healing.

----------

BELTANE TRADITIONS

Work with stones that activate the heart and spirit, including rhodonite, rhodochrosite, rose quartz, emerald, and jade.

Use fresh, sweet-smelling flowers and herbs like roses, dandelions, lavender, mugwort, woodruff, and spearmint, all in which promote solace, pain relief, self-love, and spiritual healing. Mugwort may be beneficial to relieving colic and pain during mensuration.

Prepare and consume meals with honey, mint, and lemon, each considered aphrodisiacs. This mix of sweet and refreshing marks the revival of flora and fauna in the warming months. These three ingredients are also relatively hardy and are available year-round, symbolizing vitality and spirit.

Decorate and adorn yourself with soft pinks, greens, whites, and yellows.

Incorporate animal imagery (e.g., figurines, photographs, drawings, et cetera) of birds, cattle, stags, and other creatures associated with crop, fertility and strength.

BELTANE ACTIVITIES

Create and/or wear a flower crown. Use seasonal flowers--especially white, yellow, and orange flowers to represent fire--and decorate your hair with them!

Take a ritual bath: add lavender, coarse salts, mint, and rose petals to your relaxing bath.

Light a fire. Safely light a bonfire and indulge as you would like: sit and chat by the fire, feast over it, or safely dance around it. You could also take a blank sheet a paper, write down one thing you would like to achieve in the year to come, and then toss it into the flames.

Dance around the Maypole. The maypole is a ceremonial folk dance performed to ensure fertility and union. People dance around a tall wooden maypole and weave colored ribbons by walking in a circle in opposite directions from each other.

Make a Beltane altar. In the center of the altar, add an image/icon of a fertility god(dess) of your choice, and decorate around it with seasonal flowers, bells, burning candles, soft colors, and sugar or honey.

Get creative with recipes! Carlota Santos, who is the author of Magika, recommends drinking freshly made lemonade and baking buttery sugar cookies!

Carlota Santos’ Beltane Cookie Recipe

[amywritesthings]

silver underground. / chapter seven.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F!Reader (Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin)

Word Count: 3.7K

Summary: Day 160 - also known as the day Levi found you in the middle of the night.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI; Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Eventual Romance, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Flashbacks, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Touch Starved Idiots, Masturbation

( Read on AO3 )

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

She’s borderline insane.

As days past, day into night and night into day, that is all Levi can think about. Even when he knocks you down, you're still getting back up. Even when he bests you, you ask for another round. You’re still putting your fists up like you can take him, like you’ve got an ace up your sleeve for his eventual downfall.

Except that card was played long before you got fucked in the head.

(You were always fucked in the head, in an ironic way, since the day he met you.)

Truth is, he likes sparring with you. You'll proudly sport a bruise, two, five. You'll hold your chin high as you limp into the mess hall, undeterred by a pulled muscle in your leg.

In a way, there's a sliver here that feels like nothing ever went wrong.

You're still you.

And because you're still you, he won’t go easy on your daily training — can’t, not when he can feel you judging from across the dirt circle, waiting for the second he'll go soft and let you crack a decent uppercut or a surprise kick.

You’re right to assume such; there's no reason to bruise your ego on top of the bluish-green patches on your body. He finds himself holding back only when you stumble.

(The spineless higher-ups really should come out here for just a day see how determined you are to stay on your feet.)

Levi says up — you’re already standing. Levi says don’t think — you’re already acting.

He doesn’t need to urge you to fight harder, because you do it all on your own.

You don’t need him.

You’ve never needed him.

Yet you seek him out anyway, with every free moment you have. Levi Ackerman has to stay poised, controlled, distant.

God forbid you get the wrong idea, like somehow he’s going to buckle at the knee and cave with all of his sins at your altar. 

He’s never been one to pray, so why would he feel the need to confess?

He doesn’t need the questions. You don’t need the judgment from the rest of the team. The arrangement works for what it is:

Compromise.

Except he can’t fucking sleep when you’re here under the same roof. He incessantly fidgets in his captain’s quarters, pacing back and forth over and over in a broken-record loop.

Why is he so agitated all the time? Why is he so restless?

Every time he thinks about knocking on your door after hours, Levi drags on his chickenshit pants and turns the other way.

Every time he considers asking you to join him on a walk around the grounds for a patrol, he shoves his mouth with soup and leaves the mess hall hungry.

Every time he so much as thinks about you, he wants to bash his fucking head through the wall.

You’re right there.

You’re right goddamn there, and he can’t do a thing about it.

Tonight, however, is different — because his late-night pacing gets interrupted. Through an open window, he sees it play out in real time: a person with an emerald cloak and a lantern leading their way to the… stables?

No. Levi side-steps the billowing curtains at his bedroom window to watch the person below feel their way through the dark, clearly looking for something, until their fingers catch onto a thick patch of vines that lovingly caress the side of the supply building to…

Climb it?

Squinting, the captain shifts off the heel of his boot to lean beyond the window's edge.

The person outdoors struggles to climb one handed, yet they eventually manage to get to the top. They drop the lantern on the stone roof, resting on all fours to catch their breath.

When their hood flicks off of their head as their chin lifts to the sky, his eyes abruptly widen.

It’s you.

He’d know that hair anywhere.

Like a bat out of hell, Levi grabs his own cloak and rushes out of his bedroom before he can stop to think about what the fuck he’s doing.

If you’re in trouble, then he needs to know. If there’s something wrong, he has to ask—

(Why is he so fucking frazzled all the goddamn time anymore?)

By the time he reaches the supply building, he can see it: the faint glow of your lantern fading in and out from view, expanding and contracting. Levi swiftly uses both hands to climb the veins, popping his head over the roof’s edge.

You’re sitting cross-legged, staring up at the sky.

His chest constricts as the flame of the lantern wavers.

“Hey.”

It’s almost cute, how much you jump in the air with a chortle of frightened surprise. You fumble for the lantern like it’s about to topple over before snapping your attention back at him, wide-eyed and startled. Levi keeps his expression neutral no matter how bad he wants to laugh.

Then you melt, like he is no danger to you.

That recognition.

Shit, he’s missed you remembering who he is.

“Captain.”

He doesn’t enjoy, however, how formal you get around him.

“No one’s here, shithead,” he replies, climbing the last two rings of the vines before dropping his knee to the roof. “You don’t have to do the Captain crap.”

Call me by my name, is what he quietly begs.

You answer, like he really has stumbled into your church at the midnight hour.

���Levi.”

He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose.

“The hell’re you doing up here?” he asks, keeping his voice monotone as he stands tall on the rooftop. 

Your eyes follow, still confused and nervous.

“I’m—” Are you sweating? “—I couldn’t sleep.”

Levi’s brow ticks. “Gunther snoring or something?”

You quickly shake your head, and immediately he can sense it: something is wrong.

Are you going to let him in? Is he going to get to hear about what the hell is going on in that cloudy head of yours?

(He could iron everything out so neatly, like a soft pressed shirt, if he lost his resolve.)

Cautious not to slip on the roof’s slant, Levi makes a slow descent to the reclined space you have yourself situated upon. You’re generous enough to move the lantern to the other side of you, allowing him space to sit beside you.

“Then what is it?” he asks carefully.

At first you don’t respond. The look in your eye is… new. Hazy. Like you’re caught between a dream and reality.

He squeezes his fists together at his sides so as not to reach out and shake your shoulder back to where he sits.

He shouldn’t.

He really shouldn’t.

“You can—”

Too late. Two words spill out, and you whip your attention so fast to him that his throat constricts like he’s got a severe case of allergies on the horizon.

Be brave, Ackerman, you dumbass.

“You can… talk to me, if you need an ear,” he grits out, wishing he had the tact like Erwin or the generosity like Hange right now. They’d softly lead you into the conversation, create a cushioned security blanket to fall back on.

All Levi’s ever had is his arms and the clothes on his back.

Your loop your wrist between a finger and a thumb, lost in the consideration of his offer, and when he open his mouth to dispel it — forget I asked, you don’t have to say shit to me — you let out a sharp breath and croak:

“I think I dreamed about what happened.”

His blood runs colder than the night sky.

“What do you mean?” Levi asks, unwilling to assume for himself.

You drop your arms to your butterfly-laid knees and sigh heavily, distantly. “I really have enjoyed sparring with you, you know.”

Oh.

So you’re going to switch the subject.

It’s that memory, and Levi fights — struggles — not to press harder.

“Have a thing for getting your ass kicked or something?” he brushes off, and you smile with your chin to your chest.

His jaw goes slack just watching it from his peripheral.

“We used to spar all the time in the Underground,” you reply. “I think… I think it just feels like home to me, y’know?”

You look too fast, catching the slack-jawed expression on his face, and scramble for a better explanation.

“Because we grew up there! That’s home.”

“The Underground City wasn’t home for us,” Levi tells you instead, shaking his head.

(That’s home — fuck, why do you have to say shit like that?)

“No?” you ask, and he shakes his head despite himself. “Sparring feels like it, though.”

Levi stretches his legs out on the roof, mindful not to touch the dirty surface with the palms of his hands. “Kicking the shit out of you every day just so you can remember yourself is one hell of a fucked-up plan, you know that, right?”

You snort, nodding. “Yeah, I’m aware it’s a little unorthodox.”

“A little?”

“A lot,” you correct, grinning. He has to press his tongue to the roof of his mouth not to smile back. “And it makes sense, since we used to work together before the Scouts.”

You say it with such conviction that he doesn’t even notice you’re setting up a trap.

“You remember that now, huh?” Levi asks.

You rest your chin on your shoulder, eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

“Nope, but you confirmed it for me.”

Levi scowls at the dirty trick, rolling his eyes. “Little shit…”

“Well? Too late now, it’s in the open,” you urge, eyes rounding. “Right?”

He could kill you himself.

Metaphorically. Metaphysically. Spiritually.

So long as you’re physically still here, flesh and blood and beating heart.

“...if I give you this, then you’re never gonna quit asking.” But he’s feeling generous, especially now that you actually look sorry. You open your mouth, and he decides to beat you to the punch. “We were in a gang. Nothing glamorous.”

“With Isa?”

Levi can feel his face smoothing in surprise faster than he can look away.

The disbelief crawls and etches onto his expression, his body shivering from something colder than the night.

Isa.

A wave of sadness crashes at his shore and dissipates just as fast.

“Do you remember her?” Levi asks, softer than intended. "Isabel?"

He hopes you remember her. He hopes you remember all of them.

Even if he’s the last one that makes it to the roster, Levi wants you to have the good times in your back pocket so you remember why you’re fighting for humanity.

“The tomato thing,” you clarify with a softness that rivals his own. “The memory I had. You said I started sounding like Isa, wanting to go up to the surface. That we’d be happy up here. And it… yeah, I mean I can’t see Isabel's face, but I know there was a girl. And a guy, right?”

Is this really happening to him right now?

“Yeah,” he coughs to mask the strain in his vocal chords. “There was a guy.”

“Furlong.”

Levi couldn’t stop it even if he tried: the corner of his lip ticks upward. “Furlan.”

“Furlan…” You trail off, nodding to yourself. “That’s what his name was. Fuck, I kept saying Furlong, Furlong… but Furlan. Yeah. Isabel and Furlan. We all worked together?”

Speechless, all he can do is nod.

You don’t seem to notice the gravity of him, lost in your own orbit as you begin to ramble.

“We didn’t spar with them. That’s why all of my memories come from only us fighting. Not because they didn’t exist, but because they couldn’t keep up with us.”

You snort, shaking your head. Levi’s tongue is full of lead.

“There wouldn’t be a fair fight in sight. I mean, I think Furlan tried his best, but Isabel didn’t even try. She was too young, or at least I get the feeling she was younger than the rest of us. Sparring was only between us. We made it our thing.”

“Our secret language.”

Levi doesn’t know what the fuck possesses him to say that, but it’s out and open in the night air before he can stop himself from falling clear off the fucking roof.

He’s numb, his fingers frostbitten despite there being no breeze.

He isn’t brave enough to see your reaction.

His chin lifts to the moon.

“I fell, didn’t I?”

Your voice rips him clear from his stubbornness, forcing him to blink back at you. Your eyes are glossy, and his chest feels tight after forcing himself not to feel a damn thing at all.

“What?”

“The day I lost my memory. The day you… when I had my accident, or whatever.”

From such fond memories to the worst moment of his life, Levi has nothing to keep him afloat in this whiplash.

He can’t look away. He can’t even blink.

He’s fifteen all over again looking back at you, speechless and blank.

“My dream was bleak, to say the least,” you continue. He’s grateful for your voice overriding his racing thoughts. “But I don’t really know if it was a dream or reality. It all felt like a dream… but I can’t trust my dreams anymore, because half of the time they’re just memories.”

When Levi says nothing, you continue with a softer voice.

“I was flying through the trees. There were… screams, just… everywhere.” His teeth clench together, but he refuses to look away. Levi deserves this — to watch you tell boomerang his very own nightmares back to him. “I was trying to save this one person from getting eaten by a titan. Ten meters? Maybe thirteen? I couldn't tell. We were getting slaughtered out there by two abnormals that just wouldn’t quit.”

Levi doesn’t have the heart to say it.

If he could ease your pain, then he could lie.

He could say it’s just a dream.

(He was always so bad at lying to you.)

“There was one Scout half-eaten, hanging off a tree like he was… like he was just a leaf in the wind. I remember his cloak billowing. And — and I tried to recon with my ODM gear to go back for them. I tried saving them. I know the orders were to keep moving, and I…”

You look so haunted. Grief stricken.

This was the exact thing he was dreading, bringing you out here.

It’s too close to where it all went to shit.

Levi has to squeeze his fist from reaching for your shoulder.

“Go ahead, James,” he quietly reassures. “I’m listening.”

“I disobeyed your direct order, didn’t I?”

The way your eyes snap to his has him feeling cornered — it’s a rhetorical question that you want answered, verbally, here and now.

He can’t.

Levi merely nods once, and the devastation etched across your brow makes his stomach ache.

“You knew we couldn’t go back for you if you tried to save them,” Levi tells you, flat yet unsteady. “You knew.”

“And I did it anyway.”

“Yeah.”

“By myself.”

“Yeah.”

“And you came back for me anyway.”

(How vivid was this dream of yours?)

Levi sucks on his tongue, debating. Your eyes narrow in suspicion.

“Because you did come back for me, Levi.”

“James, how much do you remember about this?” he finally blurts, cutting straight through the hedge maze you’re formulating through storytelling to get to the point.

He has to know.

He has to hear it.

His bark makes you blink, recoiling with uncertainty, and he hates that — hates knowing he can’t let this play out when the guilt festers like a parasite in his stomach.

“A titan grabbed me,” you cautiously recall, the blood draining from your face. “I tried saving someone and a titan grabbed me out of mid-air. I fought it. I cut myself free, but it jammed my ODM gear.”

Levi frowns, ignoring the trembling in his right fist. “And how do you know I came back for you?”

At first you don’t reply. Your eyes round, as if surprised by the challenge.

The raven-haired man’s eyes narrow into slits, and he waits with a meanness that comforts him like a protective shield.

“How do you know?”

“Levi—”

“Because your not telling me—”

“I fell!”

That is not what Levi was waiting to hear.

“My fucking... ODM gear got jammed because I stupidly got caught by a titan, and I fought with it, then panicked and sliced my own… my own line. I fell.”

Your eyes get glossy again, voice nothing short of a whimper, and you look back to the moon with a trembling lower lip.

Levi hates that he has to push you, that he has to do this, but he’s a glutton for punishment.

Maybe you’ll understand.

Maybe this is the time where the illusions dissolve and you see him for what he is.

“Broken ribs.” 

You turn your attention back to him, a tear accidentally falling from your momentum.

“Bruised spine. Internal bleeding. Lacerations on the torso, neck, and right leg.” 

Again and again, Levi tortures himself with his own account of what you’re retelling. 

“The cherry on top being the major concussion. Those were the injuries you sustained for saving five out of eight Scouts that day.”

Your eyes watch in horror as he adds the little detail you would have never, and could have never, recalled—

Because you hadn’t been awake to hear for yourself.

“Miro Squad should have been a lost cause that day. You didn’t let that happen.”

His breath grows short. Yours doesn’t seem to exist at all.

His eyes drop to your chest, pleading for your lungs to work.

“Almost all of those injuries you sustained were before the—”

Shit.

Levi can’t do this.

He glances away, pressing his palms into the dirtied surface to focus on something other than the bile climbing up his esophagus.

“James, why did you say I came back for you?”

He has to hear it.

From your lips, because he won’t believe it elsewhere.

“...because I saw you diving after me.”

Your voice is soft, appreciative.

Like he’s a fucking savior.

Levi clenches his teeth, speaking through a modicum of restraint:

“James, I’m the reason you don’t remember anything.”

Finally.

Forehead to the fucking stairs of your altar, he confesses.

A sinner in front of a deity, laid bare.

Telling you feels as horrible as he always imagined. Levi doesn’t wait to catch how you look at him, because he doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t need to see that wide-eyed stare, that panic, the fear, over the edges of your face again.

He couldn’t stand it then, and he surely doesn't have the courage to stand it now.

“That’s…” His eyes close as he awaits the impending explosion, but you don’t sound angry. You sound… in denial. “That’s impossible, Levi, you dove after me—”

“It’s not impossible,” he reassures, wallowing in the hatred he feels in every vein of his body, "because it's true. It’s my fault that you’re like this. That you barely remember shit.”

“No, it—”

“James, I was there. I know what happened, I saw it happen, so fucking listen to me, alright?”

It’s harsh, cruel, and for some stupid reason he expects you to simply take his words at face value.

He starts to push himself up from the rooftop’s surface, but something heavy catches on his sleeve.

Despite his better judgment, Levi glances down.

You stare up at him, arm outstretched, tethering him to you. Your fingers crawl up his arm, encasing his forearm. He sees it: how you suck in your breath, sharp and surprised, as if the touch brings a fire to the pit of your stomach. And if he didn't know any better, then he'd think that's your thumb running along the bone.

Reassurance.

Want.

Starvation.

He could really drive it home, shove you away, then maybe you’ll reconsider the Scouts.

He can say that he wishes he hadn’t come back for you, but he doesn’t have the guts.

You’re offering forgiveness he doesn’t deserve.

“Don’t,” he warns.

Your fingers shift and he knows exactly what you’re doing. You’re trying to pull him back down.

Levi rips his arm away like your touch burns.

“Don’t what, Levi?” you ask, and it’s sickeningly sweet.

He wants to drop to his knees.

He wants to bow his head.

He wants to beg, over and over, until he’s cleansed in the midnight sun where you both belong.

For a second he falters, leaning like he’s going to hover over you.

Your eyes are so large, so hopeful, that he almost feels hopeful, too.

“Forgive me,” he croaks, finding his sanity in the nick of time. “Don’t ever forgive me.”

He hears your pleas to come back, his name so sweet on your tongue — Levi, wait! Levi, come back. Levi, please! — but Levi walks straight to the edge of the roof, climbs back down, and beelines straight to his quarters before he can break out into a cold sweat.

By the time he’s shut the door behind him, he’s ripping off his clothes.

His shirt, thrown messily to the ground.

His pants, unbuckled and dropped somewhere close behind.

He'll care in ten minutes. He doesn't care right now.

His skin is on fire. He falls to the bed, and the freezing sheets sting him.

This is hell.

Throwing his forearm over his eyes, the forearm you grabbed, Levi reaches shamefully for the bulge in his black briefs and squeezes, sputtering at euphoric relief.

His teeth grit when he drags his cock out, pumping furiously. Desperate. Needy.

He has to bite his tongue not to whimper when his brain poisons him with the way you say his name.

Levi. His fist squeezes the tip. Levi, please. He tenses, bowstring tight, and knows he’s already close.

Don’t what, Levi?

He gasps, the back of his head slamming into his pillow when the orgasm hits him like a ton of bricks.

He spills over his hand, legs trembling, before slumping with regret.

Forgive me.

.

Author's Note: ...told u this fic was gonna be 18+ for a reason, oop

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@lazylizzy3 @notgoodforlife @sad-darksoul

[only-by-the-stars]

It's WIP Wednesday, so have a snippet!

From my ongoing (and nearing completion!) fic Song of a Champion (a retelling of Breath of the Wild with Mipha as the protagonist [and miphlink as the main ship], AKA the coolest retelling out there because how can you argue with MOAR MIPHA?) (also my writing is amazeballs):

“What is this?” Riju spoke in a hushed voice, her tone one of awe and slight disbelief this time, rather than horror. Her booted feet echoed slightly on the stone, the soles crunching on scattered grains of sand, as she made her way over to something that laid in a patch of borrowed sunlight. Something round, that glittered almost blindingly in the golden pool. As Mipha watched, Riju picked it up carefully and held it to inspect it; a charged silence hung over them, and then Riju turned with an odd look on her face. “Lady Mipha, this—do you recall it? Do you think it is…” “… yes.” Her eyes prickled as she stared at what Riju held. At the sun-shaped piece of finely wrought metal, blazing with color that hadn’t faded even after a century. A second sun, one made of a perfectly cut ruby, shone from the very center, with gold crafted into a beautiful, stylized design that called to mind the rays of that celestial orb, stretching their limbs out across the boundless sky. Two round-cut blue topaz adorned the scarlet lacquer on either side of the ruby, while four square-cut emeralds made corners of a sort around the crimson gem. Completing the shield’s decoration was a ring of leaf-green lacquer with golden spheres set in at intervals, between which Gerudo symbols had been delicately painted on. “It is…” “Lady Urbosa’s Daybreaker shield…” Riju hugged it to her chest, her voice wavering slightly. “To think it would still be here after all this time… we have always believed it was lost in the desert.” She looked up, pain peeking around the edges of her carefully guarded expression. “Has anyone… do you know of what… how Lady Urbosa was found?” Mipha shook her head. Impa and Purah more than likely knew, but it wasn’t hard to guess at why they hadn’t spoken of it. “No.” “She was…” Riju looked away, her eyes locking on the shield again. “It took weeks before they located her body. And entirely by accident. A guard patrolling on her sand seal wiped out, so the story goes, and when she went to investigate what had caused her accident, found…” Her fingers trembled, her chipped nails scraping the metal. “She found what… what was left of Lady Urbosa, half-buried in the sand, almost unrecognizable but for the Champion’s garb still wrapped around her.” She turned her brittle gaze on Mipha again. “Just like the sash my guards told me a certain Zora vai had worn upon her entry to the city.” Mipha drew her breath in sharply. “You… knew, then? When I walked into your throne room?” “I suspected.”

[whositmcwhatsit]

Chapter 3

AN: Well, this whole writing thing got away from me for a bit, sorry everyone! Thank you to my alpha @thatbanditqueen, who decodes my gibberish, and a big thank you to @vintageshanny, @ellie-24 and @be-my-ally for keeping me sane without even knowing it.

Here are the previous chapters since you'll definitely need to be remind yourself what it's all about!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

There was a sharp rapping at the door after lunch the next day. Sally had gone back to the room to change into her bikini and robe, deciding to brave the poolside because she was tired of looking like the washed-out spirit of some pioneer girl haunting the hotel.

Thinking it was Laura checking on why she was taking so long, Sally threw open the door as she went to the mirror and adjusted the bikini top beneath her loose peasant blouse.

“Do you think I should untie the straps on this thing? I don’t want to have white lines on my shoulders.”

The tall man standing in the doorway raised his eyebrows behind his sunglasses and flashed a wide smile.

“Uh, I don’t know that I’m qualified to answer that one, Miss,” he replied amiably with a shrug.

Sally whirled round, feeling her mortified blush tingle as it hit her hairline.

“Oh gosh, I thought you were someone else,” she mumbled lamely. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, my name’s Sonny. I work for-“ He pointed a finger up and Sally frowned.

“God?” Utah wasn’t a million miles away but surely they didn’t send missionaries to the Las Vegas casino hotels. That just seemed unfair on both sides.

“What?” He gave a sharp laugh. “No!” He shot her a look like he thought she was either dumb or crazy, maybe a mixture of both. But she wasn’t the one who cased the corridor like a secret agent before murmuring: “Elvis. I work for Elvis.”

“Oh.” She thought that he was maybe waiting for more of a reaction, but after worrying that he was a Mormon missionary, the fact that he was one of Elvis’ guys was a relief.

“Uh, anyway, my boss wanted me to bring you these-“ He whipped out the tickets for that night’s show. “And, uh, this.” He held out a small, dark green velvet case in his other hand. She took both and frowned again at his look of expectation.

“Do you… Oh, I don’t really have any cash on me right now. Hang on a second, I can check-”

“God, no.” He wiped his face with a big meaty hand and yanked off his sunglasses, fixing her with a look that she thought was supposed to be intimidating but just looked exhausted. “Can you open it please? I’m s’posed to let him know how you… acted.”

“No pressure,” she muttered, lifting the lid.

Inside was a gold bracelet interlaced around emeralds circled by little diamonds. It looked like something the Queen of England might wear to a soiree, not a teller from a bank in the middle of nowhere. Not without being accused of embezzlement.

All of that ran through her head as she stared open-mouthed. Finally, she remembered her audience and she glanced back up.

“Can you tell him that I was overjoyed and jumped up and down and was grateful?” she asked, worrying that she hadn’t accrued enough goodwill to get him to lie for her. “I am very grateful, really grateful, but this is… I’ve never even seen anything like this before, let alone touched it.” She tentatively put a finger to the metal; it felt cool against her fingertip.

“Yeah, I’ll tell him.” He slid his sunglasses back on and gave her a small smile and a nod. “I’ll see ya.”

Sally nodded back and closed the door, clutching the tickets and bracelet to her chest. “Well, that was weird.”

At the pool, Laura huddled over the bracelet, pulling Sally’s wrist close to her near-sighted eyes like she was a jeweler, appraising gems.

“You think they’re real?” she asked, tilting Sally’s arm to see the stones caught the sun. Sally looked around at the other people on the sun loungers, feeling slightly too conspicuous thrusting precious stones in the air.

“I don’t know.”

“And you didn’t even have to sleep with him.”

“Keep your voice down!” Sally hissed, snatching her arm away.

“I’m just saying, you’ve got to be careful playing hard to get, you know, Sal, they can get tired of it real suddenly.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. I wouldn’t do that.”

Sally could imagine that he would be able to see through that pretty quickly too. He seemed to do that, to see deeper than people thought he did, or at least it felt like he did when his eyes were on you.

Almost as if she was afraid of being caught, she glanced up at the towering white façade of the hotel. It rose up and disappeared into the shimmering heat of the endless blue sky. Somewhere, right at the very top, which she couldn’t make out from the bottom, he was there. She wondered if he was thinking about her. Maybe he was looking down at the pool… She felt her cheeks heat up and she had to look away just in case.

That evening, she and Laura were standing in line for the dinner show. At the front were the devoted fans who had probably started queuing while they were still at the pool.

“Imagine if they knew you what you got up to last night,” Laura remarked, wiggling her eyebrows. She seemed more excited by the cachet of Sally’s relationship, such as it was, with Elvis, than Sally herself was. “What? It’s okay to enjoy things, Sal, Jesus!”

Sally opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Emilio the maître de who had somehow picked them out of the crowd of heavily made-up glamorously dressed women.

“The Beatles fan… Sally, is it not?” He pecked both her cheeks and then grabbed her fingers, wrapping them around his crooked arm. “We have been told to take extra special care of you.”

Sally glanced back at Laura, who had snatched hold of her other arm, and pulled a face. They giggled as they were escorted past all the baleful looking people in front of them in the queue.

“It’s like being a movie star!” she whispered to Laura.

“Now you’re getting it.”

Sitting in the central booth again, they felt highly visible as the room rapidly filled and staff served dinner. Sally watched the tables beside the stage fill up, the biggest tippers sitting central, women only closest to the stage.

“You know, some people come all the way from Japan and England and Australia just to watch these shows. Not even on vacation, just to see Elvis. The other night, I was talking to some people from South Africa!”

“Well, older folks have more money I guess,” Laura murmured, sipping her champagne.

“It’s not just older people,” she murmured, hearing how defensive she sounded. Laura shrugged, but didn’t reply as the lights started to go down.

The show passed in a blur of lights, sounds and, of course, music. Sally could tell that Elvis was getting more comfortable on the stage with each show, the patter between each song was becoming longer, sometimes surreal, usually funny, and he was cutting up during the songs more, swapping lyrics, usually for something dirty. The audiences seemed to enjoy it, and he certainly seemed to thrive on that.

Joe appeared during the piano intro for ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love.’ This time, he didn’t ask them to come backstage, he just gave them a smirk and gestured for them to go ahead of him.

In the wood panelled outer dressing room, Sally recognised some of the stars in the crowd, there were the actors from the Mod Squad, over there was Glen Campbell, but there was only one face she was looking for. She stayed back as the inner dressing room door opened, there was a glimpse of fleur-de-lis wallpaper, and Elvis came out.

Sally thought he looked anxious as he emerged, but even as her brain was registering it, his face relaxed into his usual charismatic smirk and he scanned the room. She averted her eyes, her stomach fluttering manically, and tried to look casual. She twitched a nervous smile at a stranger across the room and looked around for Laura, finding her beaming up at a tall, tanned older man.

Shaking her head, Sally turned back and almost banged her nose on Elvis’ chest.

“Oh!”

“Snuck up on ya, didn’t I!” He looked pretty pleased with himself even as he grabbed her forearm so that she didn’t stumble back. He pulled on her arm a little harder, tugging her towards him so that he could lean down and give her a lingering kiss on the cheek. She felt a wave of goosebumps ripple up her spine as her hand brushed against his suit jacket and his cologne tickled her nose.

“You did, I almost pulled out my pepper spray.”

“Pepper spray?! Hell, that ain’t no good, honey, that’s just seasoning. We oughta see about getting you a gun.”

“Oh, no thank you,” she replied, pulling a face.

“Not a big one,” he reassured her, like that was the problem. “You know, they make ‘em small enough that you can just put it in your purse.”

She envisioned fishing around for a mint or lipstick and shooting herself instead.

“I think I’m more comfortable with the pepper spray.”

Elvis pulled a face that told her that he wasn’t, but luckily they were interrupted by one of his famous guests, who leant right across her to shake Elvis’ hand and pat him on the shoulder. Sally moved back before she was elbowed. She almost stepped on the foot of a man behind her who was wearing a jacket covered in Elvis pins. It was a comedy of errors as she shuffled and circled and edged out of everyone’s way. She found herself pressed up against a decorative carpet that hung against the wall, overshadowed by a dark wood cabinet. It didn’t feel that different from the showroom, standing at a distance, watching him say his lines and his audience beaming at him. Even off stage he was still always giving a performance.

After about half an hour, the tall man who had delivered her bracelet- Sonny- gave her a pleasant smile and asked her to come with him. She glanced over at where Elvis was explaining something with animated hand gestures to a rapt group of men and women. The group let out a loud collective laugh as Sally grabbed Laura and they followed Sonny from the room.

“Where’s Elvis?” Laura asked as they walked along the bland tiled corridor towards the elevators.

“He’ll be coming along,” Sonny replied, pausing to introduce himself. Laura’s eyes lingered on him a little longer and Sally looked down to hide her knowing smile.

The elevator ride felt like an interrogation as Laura questioned Sonny on himself, on Elvis, on Hollywood, and anything else that caught her attention. Laura’s enthusiasm was unphased by Sonny’s stoicism, even after he mentioned his fiancée. Sally envied her friend’s confidence and self-assurance. Laura was the top saleswoman back home every month because she had a knack of dragging customers into conversations and building rapport with them so that when she mentioned that she was worried that they were not sufficiently covered by insurance, or that they could get that home renovation done now if they just signed up for a little, low-interest home loan, they felt they were being advised by a friend. If anyone had told Sally that one of them would get noticed by Elvis while on vacation, she would have bet all her cash on Laura.

Up in the Imperial suite, Sonny brought the women a drink and settled them in the den like they were his house guests. He seemed to have succumbed to Laura’s charms, sitting beside her on the couch and stretching out his arm behind her. Sally clutched her drink and surveyed the room, pretending to be intensely interested in the chandelier as Laura giggled quietly off to her right.

Finally, the door of the suite burst open and half a dozen guys strode in together. They all seemed to be talking at once, laughing at some in-joke. Elvis appeared amidst the group and the corner of his mouth twitched up as he caught sight of her. He made a beeline for her as his entourage peeled off and headed in different directions. Joe handed him a bottle of water, still talking to him, but it didn’t slow Elvis’ stride as he came and stood in front of her.

Without a word, he took the drink from her and placed it on the side table, then grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her to her feet.

“C’mon, honey, let’s go hide.”

Sally bit down on her lips to stop herself grinning like a cartoon as he tugged her along behind him. He took big strides so she had to half jog in her heels to keep up and she kept her eyes on the floor to make sure she didn’t trip on the thick carpet or any hidden steps.

In the bedroom, he slowed down as he purposefully closed the door, leaning on it for a moment before he turned round and smiled at her. She shivered involuntarily at the light twinkling in his eyes.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” she giggled and he bit his lip as he moved toward her, his eyes taking her in with an almost predatory hunger. His lips pressed softly against hers even as she felt him gathering her up, his hand around the back of her head, the other on the small of her back, sliding up as he pressed her into him.

Sally almost sagged in his arms as the anticipation and tension she had felt since leaving him passed liked waves from her body. She didn’t realise he was moving the both of them backwards until the side of the bed hit her calves and she made a squeaking noise against his mouth as she wobbled. Elvis’ grip of her tightened even as her arms tensed around his athletic frame, trying to keep herself upright.

Elvis pulled back from the waist up, his eyes opening slowly, thick black lashes flickering against his cheeks, as if he didn’t want to quite let go of the kiss. It only made her want to launch herself back at him, but she suspected he knew that.

“Man, I been thinking about this ever since I saw you in that dress,” he murmured, his hand dragging around her waist from her back and his long fingers tickling underneath the short hem.

Sally had already worn all of her good outfits to his shows, so she had borrowed a green mini dress from Laura and had spent most of the evening tugging it down.

“You wear this for me, honey?” His warm breath tickled her neck as he leant in to pepper her jaw and throat with soft butterfly kisses. “You ain’t trying to get me in trouble now, are you.”

At the same time, her thighs tingled with goosebumps at the feel of his callused fingers trailing up to the edge of her underwear beneath her skirt.

Part of her was protesting that this was too fast, that he was too much of everything: too experienced, too rich, too famous, too handsome, too Elvis for her. She was so far out of her depth that drowning was inevitable. The problem was that he made drowning look both exciting and pleasurable.

“I wore it because it matched my new bracelet,” she said, slipping her fingers through the opening of his jacket, warmed by his skin and the feel of the coarse chest hair against her fingertips. She could feel the thudding of his heart reverberating through his rib cage and sternum.

His chin dimpled as he peered down, grabbing her hand and pulling her wrist up for examination. She gazed at his face as he inspected her wrist, his left eyebrow twitching with self-satisfaction. She loved the creases at the corners of his mouth, how they made his full lips look sullen even as she knew he was suppressing a smile. It felt like a secret between them.

“You like it, baby?”

Sally shot him a look of disbelief. “Of course, it’s beautiful, Elvis, so beautiful, but you shouldn’t have. It looks expensive.”

“That don’t matter,” he murmured, frowning. “It looks pretty on your little wrist here.” He dipped forward and pressed his lips to the bony part of her wrist. Sally’s whole arm twitched at the heat and velvety softness of his mouth and her stomach fluttered as his pout continued its path round to her pulse point. His hair brushed against her jaw and throat as he leant over pressing kisses up the delicate skin on the inside of her forearm.

“I -uh..” She dropped down onto the bed, even as she was thinking that she was starting to feel a little lightheaded from holding her breath.

He looked like he was holding back a laugh as he asked, ‘You okay, honey?”

“I meant to do that.” She frowned, daring him to contradict her.

“Uh huh.” He nudged her legs open with his knee so that he could step closer and she could feel her skirt sliding to the top of her thighs as he drew in, his thumbs on her jaw tipping her head back so that he could kiss her as he slowly and gently lowered her back onto the bed, his tongue teasing its way into her mouth.

“Well,” he said, pressing his knee into the mattress right at the apex of her thighs, the pressure of him answering the ache beginning to throb there, “I might not get around to the next show, but-” He lifted a mischievous eyebrow. “It’ll be worth it.”

It took every drop of restraint in Sally’s being not to grind down on his thigh, but her self-discipline was almost immediately undermined by Elvis pressing down on her, and she let out a sigh mixed with a moan, catching a glimpse of his smirk before he kissed her again. Yet again, he was performing exactly the show he knew his audience enjoyed.

Trying to find some sense of balance, she let her hands glide down from his shoulder blades, feeling the mechanics of his lean muscles working beneath his suit jacket, and cupped his perfectly round ass. She felt him pause for a second, before he tried to cover his surprise by moving with even more authority, rolling his hips and driving a moan from her that had her turning her face into his neck and hiding in embarrassment. He didn’t seem to realise this was what she was doing as he shuddered and showered kisses on her throat and shoulder, pulling back her neckline as far as it could go so he could taste her pink, sun-kissed skin.

Sally felt his teeth clamp down lightly on the muscle in her shoulder before he drew back, depriving her of his spicy warmth, so that he could shrug off his suit jacket. As usual, he wasn’t wearing anything underneath and she couldn’t stop herself reaching out to touch his skin, running her fingertips up his sides and making him twitch and hiccup a laugh before he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. Her bracelet bit into her skin from the pressure, but she didn’t fight it or protest.

“This okay?” he asked softly, his face looking suddenly very boyish and vulnerable. It was unexpected and helped ease some of her nerves as she gazed up at him and nodded. Her lips were swollen and tingly, seemingly a side effect of being in close proximity to him, and she bit down on her bottom lip, trying to stop herself from panting too needily. He groaned, mumbling about how she was going to be the end of him, and sank back down into kissing and rubbing and pressing against her as she shivered and writhed and pressed right back.

Sally’s skirt was now somewhere around her waist and her restraint was buried somewhere in the sand outside of Las Vegas along with everything else that people from this city found themselves forsaking. She hooked her fingers into the tight waistband of his pants and tugged impatiently even as her tongue was sliding against his.

“Hey, whoa whoa, easy, baby,” he mumbled into her mouth. “We got plenty of time. I got you to myself all night, right?” She nodded dumbly. “That’s right, we made a deal.”

Despite his words, he walked his fingers up her thigh and her breath stuttered in her throat as he slipped his thumb into the warmest, wettest part of her. His eyes crinkled slightly and his mouth fell slightly open as he studied her face, which she was desperately trying not to screw up into unflattering expressions as he circled and dragged the pad of his thumb over her slippery skin, flooding her with sensation, before slowing and ebbing back, letting her breathe and float for moment. He seemed to take her efforts to be quiet and composed as a personal challenge, shifting his hips to get more comfortable and pressing himself against her thigh, before pulling out his thumb from the leg of her underwear and insert his whole hand into the front.

“S’okay,” he whispered, panting softly, as he played her like an instrument with his delicate fingers and she bit down on a whine. She could see where his mascara was beginning to smudge below his eyes as they both lost their cool both figuratively and literally.

Sally felt sweat trickle from her hairline down behind her neck and she shifted slightly. Elvis glanced up from where he was watching the movement of his hand and his heavy-lidded eyes seemed to assess her. In one smooth movement, he rolled onto his back, his hand still working in her underwear, and reached over to grab a pillow from the top of the bed.

The next thing she knew she was being thwacked lightly in the face with it.

“No, wait, that ain’t right,” he remarked dryly, picking it up again and smirking at her disgruntled expression beneath. “Lift your head, honey.” She clasped her hair in one hand and raised her head so that he could tug the pillow into place with his free hand, grunting slightly as he tried to keep himself up at the same time.

As soon as he was satisfied she was comfortable, he leant back over to kiss the air from her, increasing the pressure of his fingers as they began to sink into her while his thumb strummed at the bundle of nerves, making her twitch and writhe.

“Oh God,” Sally breathed, clasping at his neck and the damp tendrils of his hair. She couldn’t decide where to touch him, still not able to believe that she could. Her hands moved from his neck to his shoulders to his back, brushing his narrow waist, kneading his perfect ass and squeezing his thighs.

As the knot tightened in her belly, her muscles tensed and she began to moan freely, losing her inhibitions, she palmed at the firm bulge in his pants. He growled softly, pressing his face to her chest and resting his warm, sweaty cheek against her decolletage, scratching her with his sideburn. It felt like he was everywhere, leaving nowhere for her to retreat and hide, making it impossible to stay calm and demure, giving her no way to hold it together.

His fingers prodded deeper, causing the swell of the waves of pleasure in her gut to break and ripple through her body. She whimpered into his damp hair as stimulation so intense that it was almost painful rolled over her, making her thighs clench and her toes curl. The aftershocks made her twitch and he huffed a laugh into her temple, giving her pussy a scritch like it was actually his pet.

Sally shot him a disapproving look, a little embarrassed at how completely he had taken her apart with just his hand. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged as if he wasn’t responsible for what he did.

While she slowed her breathing and felt the unwelcome return of her inhibitions, Elvis hovered over her, straightening her underwear and diligently pulling down her skirt. He moved up, adjusting her neckline and pulling the shoulder of her dress back into place. Sally hoped they hadn’t stretched it, because she knew Laura would make her pay for another and she suspected it wasn’t from a catalogue like Sally’s own dresses.

“All better,” he pronounced in a soft, babyish voice, looking down at her body. When his eyes returned to her face however, he snorted softly. “Up here’s a different story though, baby, up here you’s a mess!”

“Noooo!” she protested, her hands going up to her hair, feeling the damp frizz and knots as he gave a cartoonish cackle and nodded. She pouted and reached up, vigorously ruffling his hair and pushing it in his face. “There, now we match!”

There was a pause and her stomach dropped as she thought that maybe she had crossed a line, but then he laughed and shook his head, swiping his black hair out of his eyes before he swiftly straddled her and obliterated any hope she had that her hairdo was salvageable. She wrinkled her nose and blew a lock of hair off her face.

“You made me do that!” he informed her. “I didn’t have no choice.” He did one of his patented sullen smirks as he picked up a long lock of her hair and laid it across her forehead like a monobrow. His laughter vibrated through her and his thighs tightly clamped her hips as she batted at her face and knocked her hair away.

“You are a public menace,” she informed him.

“You ain’t the first person to say that,” he nodded. “First person with a bird’s nest on their head to say it though maybe…”

In spite of his playful tone and the calming endorphins flooding her body, she was starting to feel self-conscious and she tried to roll over and escape his grip.

“Okay, let me up.”

“Honey, I’m just teasing. It ain’t that bad.” The expression on his face contradicted his words. She shoved at his thighs, trying to push herself free, and quickly discovered when her hand slid up that she might have been a mess, but she was apparently an exciting mess.

It was another twenty minutes of rolling around on the bed before she made it to the bathroom to examine the damage to her hair. It was as bad as she had feared, and she rooted around in the drawers and cabinets looking for a brush or comb to attempt triage. During her search, she found three pistols, some amber bottles of medication with a range of names printed on them, and a photo of a cute blond-haired baby, before she finally found what she was looking for.

Two hours of curlers and teasing and half a can of hairspray wasted, she vigorously brushed her abused hair into long brown curtains on either side of her face and wet some tissue to wipe away her smudged and smeared eye make-up.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Elvis was laying on the bed and he did a double take as she came out.

“What?” she asked, pausing nervously.

“Nothing… Nothing, honey.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You just look different with your hair all down like that.”

“I didn’t have much choice now, did I?”

“No, I guess not.” He rolled off the bed and somehow made it onto his feet before he hit the floor, striding over to clasp her head in his hands and kiss her almost chastely. “It looked so pretty before though, honey.”

“Thank you?”

He shook his head sharply. “I mean, you’re still pretty. I don’t even know what I’m saying, man. Sorry, baby.” He kissed her again, this time with more force. “Every time I get up on that stage I think I must shake something loose up there, losing my damn mind. You’re pretty, you’re beautiful, honey.”

Before either of them could speak again, there was a gentle tap on the door.

“E, it’s time.” The guy’s voice was no louder than speaking volume and clearly audible through the door. Sally was horrified, thinking about what they might have heard on the other side of that door. Elvis didn’t seem bothered though, just annoyed that their time together had to end, but then he was probably used to all of this.

“I gotta go to work, honey. Sold my soul to Kirk Kevorkian for a hundred thousand a week and I’m starting to think I’m the one that got snowed.” One side of his mouth twitched up into a half smile as he rose, but she didn’t quite understand what his expression was trying to convey. And in in an instant, it was gone.

“You coming to the show?” he asked with a bashful smile.

“If that’s okay with you?”

At this, he cupped her face in his large hands and kissed her, nipping her bottom lip between his teeth before pressing his forehead against hers.

“You ain’t real,” he told her, to her confusion. “There ain’t no way you’re real.”

“Funny,” she replied, “I think the same about you.”

As he walked her to the main door of the suite like they were on a surreal date, he told her not to bother coming down to the stage for a kiss at the midnight show.

“Oh,” she murmured, a little deflated. “I did exceed my allocation after all then?” He gave her an amused little frown.

“The way you talk, honey! Naw, I just got something else in mind. Don’t go messing with my plans, now, okay?” He gave her a peck, motioning to someone behind her. Laura reappeared, straightening her dress slightly and looking sheepish. Sally looked from her to Sonny wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The midnight show, her fifth now in three days, confirmed that the tummy flip when Elvis appeared on stage was a permanent thing. Meeting him, talking to him, hadn’t lessened her wonder and awe at his talent and energy. If anything, seeing him up close in the flesh and learning more about him only made that huge presence he projected seem that much more impressive.

“Does it bother you?” Laura asked curiously, pouring herself a glass of champagne from the magnum resting in an ice bucket. They hadn’t ordered it, it had just been presented to them with the assurance that there was no charge.

“What?” Sally asked. Laura nodded towards the stage where Elvis was crouched down in front of a couple of women who were giving him a gift. He gave them both deep, effusive kisses, going back for seconds from one of them.

“Why would it bother me?” she laughed. “if he didn’t do it, I wouldn’t have got to kiss him.”

“Exactly,” Laura said cryptically, raising her eyebrows. Sally rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the show.

Elvis didn’t introduce Love Me Tender until later in the set, leaving Sally wondering what he was talking about when he said he had a plan. When he finally started the introduction, she suddenly became vigilant, like she was waiting for an ambush.

At first, nothing seemed much different, Elvis sang a little, kissed a lot and the band persevered, playing verse after verse. Then, after walking to the wings, he just… didn’t stop. She watched his dark head drop down into the crowd and pandemonium broke out. People- women- were charging down from the back of the showroom, the audience were laughing and whooping as girls called Elvis’ name and begged to be able to touch him.

“God, they’re going to eat him alive!” Laura laughed, as they both craned their necks to follow the knot of people moving through the crowd.

Sally watched as people tried to climb over tables just to reach out and touch his arm as he passed by. He was being jostled by the press of his own bodyguards and then the fans begging for kisses. Her eyes widened as she realised the procession and growing mob were heading toward their booth; blue uniformed security guards were already appearing behind her, ready to marshal him through safely.

A beautiful blond managed to step into Elvis’ path as he almost reached the back of their booth. Sally and Laura had turned in their seats and were kneeling up on the red velvet cushions, watching the circus. He clasped the blonde’s face, just as he had done Sally’s only an hour earlier, and kissed her on the lips. Sally wondered if maybe she should be feeling jealous, but the truth was that she really just felt empathy with the woman, understanding how exciting and delicious it was to be kissed by him.

Despite the pressing and the chaos, he managed to pause at their booth, his tanned hand replete in gold rings gripping the white scrollwork to fight the momentum pushing him on. He gave her a lopsided grin as he leant in.

“How’d you like my plan? Seemed a good idea at the time.” He almost stumbled as he was jostled from behind.

“Not bad for a public menace,” she grinned, wrapping her fingers around his sweaty neck and almost sighing against his soft lips. A security guard stepped closer as if she was an overexcited fan that he was going to have to drag away, but she drew away before he could reach out and grab her.

“See ya later!” Elvis called over his shoulder, taken by the current. As he was swept on, she only heard the word ‘deal’ float back through the screams and whooping and laughter.

Turning round and smiling at Laura, Sally licked her lips and savoured the salt there. 

Tag list:

@itsnotthatserious03 @everythingelvispresley @bigromansgirl-blog, @sillybookmarks, @returntopresley

As always, shout out to the Elvis harem: @thatbanditqueen, @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny, @ellie-24, @from-memphis-with-love, @missmaywemeetagain, @peskybedtime