#but i need another meal or two and I'm unsure what | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pathetichimbos · 1 year ago

Text

First Meeting - Part Five

((part four here)) ((part six here))

Thomas Hewitt/GN!Reader

tagslist: @goodiesinthecloset21 @shykoolade @strawb3rry-gal @ktssstuff @theclownbaby0 @leah-halliwell92 @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @aleracrovn

---

You’ve run away from home, hitchhiking around Texas as you come up with your next plan, only to find that life has plans of its own when a simple ride with a group of friends lands you at a lone gas station in Travis County, drawn to a mysterious man most seem to avoid.

---

Luda Mae didn't say much else after your confrontation, only directing you on where they kept the empty egg cartons once you were done drying the eggs and which fridge to put them in.

She tasks you with helping with dinner, leaving you in charge of cutting the vegetables she needs for the beef stew she was planning to make later in the day.

Okra, onions, tomatoes, potatoes, carrots, celery... This stew was packed full of everything, a big and filling meal, a recurring theme you could already see playing out in this house.

The Hewitts clearly didn't lack in food, making enough for everyone and more, their fridges stockpiled with everything any person could need, from fresh fruits and vegetables to drawers full of home packaged meats.

Luda Mae begins preparing lunch as you chop the vegetables, the radio filling the silence between the two of you as you think of something to say, trying to find a way to fix the awkwardness you had created.

Before you get the chance, however, Luda Mae breaks the silence herself, "Go fetch Monty and Thomas for lunch."

"Right." You drop the last of the now chopped vegetables into a large bowl with the rest of them, "...Where are they?"

"Monty'll be on the front porch, with that damn yappin' mutt of his. Tommy'll be in the basement, straight down the hall."

"Ok, where do you want me to put these?" You grab the bowl off the counter.

"Put 'em in the fridge for now."

"Yes ma'am." You do as you're told, going to the front porch first.

You push the screen doors open with a sqeual, the two wooden doors already wide open to help air flow through the house.

You step onto the porch, swinging your head right to the empty swing, then left to see Monty at the other end of the porch, sleeping dog curled up in his lap.

"Hello?" You ask, as he doesn't seem to react to your presence at all.

No response.

You step closer, and the faint sounds of snoring make it apparent he's fallen asleep. You take another step, reaching a hand out to touch the back of his wheelchair in an attempt to wake him.

But, instead of waking him, you wake his dog, who jumps up as soon as your hand touches the chair, barking ferociously at you.

You jump back, pulling your hand away as Monty wakes up with a jolt, looking around confused.

"What the-- Roxanne, shut up!" He hollers at the dog before spotting you, already grumpy at being woken up, "What the hell are you doin' here?"

"I, uh... I'm supposed to tell you lunch's ready?" You take a step back, unsure of what else to tell him.

"Aw, hell." He huffs, turning towards the front door and making his way across the porch, yelling out, "Luda Mae!"

You step out of the way to let him pass before quickly following behind, making sure to reach up and open the screen door for him.

"I don't need your damn help." He mutters, pushing the other screen door open with his cane and making his way inside, "Luda Mae!"

"What the hell are you yellin' about now, Monty!?" She calls back from the kitchen.

"What is this person doin' in my damn house!?"

"Your house!?"

You ignore the rest of the conversation, quickly walking past the kitchen as they argue, following Luda Mae's previous instructions and going straight down the hall.

This end of the hall is dark, a stark contrast to the rest of the house. There's a single step into a small room, and when you try the switch it doesn't work.

The large metal door is daunting, not like any basment door you've seen, towering over you in the dark like a threat.

Just like a horror movie... You can't help but to think, stepping forward and looking for a door handle.

You don't find one, your fingers running across the cold metal in the dark, feeling for a way to open it. Instead, your fingers catch on the side, and with a little more looking, you realize it's a sliding door.

Gripping the edge of the door, you pull as hard as you can, the heavy metal scraping as it slowly pulls open, working against you as if it didn't want you to open it at all.

You give up once you get enough space to squeeze through, leaving it partially closed as you step inside.

You're immediately met with a faint, foul smell, and a wooden staircase going down into a wall before turning into the rest of the basement hidden from your view. You can hear someone moving around down there, a faint light creeping up the stairs.

"Thomas?" You call out from the top platform, shifting in place. The basement was already terrifying you, and you hadn't even taken the first step down, "You down here?"

You hear metal clatter, and something drop before heavy footsteps make their way over to the stairs. Thomas comes up to the second platform, a rag in hand as he wipes off his hands and arms. You can't see what he's wiping off, and you're sure you don't want to.

"Lunch is ready." You tell him, Luda Mae's and Monty's yelling loud enough to echo into the basement as you give an awkward smile, trying to make light of the situation, "...I don't think Monty likes havin' me here much."

Thomas lets out a small amused huff, well aware of his uncle's habit of looking for a reason to have a problem.

"Are you coming up?" You ask, and he nods, tilting his head towards the basement as if to say he'd be up in a minute, "Alright, I'll tell Luda Mae."

You step back out of the basement, barely managing to push the door shut again.

You can hear the arguement finishing up as you head back into the kitchen, managing to catch the end tail of Luda Mae shutting it down, "...Sit down and eat so you can shut the hell up. Ain't no damn reason for you to be mad right now."

Monty grumbles something else too quietly for you to hear as you step back in, already stuffing his mouth full of the lunch Luda Mae prepared.

"Thomas says he'll be up in a minute." You break the silence, tension thick as you take a seat at the kitchen table.

Monty rolls his eyes, smacking around a full mouth, "Oh, what'a big help you are."

Taken aback by the sudden insult, you look between the two of them, beginning to pick at your own plate of food.

"Ignore him. He's just mad at nothin'." Luda Mae sets two more plates down before taking the seat beside him, "Don't talk with your mouth full, you damn fool."

He huffs again, glaring down at the plate of food as if it's responsible for everything wrong in the world, though you had an inkling suspicous he was directing those feelings towards you.

Another minute passes in silence, as the three of you sit and eat, your plate signifigantly less full than theirs, a request you gave Luda Mae earlier as to not waste any food you couldn't eat.

"...This is really good." You finally speak up, the silence driving you mad.

"Thank you. At least someone's appreciative." Luda Mae gives Monty a pointed look.

"Ain't suppos'ta talk wi'f my mou'f full." He makes a point of talking around a large bite of food.

It's her turn to roll her eyes as she turns back to her own plate of food.

"Why are you here anyhow? You get kicked out of your own house for bein' a druggie or somethin'?" Monty abruptly asks.

"Damnit, Monty--!"

"No, it's alright." You shrug, "I don't mind."

The smug look on his face almost makes you want to take it back, but you ignore him as you start explaining, "Mama drinks too much and Dad ain't around. Just seemed easier to go out on my own than to try and fix someone who doesn't wanna change."

"And it's also none of your damn business." Luda Mae points out.

"It's my damn business when it's in my damn house."

She scoffs, about to say something else when Thomas walks in the room, opting instead for saying nothing else, simply giving Monty a silent warning glare not to say another word.

"Hi..." You mutter, looking up at Thomas as he sits down, unbelievably relieved to have him in the room.

He looks around the room, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife between Luda Mae and Monty, creating an awkward environment for everyone in the room.

You stare down at the table, picking at your plate as you steal glances between the two of them before catching a glimpse at Thomas, who was doing the same as you.

You look at him, and then back at the other two. He nods, apparently sharing your thoughts.

You bite your lip, glancing between the two of them and Thomas. Perhaps it was the overly exaggerated look of anger on Monty's face, or the way Luda Mae continues making annoyed facial expressions, as if she was still arguing with him in her head, but suddenly you find yourself struggling not to laugh.

Thomas seems to be thinking the same thing, food untouched in front of him as he tries to fight off a smirk under his mask.

You place your arm on the table, hand coming up to cover your mouth as you look away, almost visible shaking from trying to stifle your laughter. It was like being a kid again, sitting between your parents trying have a serious arguement over the stupidest thing they could possibly think of, completely aware of how much trouble you could get into for laughing but unable to stop yourself from chuckling at their overdramatic antics.

The rest of the meal is spent in silence, you and Thomas stealing glances at each other and stifling your amusement at the two.

After everyone finishes you gather the dishes, helping Luda Mae wash them, the awkwardness long gone since Monty went to his room to take a nap.

You wash the plates and silverware in silence, Luda Mae drying and putting them away.

It's still early in the afternoon, and she's got nothing else to do, giving you plenty of time to grab your book and settle on the living room couch.

Luda Mae sits on a love seat on the other side of the living room, crotcheting something you couldn't quite make out. Perhaps it was too early in her project, or perhaps she was just shit at crotcheting. You don't bother to ask, content with reading over your book as an old song drifts through the air, dripping with static as the old radio pushes it out of it's speakers.

You pull your feet onto the cushion, leaning on the arm of the couch as your eyes read over the familar words for the hundreth time.

It's easy this way.

Easy to not ask questions.

Easy to pretend everything's normal.

Easy to forget what happened yesterday.

At least, it was.

The words are too familar, you know them too well.

They begin to blend together on the page, losing your focus as your mind begins to wander, the words changing and shifting until you're back in the pantry, watching Katie cry and plead for her life, helplessly yanking against her constrains.

You clench your eyes shut, her screams echoing in your mind as you shake your head, pushing the memory to the back of your mind, letting it settle in your chest like a gnawing guilt, reminding you that you could have done something different.

You're caught off guard when Thomas walks in the room, taking a seat on the couch and catching your attention. He's changed out of the grimey clothes he had on before lunch, now adorning a clean, navy blue dress shirt and jeans.

You look back down to your book, trying to refocus on the words and keep your mind away from yesterday, away from the thing that made you scared of him.

It doesn't work, and you close it, setting it down beside you as you sit up, leaning back and letting your head hang back as you stare at the ceiling.

You feel a tap on your hand, and you look over to see a concerned Thomas. He takes your hand, writing out his question, "A-R-E U O-K?"

You stare at your hands for a moment, letting his question roll around in your head for a moment before nodding, "Just tired..."

He nods as well, letting your hand go.

It feels cold for a moment, and you almost miss the heat of his hand against yours.

The rest of the afternoon goes on rather slowly, with not much to do, you're left to distract yourself.

Luda Mae shows you where the washer and dryer are, helping you get a load done so you can finally take a shower and feel clean.

It's a dream, clean clothes on clean skin, finally given the chance to run a brush through your hair, fighting against the tangles that have made their home there over the past several weeks.

You almost don't know where to start, staring back at yourself in the dingy mirror of the downstairs bathroom, wet hair clinging to your skin as you face the daunting task ahead of you.

You try your best to brush through the mess on your own, brush pulling at the knots harshly, leaving your arms tired and wrists hurting as you barely brush a few of them out.

"You alright in there?" A sudden knock makes you jump, grip tightening on the old hairbrush.

"Y-yea," You sigh, opening the door for Luda Mae, "Just havin' some trouble with my hair..."

She looks you over through thick glasses before sighing herself, "Well, come on then."

That's all the warning you get before she's walking down the hall and back towards the front of the house.

"Huh?" You blink in confusion, quickly following behind.

"Sit." She takes a seat on the couch, pointing to the floor in front of her, "Come on, now, I ain't got all day, supper's gotta be made."

It takes you a few seconds to realize what's happening, but none the less you do as you're told.

Luda Mae takes the brush from your hands as you cross your legs, leaning against the front of the couch and giving her access to your hair. Thomas isn't in the living room anymore, but the one sided conversation you can hear Monty having on the front porch gives you an idea of where he may be.

Luda Mae's hands are gentle as she works, slowly but surely brushing through each knot with much more ease than you had yourself. It's obvious she's done this before.

You close your eyes, letting them rest as she combs through your hair, humming a quiet song.

"...It's been a long time since I've brushed anyone's hair," She speaks up, "Thomas won't let me do it no more."

"You used to brush his hair?"

"Mhm. Every mornin', since he was just a little baby. Then Hoyt and Monty started teasin' him for it and now he does it himself..." Her voice is sad as she explains, carefully working through a particularly difficult knot.

"...You're a good mother." You're solemn as you lean your head forward, giving her better access to the back of your head, "He's lucky to have you."

You hear her hum in response, unable to see the small smile gracing her face,

"...There we go." She finally states after a few minutes, pulling the brush away from your hair, "All done."

You sigh in relief, running a hand over your hair just to feel the difference, "Thank you, it feels so much better."

"You can thank me by helpin' with supper." She pats your shoulder, and you take that as your sign to stand, following her into the kitchen to help make dinner.

#first meeting #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x s/o #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x y/n #slasher x s/o

165 notes · View notes

misslycoris · 10 months ago

Text

SIGNED, ALASTOR

A little snippet of the latest chapter, if you plan to read a bit more, consider giving us a visit sweetie ♡~

THE RADIO DEMON DOESN'T MIND GROCERY TRIPS

Can of soup, can of soup, more cans of questionable soup, it was an aisle filled with nothing but canned soup. You sometimes question what that says about the current state of humanity, what with the abundance of premade soups. It helps though, and saves time and money. You took two cans and placed them in your basket, tucking your wings in as you moved to another aisle, George preferred home-cooked meals anyway so you wouldn't need to bother about it so much. You always wondered how the ones who made these cans of soup last so long inside metal cans, aren't they supposed to rust or something? You were mostly sure that the reason why most of these canned goods tasted shit wasn't because of rusting, just that the people who made it didn't put the taste into account more than profit. From one aisle to the next, you trudged on to check everything off your list.

"Well look who it is! A familiar set of wings, and an even more familiar face!" Then there came the jovial tune of a jazz band playing on the radio, you didn't even need to turn around to see who it was. "About time I got bothered again." You mumbled, focused on finding the right kind of seasoning. "Busy with the groceries?" He asked, you hummed in response, grabbing a random box of spices. "Ah ah, not that." He said, taking the bundle out and instead grabbing a bundle of different spices. "These taste better and for a much cheaper price no less!" You took a moment to stare at him questioningly, that makes for another surprise. "You seem, experienced. Been here before?" You asked, unsure but made no move to remove whatever he just placed inside your basket. "Nope! But it's a sure choice of mine! You can never trust a box to deliver something with value after all!"

You grabbed a random brand of pasta noodles only to have it snatched and replaced by Alastor. "This one is an insult to the Italians, my friend, I suggest you keep yourself far away from it unless you prefer your pasta soggy and falling apart at the seams." He said, pointing towards the now returned box of pasta. You nodded your head, checking the pasta off your list.

"You seem to know a lot about these." You pointed towards the shelf, Alastor twirled his staff and raised his chin proudly. "I happen to be quite familiar with the art of groceries! Reminds me of the good old simple days with my mother!" You nodded, looking for the next item on your list. "Your mother? That seems, oddly nice of you. I'm guessing you had good memories with her?" You took two brands of parmesan and showed it to Alastor. "Only but the best! If you think I'm any good with these, you haven't seen her in her element! She knows a good ingredient when she sees one!" He pointed towards the parmesan you were holding to your right, you returned the other back to the shelf and chucked his cheese of choice in your basket. "She seems like a great person." You meant it, with how he seemed so fond of the woman you can't even imagine just how kind she was. "That she was my friend, tough but with a gentle touch to her." Alastor hummed as he stalked along, finding a sense of nostalgia as he saw you searching for whatever it was you were asked to buy. Really, he could almost see a younger him dragging his mother around, eager and curious. Stars behind his eyes as he hoped to get things his family at the time couldn't afford, yet his dear old mother never said anything. The woman only smiled and asked Alastor to be patient and that she'd get it for him later, she sometimes did and Alastor never knew how she managed to.

He remembered all those times that she had enough to cook something special for the both of them, him eating his mother's jambalaya while listening to the radio with her. He never could quite replicate her recipe, he always got close but never could get that spark that it had when she made it. Did he miss something? But he was always there when she made it, he had the recipe memorized by heart, the measurements to a tee, and all the small tricks his mother taught him he kept under his sleeves. So what was it? Was there something his mother hadn't told him before she died? Or did it taste special because she was the one who made it?

You glanced at Alastor who was now rendered silent, the music following him now muted. You didn't want to interrupt his thoughts so you let him be, giving a moment to think about whatever it was he was thinking. His mother seemed to be a good person uninvolved with what he did to get to Hell, so that would mean that his mother may have been kept in the dark, his mother found out, or his mother died early on before he started going awry. You were certain about one thing, however, a mother like that would've never wanted her son to turn out the way he did. "I wonder which," you paused, staring at the two similarly looking products. It was then that Alastor snapped out of his trance and chose for you. "This company has a habit of copying others, so my best bet would be on the other one." His voice held no ulterior motives or malice, just him providing his thoughts and bits of advice with the intention of helping you. You went through the list with ease, Alastor on your side as he gave you a lecture on what spice to use on what type of dish.

"Don't be afraid to use spices, don't skimp on it either! It gives a needed zing to your dish! If the recipe calls for something to give it a spicy kick don't sprinkle in a few and call it a day!" He exclaimed as you got in line to pay. "What if you can't handle spice well?" You asked, you didn't want to be the first person to kill someone with capsaicin. "Then you add as much as you can without scaring them off, they'll eventually learn to handle it with enough dishes!" You didn't notice it and neither did he, but the people in front went out of their way to move, letting you and Alastor go in front of the cashier first despite being at the back of the line. One of them even eyed you intently.

"Does that work?" You asked, setting down your basket with Alastor helping you take the contents out. "You'd be surprised with how fast it happens so long as you slowly increase the spice with each meal!" You nodded attentively, making a mental note of his advice. "Have, have a nice day!" The cashier stammered, practically shoving the paper bag on you. "But I haven't paid yet," Alastor tilted his head at the quivering state of the poor bloke as you tried to balance yourself at the sudden weight shoved at you. "You have, yes you have. Please have a good day." You raised a brow at what he said, but as you looked at him he stared at you with the most terrified expression. "Please get out." He mouthed silently, eyes spasming as he put up a desperate smile. Right, you were with Alastor. Overlord and certified nightmare.

Before you knew it you were out the door, the bell ringing as you held the bag between your arms. "Well, I didn't expect to get these all for free." You laughed almost unbelieving of what had just happened. "Do you always get free service when you're that terrifying?" Alastor almost seemed pleased with himself, a small smile adorned his face. "Well, who am I to refuse such an act of kindness in Hell? People can be quite decent on some days!" He joked, and you laughed along with him. "In any case, I suppose I should thank you for it. Count my blessings right?" The crowd cheers, Alastor grinning wide. "Exactly! You're getting the hang of it!" You shook your head, it was about time you left so you bid your goodbyes and stretched your wings out.

"Should I expect you to come and bother me again next week?" He guffawed, a swing beat loud in the distance.

"You know me well already my friend!"

EDITED: Edited out a part that lacked context and added additional tags

#alastor #alastor x reader #aroace #writing #writeblr #fanfic #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x you #alastor the radio demon #aroace alastor

94 notes · View notes

deputyrook · 1 year ago

Text

The Assistant - Lou Bloom x Reader. Horrror/Romance

This is an old fic re-upload. I'm just going to post all four parts in one. Anyway, this is one of the few old fics I'm still quite proud of, so please enjoy (or enjoy again!)

Lou Bloom (Nightcrawler) x female reader (she/her).

WORD COUNT: 11,258

Warnings: Stalking, voyeurism, gaslighting, coercion, emotional manipulation, creepy behaviour.

“This is a very exciting opportunity. One that you’re not going to want to pass up. Now, I don’t know that you’re ready to take on this role, but I believe that when you give someone responsibility, they have the opportunity to rise to the occasion and excel. I believe that you have that ability. Which is why I am taking a chance on you, and promoting you to the role of my personal assistant.”

Lou watches your expression with the intensity of a vulture watching its next meal. He wants to see how you react to the offer. You’ve only been his intern for two and a half weeks, but he knows that one way or another, you’ll agree to the change in position.

He’ll make sure of it, because he has different plans for you now.

Your head tilts curiously, but you smile at him, close-lipped and cautious.

“It’s an honour,” you reply, and he can feel himself nodding in agreement with you.

You smell differently from Nina, but he likes it. Nina wears perfume, and sometimes a bit too much of it. Your scent is of clean skin and strawberry scented shampoo, light and natural.

Nina still sleeps with Lou, but she doesn’t comply easily. She disobeys him, and rolls her eyes when he gives her instructions in bed. She is a beautiful woman- particularly in how sharp she is, how vicious in her work- but he can’t control her, and what they have isn’t a relationship, not really, not like it should be.

You’re different. You’re careful and quiet and you take notes when he speaks to you. You listen to him, and you follow orders well and without fuss. You don’t seem to mind doing what he instructs you to, even when he tells you to drive faster, or do things other interns might find... questionable.

And you’re young, and you’re pretty.

When he realizes that he wants to have you, Lou does two things. First, he breaks up with Nina.

“Are you fucking with me?” Nina asks him, her eyes narrowing. They’re sitting at dinner, and it’s so similar a situation to when Lou first proposed a sexual relationship with her.

“The simple truth is that I have outgrown this relationship. In this world people’s needs change. I have more needs now, ones which you are not capable of meeting. As such, I am terminating our relationship immediately.” Lou takes a sip of his water.

Nina’s lips purse, as though she thinks it’s a trick. Lou can imagine the way the gears are turning in her mind.

“But you’ll continue to work with me on a professional basis... right?” She confirms apprehensively. “You’re our leading stringer, your work is-”

“Artistry. I’m aware,” She looks unsure, and Lou likes that. It will be a shame, not having her around when he wants her anymore, but he doubts he’ll ultimately miss it much. “As long as you continue to pay me at the rate you currently are. I know that KWLA 6 is now the most popular news network on morning television and I also know that the name of my business is starting to become known. Now, I’ll keep supplying you with the footage, but you should understand that I have no loyalty to your company, or to you personally.”

Nina’s expression settles into a frown. “You’re breaking off our- so that you don’t feel any guilt about just selling to the highest bidder?”

Sometimes, Lou thinks that maybe Nina comes close to understanding him. This is not one of those times.

“No,” He answers, with a chuckle to himself, “But I don’t need to sleep with you anymore, and I won’t have our arrangement limiting my or my company’s potential for growth.”

The second thing Lou does is install cameras in your apartment when he knows that you’re not home.

He has your address from the paperwork he made you and the other two interns fill out when you first started working for him, but he’s never been to your apartment before. A quick message sent to you asking you to pick up his dry cleaning, conveniently across the city from your place, and he has you out of the way.

Lou breaks into your home with ease. The main door to the building is unlocked, and with a twist of his lockpick and a satisfying click, so is the door to your apartment. Bag slung over his shoulder, he slips into the place, careful to shut the door quietly behind him. Turning on the light, he looks around the room with an intrusive interest.

The place is small, just as small as his old place had been, before he’d moved. It’s neatly decorated, and it smells like you, and Lou digs his nails into the palm of his hand as he scans the main room. You have a bookshelf- he quickly notes your favourite author- and several small plants, but the apartment is scarcely decorated and plain. No photos of a boyfriend, he notes. Good, that would just be another obstacle to remove. It’s tempting to leave you a message using your fridge magnets, but Lou resists the urge and continues in.

A cat trods out from the bedroom, meowing at Lou. For a moment he freezes, staring at the animal, standing still as it brushes happily against his shin with a purr. He hesitates. Reaching down, Lou slowly brushes his fingers against the cat’s head, before withdrawing his hand and stepping delicately around the pet.

As much as he’d like to stay and search through your belongings, he has a job to do.

He’s leaving the apartment when he gets a text from you letting him know that you’ve picked up his clothes, and want to know where to drop them off. Checking his watch, Lou sends you a reply with his address before he gets into his car and drives home.

Lou is creating a file in his mind and filling it with notes about you. She has a cat. She likes to read. She has quite a few DVDs, with many of them being horror movies. It all factors into the way he’ll achieve his goal of luring you in, and Lou intends to do it the right way.

---

“Hi there,” You say, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. It’s past nine PM now, and even though it’s certainly after hours, Lou knew you wouldn’t complain. And here you are, standing on his doorstep, holding his dry cleaning in hand. You’re even wearing a bit of makeup, he notices.

You must be as lonely as he is.

“Hello,” He replies, “I’m glad you’re taking this aspect of being my personal assistant in stride. In order to get ahead as a new employee, it’s important to go above and beyond the duties of the position.”

You nod, shifting from one foot to the other. Lou smiles.

“Would you like to come in?” He asks, and you hesitate. Lou waits, staring, until you acquiesce with another nod.

“Okay, maybe just for a few minutes. Then I should really get home.”

He takes the dry cleaning from you and leads you inside of his apartment, a nice one-bedroom he’d recently moved into where he has a larger television and marble countertops and more space for him to review footage. Besides the computer desk, and the place where his camcorder is hooked up, the apartment is filled with empty space.

Not much makes Lou’s heart quicken, but his mouth goes dry at the sight of you, alone in his apartment. He controls this space, possesses it, and here you are, a part of it- just as it should be. Lou feels a pleasant stir in his stomach at the way you glance around the room with your eyes wide.

He considers, for a moment, pushing you against the wall and pinning you there, to see how you’d react. He wonders idly if you’d scream, before he turns and hangs up the dry cleaning in the closet.

“Wow, this place is- it’s so like you,” You say, looking back to him. “It’s nice. No pets?”

“No,” He answers plainly, staring at you, “Not yet.”

It’s easy to imagine how you’ll slot into his life. He’s already picturing where in his apartment he’ll put your bookshelf.

“We should spend more time together,” He says to you, standing in his living room and facing you. “Outside of work. I’d like to see you here more often.”

“Oh,” you reply. Your eyes glance at him, and then the door, darting nervously. “You would?”

“I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true,” Lou answers, taking a step closer to you. “I have wine. Red and white, for if I have company over. But you prefer red, don’t you? I can get you a glass.”

You shake your head then, making for the door. “Um, I... really should really be going. It’s getting late, and I drove here, so I can’t be drinking anyway.”

Lou pauses, looking at you for a very long moment. Then, he nods his head one, a knowing smile breaking across his face.

“Of course. Smart. It’s dangerous out there, you know. You’re a pretty young woman. And there are a lot of terrible men out there who might take advantage of that. You should get home.” He never takes his eyes off of you, not as he watches you smile softly, wave goodbye awkwardly, and scamper back out of the door.

The second you leave, Lou goes to his computer.

It takes about twenty minutes before the camera feed shows you enter your apartment. He set up two cameras, one in your living room, and one in your bedroom. He doesn’t need to spy on you in the bathroom or shower- that’s not the point of this invasion.

You throw your coat on the hanger and your purse on the counter, and you pick up your cat and spin him around in your arms- it’s adorable. Lou watches, rapt in attention as you set the cat down and roll your shoulders. He can see you sigh, even though the feed is silent, and you look tired.

He watches as you strip off your clothes, performing for no one as you root around for clean pajamas. Lou didn’t set up the cameras for sexual gratification- he wants to know exactly what you like, and see who you are when you think you’re alone- but it’s hard to deny that he feels pleasure knowing that he’s with you even when you don’t know it.

It’s hard to deny that there’s a thrill to the knowledge that he’s going to take everything that’s yours and make it his. Just like everything else, all it will take is some planning, a meticulous execution, and the will to make it happen.

And it would.

---

The first gift that Lou buys for you is a new coffee maker.

The one you have, he’s noticed, is horribly outdated and slow to brew. Through the cameras he’s watched you look longingly at new models on Amazon, always browsing, never purchasing. You’ve saved at least five to your wishlist, but you always exit out of the pages without placing an order. After studying the footage, Lou comes to the conclusion that you can’t decide which one to buy.

So he decides for you. Lou purchases an expensive model, a coffee maker even better than the ones you’ve been dreaming of, and has it express delivered to your door.

Lou is so glad when you don’t open the package outside, but instead carry it into your living room with a confused look on your face. Your mouth is twisted into a near pout, and your brow furrows as you turn over the box. When you grab a knife and open it up, Lou can’t help but smile at the shock that registers on your face at its contents.

You pull apart the box like it’s Christmas, gingerly taking out the new coffee maker and setting it on the counter. You stare at it for a long moment, incredulous, before noticing the note, just a thin slip of paper at the bottom of the box.

He can’t read it from the camera feed streaming from your apartment, but Lou knows what it says.

“Make the choices you want, and pursue them. LB.”

With Nina, everything he needed to know about her he could find online. With you, he needs to improvise, and pay attention. He’d googled you, of course, with few results besides an Instagram and Linkedin page. It’s only been a few days since he installed the cameras, but he’s already felt like he’s learned so much.

Things... hadn’t gone how he’d wanted with Nina. He’d wanted a relationship, someone to share a life with. He’d gotten little more than friends with benefits, and a reluctant one at that. Maybe this time, he would just have to be clearer with what he wanted from you, and be a little bit more patient.

You hold the paper up to your mouth, hiding, and he finds it difficult to read your expression. But maybe it’s just what he wants to see, but he thinks that you look pleased.

---

“Lou... I don’t know what to say about the coffee maker,” You tell him later that night. The two of you are sitting in the front of his car, parked on the side of the street. It’s been a slow night, and the police scanner crackles in the background, every so often announcing a DUI or petty theft. His other employee, Mikhael, sits in the back of the car on his laptop, editing footage, his headphones over his ears.

You’re sitting in the driver’s seat, leaning against the wheel.

“Say thank you,” He replies, smiling at you. You bite your lip, and grin at him. You’ve been using his name a lot more casually since you’ve been promoted, and Lou likes that.

“Fine. Thank you,” you answer. You seem to mull over your next words, the smile dropping from your face in contemplation before you speak. You seem apprehensive to broach the subject, but you continue. “But... how did you know I needed a new coffee maker?”

“You told me. Don’t you remember?” Lou says, feigning confusion and leaning in closer to you. “You told me that you couldn’t decide which one to get.”

Lou can almost see your thought process. He loves the way you consider his words, quietly to yourself, and he can tell that he’s convincing you, even when you know deep down that you never said a thing about it. You’re a clever girl, but so easily swayed.

“I... don’t remember,” You admit to him, so honest. “I was so surprised. You really didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re right, I didn’t. But I like you.” This is romantic, Lou thinks to himself, like a scene from a film. “And now, whenever you make coffee in the morning, you’ll think of me.” He smiles in a way he thinks is pleasant, and he sees you look him over, half-unsure, half-appreciative.

“You know,” he continues, “I learned recently that people don’t really become addicted to caffeine. They develop a dependence on it, which isn’t the same thing. Caffeine is only actually slightly addictive as an actual substance. The symptoms of withdrawal are physically very mild, and drinking a lot of coffee rarely results in self-destructive behaviour. Instead, you become used to the presence of caffeine in your life. You come to take it by habit, and because you enjoy the positive benefits, including increased alertness and wakefulness. It’s the mental dependence on caffeine, the reliance on it being there to pick you up that creates the believe that caffeine is addictive.”

You listen to him, nodding along with his words. He finishes, “The dependence is far more psychological than physical. But it’s interesting. How people develop dependence on things like coffee. How they feel like they need it to even function, day-to-day. How they feel like they can’t live without it.”

You should be leaning in to share his space right about now. Or telling him how you will think of him, every morning when you make coffee. When you bring the mug to your lips and close your eyes, breathing in the smell of it, when you take that first drink and yawn. You should be flushing at the thought of it, but instead, you’re looking at your hands, fidgeting.

“Yeah. That is interesting, I didn’t know that,” You comment, and the silence that follows is thick and awkward, the only sound in the car the dull chatter on the police scanner. In the back, Mikhael clears his throat, and when Lou turns back to address him, his eyes dart from you to Lou.

“What is it?” Lou asks sharply. Mikhael points to the police scanner, one headphone on.

“2-6-7, suspect is a white male, approximately 6’2”, may be armed,” The voice on the scanner says. “10-524. Proceed with caution.”

Lou nods to you, and he doesn’t have to say a word. You turn the key in the ignition and his car roars to life. With a shift of the gear and your foot on the gas, you tear off down the street, speeding toward the destination. Lou readies his camera while he calls your coworker, his third and final employee, to come with the production van and meet you at the scene with all of his equipment.

You drive steady, careful as you pull out onto the highway. Lou checks his watch.

“We need to go faster. I doubt we’ll arrive before the police but if there’s a chance, we want to take it. At the very least, I want to see a body tonight.”

You comply, pressing the pedal down and accelerating. Your focus on the task, and your complete willingness to trust him and follow him into a dangerous situation is nearly distracting for him.

“Faster,” he tells you, even though you’re already going 10 miles over the speed limit. Part of him wants to make it to the location before the police arrive, or certainly earlier than any other news crew. But part of him wants to push you to drive faster, drive more dangerously, just to see if you will.

You barely spare him a glance as you accelerate even faster, switching lanes back and forth to pass cars in your way. In the back seat of the car, Mikhael curses under his breath as you fly past a car that honks loudly.

“We’re going to fast, we’re going to get pulled over-” He says anxiously.

“Not if all the cops are busy going to the same place we are. Left, make the next left,” Lou tells you, and you barely have time to put on your blinker before you’re sliding around the corner. From the back, Mikhael groans. Lou’s camera is ready with blank tape, and he passes the microphone to Mikhael in the back for him to carry out. It’s only another three miles before you reach your destination.

“Are we ready?” Lou asks the two of you. Mikhael nods, and you smile.

When you pull into the street where the home in question is located- a beautiful suburban house in the outskirts of the city- it’s before a cop car has arrived. As you throw the gear into park, you turn to him, beaming, breathless and proud, and he can tell you’re looking to hear you did well.

But now isn’t the time. Lou is already throwing open the door of the car and rushing to the scene, Mikhael close behind him. You stay behind, to run interference on the cops, who are just rounding the corner of the street.

He hopes you’ll be able to distract the cop for long enough that he can sneak around the back of the house.

---

“We did well tonight,” Lou says, looking to each of his three employees in turn. The four of you are together in the small office space he rents, each with a drink in hand. It’s been less than two hours since you arrived at the scene of the assault, and only half an hour since he left victorious, footage of a screaming argument and a bloody stab wound saved safely on the memory card.

Sitting in a circle of cheap folding chairs, he feels pride in himself, in this company of professionals he’s built. You’re quickly rising to be the video company with the most-used footage in all of central LA, and it won’t be long before the names Video Production News and Louis Bloom become famous in the wider news industry. “The footage we got is going to garner us a top spot tomorrow on a prime news network.”

“Which one?” Eve, his equipment manager, asks with an enthused look on her face.

“Whichever one pays the highest,” Lou answers. He points to you. “The two of us will stay late to edit the footage, and submit proposals to the top five news networks with the highest viewer counts. It’s time we started branching out from KWLA-6 and considering other options.”

You nod to him, and he feels the satisfaction of a job well done wash over him.

“I appreciate the dedication each one of you has to Video Production News. With your continued dedication and willingness to follow my business plan, we will continue to achieve success in the Los Angeles news industry.”

He always hopes that everyone will stay longer than they do, when the team goes out for drinks. It would help everyone grow closer if they were to spend time together outside of work, but first Mikhael excuses himself, and then Eve follows, both citing pets they need to feed and partners they need to return to. This time, though, you can’t excuse yourself to go home to your cat- you’ve already agreed to stay late and help him.

And when Eve and Mikhael leave, the two of you are alone again, and that suits him fine.

“You look pretty tonight,” He tells you, even though your hair is messy and you’re sweating from the lack of air conditioning in the office. “But you shouldn’t wear bright colours any more. I prefer you in dark ones. They suit you more, and compliment you better.” Lou smiles to you, like he’s shared highly valuable information with you and you should be thankful.

“Oh,” You reply, clearly surprised. You look down at your dress, and when you look back up, he notices that you look a little self conscious.

“Can you try to do that for me?” He asks. You hesitate, and then nod.

“I-I guess I can, yeah,” You say, cheeks colouring. And there’s that blush he’s been hoping to see. Lou remembers, suddenly, the way you’d looked at him on arrival at the scene of the crime, eager for praise.

“You did well tonight. I like that you drive faster when I tell you to,” Lou stares hungrily at the way your cheeks flush deeper. He can’t tell if you’re embarrassed or ashamed or aroused. “That you follow my instructions is one of the reasons I promoted you to my assistant.” He looks at your glass, nearly empty now, and refills it with wine. You take a nervous gulp.

“I used to sleep with the morning news director at KWLA-6,” Lou says, deadpan, and you choke on your drink.

“You did?” You ask, apparently too curious or stunned to keep your thoughts to yourself, “Were you- did she, um-”

“She came often,” Lou lies. “I was led to believe it was very pleasurable for us both. She was very attracted to me.”

“That wasn’t going to be my question, Lou,” you reply, a light laugh in your tone, “I was going to ask if she ended things, or if you did.”

“Oh. I did,” He answers seriously, “I took some time to evaluate my wants and needs, as well as what would be best for my company. I know it was difficult for her, but it was necessary to do.”

The air between the two of you is tense, heavy with a weight between you and you study him with interest as you ask, “Was it hard for you?”

Lou is thrown for a moment.

“I admired her, and I was looking for certain things when we started seeing each other.” Lou thinks about how honest he wants to be with you. He always finds it difficult to voice aloud his desire for company, or to address his loneliness. “What I’m looking for is someone who can be a partner to me, but also someone who listens to what I tell them. I want a relationship with someone that suits my needs. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I think so,” You answer, looking at your glass. You swirl the wine around in it. “I know what it’s like. To really want a relationship to be one thing, and have it end up as another.”

“It wasn’t hard for me. That’s the answer to your question. I want something else now,” He looks at you pointedly, just shy of telling you that he wants you. But he doesn’t have enough information about you yet- doesn’t feel as though he’s in an advantageous enough position to get what he wants.

Lou wants your back to be up against the wall before he makes his intentions abundantly clear. Figuratively, and perhaps literally. It’s difficult for him to avoid being direct with his desires, but being honest wouldn’t be the path to victory, not at this point.

No, he has to court you. Teach you to need him, too. Maybe this could even be considered your first date.

You’re blushing again, and you look down and away from him, clearing your throat. You set aside your glass of wine, and point to the computer. “We should, ah. We should work on editing. We have a lot to get done tonight if we want to make the morning news.”

Lou checks his watch. It’s a quarter past twelve in the morning.

“You’re right,” He says, and the two of you get to work.

---

The story hits with as much of a splash as Lou expected, and not on KWLA. Channel 11 News breaks the story, airing his footage and mentioning the name Video Production News before they do, and they pay 30% more than KWLA had offered.

Sitting in his apartment and feeling content, Lou watches your camera feed as he irons his clothes. You’re doing your hair and putting on your makeup in the bathroom, and you choose another light coloured dress to wear- though to be fair to you, you didn’t exactly know that he was watching.

He’s thinking about the effort you put into your appearance when he sees you step up to answer your front door. You look so put together and beautiful today. As though you’re preparing for a date with him, though you would wear black for that, not white. Lou can just imagine how easily he would pull the dress off of you, mess up that perfectly assembled look of yours, the way he’s grab a fistful of your hair and -

Wait. Wait. Who is that stepping in through the door?

A man, tall and fairly handsome, steps into your apartment, and he kisses you. Lou’s blood turns cold at the sight, and he stares, iron hot in his hand.

This is a problem.

---

So, here’s the thing.

The guy you’re seeing? He’s no good for you, Lou knows.

He’s sitting on a park bench with his sunglasses on, watching the people pass by with a detached interest. Lou sips his soda with a straw, keeping an eye out for you and the man you’ll be passing by him with. The afternoon sun is beating down, but the bench he sits on it partially shaded by a tree, and he’s glad for it since he hasn’t moved in about forty-five minutes.

It’s given him time to think, and to plan out his next move.

When he’d seen the man on the surveillance footage kissing you, Lou slowly set down his iron and unplugged it. He set aside his laundry, and pulled his hair up into a neat bun. Grabbing his laptop, one of his books and his keys, Lou left his apartment without another moment of hesitation or thought.

Lou drove to your neighbourhood, parking two blocks away and walking the rest of the distance to your apartment building. In the back parking lot, there were two cars parked in the visitor’s spots. Taking quick photos of the two license plates, Lou walked to a nearby coffee shop, and, making sure you and the stranger were not also there, set up his laptop to run the plates.

It didn’t take long before Lou was able to find out the name of your mysterious visitor. His name is Andrew Price, and he lives in a city about an hour and a half’s drive away from Los Angeles, which explains why Lou has never seen him before. His employment was listed as a freelance journalist, and scouring the internet for more information, Lou found a profile on a networking website where he listed his relationship status as single.

Not a boyfriend, then. Or he’s a cheater. Both give Lou a bit of hope.

When Lou checked the man’s instagram, he noticed Price had just posted a scenic photo several minutes prior, one that Lou could identify as being from a nearby park. There are no pictures of you on Price’s instagram either, he noticed.

Packing up his laptop, Lou went to sit by the entrance of the park. Now he’s waiting on the bench, a book that he isn’t reading in his hands, as he watches for you and this man to pass him.

A freelance journalist ? And not even a very successful one it looks like, at that. Why would you kiss a man like that? Someone who doesn’t even appreciate you enough to show you off as his to the world, who doesn’t even consider himself to be in a relationship with you?

Surely, that’s not what you really want. Surely, this man isn’t fulfilling your needs. Lou settles on believing that your loneliness has driven you to this stranger, and that it’s only because no better options had presented themselves.

But still, Lou doesn’t want to take any chances. He knows that the execution of a meticulous plan is the best path to success, and you’re too important for him to try a simple, straightforward approach. So much could go wrong, so easily.

He needs the upper hand, and he’s slowly starting to figure out how to get it.

In the news industry, framing is everything. It’s easy to make the audience believe whatever story that the network wants to push, or rework an angle to a narrative that sells better. It’s a manipulation, yes, and in some ways, a lie- but it’s a skill, and one Lou has been working on developing. It’s what the audience sees and the way that they see it that informs their views. And those views colour the way every story following is received.

And it’ll be the same with you.

Lou is in such deep thought about how he’s going to get you into this arms that he doesn’t even notice you until you call out to him.

“Lou? Is that you?” His head shoots up, and he stares, roused from his thoughts and nearly startled, despite the fact that he had been waiting for you. You look at him quizzically, with Price standing at your side, confused.

“Oh. What a surprise,” Lou smiles, and feigns surprise. His smile is nearly real when he thinks about how you called out to him. Chuckling lightly, he continues, “Looks like even on our days off we just can’t stay away from each other.”

Price’s eyebrows crinkle at Lou’s words, and you beckon him to follow as you approach. You seem genuinely happy to see him, and the sight of it knocks the wind out of Lou.

“Andrew, this is my boss, Louis Bloom. Lou, this is my, ah, friend, Andrew Price. He’s a journalist. You guys might have a lot to talk about.” You laugh gently, and Price sticks out a hand, stepping forward to shake. Lou looks at the outstretched hand, making no move to take it. After a moment of tension, Price retracts his hand, wiping it on his jeans.

“Must be a germ freak, huh?” He says, trying to keep the tone light. Price tilts his head to you. “She’s mentioned you. Says you’re a genius. I’d love to pick your brain some time, if you want to chat.”

A genius, Lou thinks, and he can feel his shoulders straighten at the praise.

“That would be interesting,” Lou deadpans, “Are you two on a date?”

Andrew laughs, and Lou catches a flash of something flicker across your face. Upset? Anger? Bitterness? Lou can’t quite place it, but it feels strangely familiar to him, like a reflection of the same darkness which lives inside of him, and it leaves him thrown. He wants to see more of it, whatever was.

But just as soon as he catches a glimpse of it, it’s gone, and you roll your eyes.

“Us? Date? We’d be terrible,” Price says, and you nod with his words, smiling half-heartedly.

“We should get going. Andrew’s only in town for a few more days,” You say. Something in you looks sad, and Lou is rocked by a violent, feral impulse to tear this man apart. He seems none the wiser.

Lou blinks, and forces away the impulse to smile.

“I’ll see you, then,” he says, and you smile to him as you wave goodbye.

That night, you and Price have sex in the living room. On the couch, not in your bed, and Lou hates how this man pleasures you in a way that is clearly satisfying for you. But he can’t tear his eyes away from the screen, transfixed as you shed your clothes and help undress him. He watches, trying to memorize the way you react to what Price does, what seems to get the best reaction, so that when it’s him touching you, he can impress you with how good he’s able to make you feel.

He watches, chin in his hand, and then-

And then, you seem to look up, right at the camera as you come undone.

Lou follows soon after.

And afterward, he watches as you get up and go to the kitchen by yourself to make coffee, decaf. You stare at the coffee maker, tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and then close your eyes, and Lou knows that you must be thinking of him.

---

Price is, as you had said, only in town for a few more days, so Lou’s window of opportunity is only open a hair’s width. With that said, he’s always felt like his best work has been done under pressure, and by Monday evening, he’s gotten everything in place.

First, he calls Price, using the phone number so helpfully supplied on his networking profile.

“Hello. This is Louis Bloom, we met the other day. We have a mutual friend,” Lou says when Price picks up the phone.

“Who?” Price asks, and then he says your name. “You’re her boss, right? Why are you calling me?”

“It’s important for you to come to my office right now. I need to talk to you about her,” Lou says. “Do you know the address? I found something out, and it concerns you. I want to speak to you about it in person.”

There’s a long pause, and Lou thinks for a moment that Price may not take the bait. But then, his curiosity- whatever it is in him that drove him to be a journalist- wins out.

“Yeah, alright. Can you give me the address? I’ll head over now.” Looking at the clock, Lou sees that it’s a quarter past six in the afternoon. Perfect.

And then, one text, Lou sends to you.

[Please pick up some new film for me and meet me at my office at 7pm. I look forward to seeing you tonight. Wear your navy blue dress - LB]

---

“Alright. You’ve got my attention. What is it that’s so important?”

Andrew Price walks into the small office space, shoulders straight and confident. He’s a fairly clean cut, attractive man, but he doesn’t love you, and Lou knows it. Hands shoved in his pockets, and a frown on his face, Price strides across the room to stand in front of Lou.

Lou sits at his desk, his cell phone in his hand.

“I know you’re sleeping with her,” Lou says calmly, “You don’t have to pretend you aren’t, I know that you are.”

Price scoffs, and looks at him like he’s an idiot.

“And what if I am? You’re not her boyfriend, man. Just because you have a creepy little crush and you’re her boss doesn’t mean you get to control her. She can sleep with whoever the fuck she wants.” Scowling, Price shakes his head. “I knew it. She defended you, but I knew you were into her.”

“You’re right. I am,” Lou answers easily. Then he smiles. “And you mean that I’m not her boyfriend yet.”

Price leans across the desk, pushing himself into Lou’s personal space. He looks equally parts disgusted and unnerved, and Lou holds his thumb just over the call button on his phone, waiting for the perfect moment. He glances at the clock.

“I thought I was going to get some information coming here, but you know what? I think I’m going to leave here with some information to give.” Price leans away. “Is that all?”

“No,” Lou answers, and he hits call.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” The voice on the other end asks as Price stares in bewilderment.

“There’s a man, he’s broken into my office- I- I think he wants to hurt me- this is Lou Bloom calling from 113 Main Street West, I’m very afraid for my safety-” Lou makes the panic in his voice real, waits for a second, and then starts to scream, deep and guttural from his chest. He shoves some heavy filming equipment off of his desk and then ends the call with a tap of his finger.

A moment of silence stretches between the two men. Quietly, Lou gathers his will.

“What the fuck-” Price starts, but he’s cut off as Lou slams his own face into his desk.

His nose gives a sickening crunch, and blood splatters out from it across the desk. Lou gasps at the sharp pain blooming across his face, fairly certain he’s successfully broken his own nose- and he knows what a broken nose feels like. Price watches in horror, taking a step back as Lou slams his face back into the desk a second time, this time knocking his tooth through his upper lip.

Blood is gushing from his nose, more than Lou expected, and it’s staining down the front of his shirt as he straightens. Quickly and definitively, Lou grips the collar of his shirt and rips it open. He takes two steps toward Price, who backs away from him.

“You’re fucking insane,” Price says, holding his hand up as if to tell Lou to stop coming closer. As if it would stop him. Grabbing his wrist and yanking the man forward, Lou smears some of his own blood from under his nose across Price’s knuckles.

It’s almost too easy. Lou looks at Price, standing and watching in shock, and then at the clock. He takes two measured steps backward, kicks the desk chair over, and slumps down against one of his cabinets.

He sits there for nearly two minutes, panting and waiting for the blood to stop flowing. Price seems to not know if he should leave or stay, and stares wide-eyed at Lou, and then at his hand, and then around the room.

He’s realizing just now, Lou thinks, what this will look like when the cops show up. But more importantly, how it will look when-

You enter through the door, wearing a navy blue dress, your bag slung over your shoulder. You freeze, and take in the scene, looking from Lou to Price. Your eyes are wide, horrified, and it seems that you can’t believe what you’re seeing.

“Oh, god,” Lou moans, “You need to leave, please, he went crazy-”

At the same time, Andrew starts to talk, his hands held out in front of himself again as he equivocates and tries to explain and excuse what you’re seeing.

“This isn’t what it looks like- this guy, he’s insane, he- I didn’t-” Price’s voice breaks, and he’s at a complete loss for what to say or do as you drop your bag and rush to Lou’s side.

“Oh my god. Oh my god? Lou? Lou, fuck, you’re bleeding,” You say, real panic in your voice as you kneel beside him and gently touch his face. Lou meets your gaze, and you’re close, you’re so close to him, and you smell so wonderful, and you wore the blue dress.

“Get out of here,” He says quickly to you, looking you in the eye. “And wait for the police to arrive. You need to be safe.”

Andrew Price sputters from the corner, and laughs a manic, shocked peel of laughter.

“You can’t honestly believe him, can you?” He asks, gesturing to Lou.

But you don’t get a chance to answer, because that’s when the police burst through the doorway, yelling, guns drawn.

A news story is all about framing. How a story looks to its audience is the most important thing in how they will receive it. And once that first image, that initial impression has formed in the audience’s mind, it can be incredibly difficult to change.

There are no security cameras running in Lou’s office, or at least not any that were running that night. When the police see the blood smeared across Price’s knuckles, it doesn’t matter that they aren’t swollen or bruised from hitting him. They arrest him on the spot, and you never leave his side throughout the entire process, not once.

Lou never thought he himself would become a story featured on the morning news, but he’s an adaptable man. Sitting upright in his hospital bed the next morning, his nose bandaged, his lip swollen, and one of his eye blackened, Lou watches the story play on the morning news.

Terrible camera work. Amateurs must have shot this, he thinks, as a shaky camera pans across his office, zooming in on his blood on the floor. There’s a shot of you at his side, escorting him to the back of the ambulance. He looks a mess: his hair is in his face, and his cheek already beginning to swell. But you’ve got your hand on his arm, and you look so concerned and scared for him that it makes his heart swell.

“Whoever filmed us didn’t do a very good job, did they?” You whisper, quietly latching the door behind you. In the second bed in the room, an elderly woman sleeps, and Lou notes your consideration as you lightly walk across the room to his bedside.

“No. If we had been filming, we would have gotten a much better shot of the office. If you film it through the window, you’d get a clear view of the camera and the blood on the ground,” Lou answers, annoyed. I couldn’t have set it up any better, he thinks, wincing as pain shoots through his face when he speaks.

Sitting beside him, Lou can see that you’ve changed clothes since last night, into a dark shirt and a pair of jeans- his blood must be all over the dress, Lou realizes. You lean in close to him, clearly still worried. For the first time in weeks, Lou wasn’t able to watch you go to bed. He wonders if you slept poorly.

“You okay?” You murmur, a hand touching his shoulder lightly. You look solemn and disturbed as you continue, “I can’t believe... I never would have thought Andrew would do something like that.”

Lou reaches up to brush the hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear the way that you do when you’re nervous. “I was shocked too. He flew into a rage, talking about how he knew that I had feelings for you and saying that he wouldn’t let me near you.” Lou tells you this calmly, voice even and monotone as he recites the story he’s rehearsed in his head. “He knew that I wanted to be with you, and he attacked me. He broke my nose, and as you can see, did a good deal of damage otherwise.” Lou smiles to you, watching your eyes flick over your face.

“Do you?” You ask quietly, searching his expression.

“Do I what?”

“Want to be with me?” You reach out and take his hand softly in yours, and Lou feels triumph burning in his chest. He won’t even have to make the first move. It’s perfect.

“Yes,” he answers readily, “I like many things about you. The way that you listen to me, the way you wear your hair, the way that you smell. I like how attentive you are. I like that you always sit close to me,” Lou takes a breath, and notes the strange, almost alien feeling of nerves. “I’ve thought about kissing you a lot.”

“Just kissing?” You reply cheekily. You’re leaning in even closer, squeezing his hand.

“No,” Lou breathes, “Much more than kissing.”

“But we can start there,” You finish, before you close the distance between the two of you and kiss him.

You kiss so softly, so hesitatingly, and at first Lou matches your pace. He loves how unsure you seem to be, the way your lips press so lightly and chastely against his. He reciprocates, gently initially, but his patience quickly wanes and he deepens the kiss. Lou moves his lips more insistently against yours, kissing with more fervor.

Reaching up, he cups your face in both of his hands to hold you in place, and he continues to kiss you hungrily. You gasp for air between the kisses, and he nearly feels dizzy from his own lack of oxygen as he continues to press small, quick kisses against your lips, ignoring the ache spreading across his face. Every time you go to pull away, he kisses you again, not wanting to let you leave his grasp.

He wants to keep kissing you. He thinks that he wants to keep kissing you forever.

---

When you finally walk out of the hospital room, your heart hammering. Your face is flushed, and you make it halfway down the hallway before a grin spreads slowly across your face.

That wonderful, magnificent bastard, You think to yourself. That terrible genius. Look at what he’s done to get me.

You hadn’t even had to break things off with Andrew yourself.

Lou finally had you, but then again, you'd had him in your sights for a while.

Game, set, match.

---

You know about the cameras.

Of course you know about the cameras.

You’d noticed one shortly after Lou had sent the coffee maker to your house, small and hidden in the corner of your bookshelf. You’d suspected that he had feelings for you as soon as you were promoted, but the gift had been what cemented his intentions in your mind, and had first triggered your suspicion that he was watching you.

Searching through your apartment without making it look like you were looking for the cameras had been a bit tricky. You pretended to be cleaning, not wanting Lou to catch on that you suspected him. For a while, before you found the proof you were looking for, you had thought you were just becoming paranoid. Finally catching sight of the small black box with the pinhole-sized lenses had been equal parts a shock and a relief.

Lou is many things. He is vicious, he is ruthless, he is intent and will and a shameless drive toward achievement. But he is not exactly subtle.

You drum your fingers along the smooth wooden surface of Lou’s desk in the Video Production News office, and take a sip of your coffee. While Lou took several days off following his discharge from the hospital (a rarity for him) you had volunteered to put the office back in order. You’d successfully cleaned and rearranged the space, and now you were busy picking up the slack editing footage packages for the networks.

This leaves you in the office with Mikhael, who sits across the room skimming through police reports on his laptop. Although your eyes are on your computer screen, your mind is elsewhere, mulling over Lou and what had happened between him and Andrew.

You weren’t sure exactly sure what had gone down, but you doubted Andrew had attacked Lou out of jealousy over you. The taste of bitterness wells in your mouth, as thick and bitter as bile as you remember how long you pined after Andrew, and how badly you’d wanted him to be more than a friend with benefits. He’d never been interested in you romantically, so the thought of him flying into a rage over you seemed unlikely.

Not that you’d told the police that.

After all, Lou’s ruthlessness and willingness to do whatever it takes to succeed is part of what draws you to him, and what attracted you to him in the first place. You’ve never seen such ceaseless ambition and motivation in someone before, and certainly not directed toward you.

Maybe you should have been horrified instead of flattered when you noticed a small camera in your apartment, eye-level and stuck to the bottom of a shelf. Maybe you should be irate instead of thrilled when Lou tells you what to wear, or plainly tells you what he likes about you and what he wants you to change.

But you aren’t.

Lou is a predator, closing in on you with hunger in his eyes. But you’re no prey, and you’re just fine with getting backed up into a corner. You’re being maneuvered, but you’re right where you want to be.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

[Let’s go for dinner tonight. -LB]

You smile down at your phone, and wait a moment before you type out your reply.

[I’d like that. Is it a date?]

You wonder if you should tell him you know what happened with Andrew, or ask him how his injuries are. He answers your text almost immediately.

[Yes. -LB]

---

“Halibut are nocturnal animals. Did you know that? I was watching a documentary on nocturnal creatures earlier today. Animals that are nocturnal, rather than diurnal like most mammals, have a number of specific adaptations which allow them to better track and hunt and survive through the night, such as silent flight, heightened senses, and echolocation. Their circadian rhythms are also slightly shorter than diurnal animals.”

You take another bite of your fish, and nod to signify that you’re listening to Lou.

He smiles, and looks proud of himself, seemingly excited to share the information he’s learned. You really don’t care about the circadian rhythms of nocturnal animals, but he’s actually pretty cute like this- at least you think so, though you imagine other people might find his monotone, quickly-spoken monologues off-putting.

The restaurant you’re in in small but private, and the two of you sit in a booth toward the back of the room that provides ample seclusion from the other customers. Lou has a meal in front of him that he’s barely touched, instead choosing to focus his attention almost singularly on you. It makes you feel like you’re an ant under a magnifying glass. His stare burns you, in more ways than one.

His nose, though no longer bandaged, is still heavily bruised and broken, and his left eye shines black and purple. Even as battered as he is, Lou has clearly put effort into his appearance tonight. His hair is slicked back, and he wears a nicely pressed dress shirt and blazer. Across from him, you wear a dark red dress.

“We’re out a lot after dark. Do you sleep through most of the day after a night of work?” You ask him in between bites of your dinner.

“No. I sleep very little,” he replies, before he pauses, and then continues. “You strike me as the kind of person who falls asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. And then, the kind who sleeps very deeply. Am I right?”

You feign surprise, and your stomach flips pleasantly as you imagine him watching you in bed. “Yes. You’re exactly right, Lou. How’d you know?”

Lou surveys you seriously. You can never predict what he’s going to say next, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s about to admit to you that he broke into your apartment. Instead, he leans in close, and speaks in a low voice, like he’s sharing a secret.

“I know this because I pay attention to you. I’ve told you that there are a number of things that I like about you, and I know you don’t need me to repeat myself. I think you and I are a good fit, both professionally and personally. You’re my employee, so we keep the same work schedules. You spend a lot of time with me already. We both live alone currently, and our lifestyles suit each other. Neither of us go out partying much, or drink excessively, and we both like to read. Think about it. I can provide enough income to support both of us, and if we live together, we can save money by commuting together. Also, I enjoy your company, and am very sexually attracted to you. The fact that you kissed me the other day implies you feel the same way. Am I wrong?”

You take a moment to digest Lou’s words, cheeks colouring at his boldness. “No, you’re not.” You pause. “You’ve really thought all this out? That you want a relationship with me?”

“Of course,” Lou answers. “It’s clear you would compliment me very well.”

“Half a week ago you were attacked by my ex... er, ex-friend because he wanted to keep you away from me. Now you want to be my boyfriend. You move pretty fast,” You reply glibly, with a smile.

Lou doesn’t smile back. “Why shouldn’t I? We both know what we want. Do you have any questions, or do you agree?”

You think for a moment. Lou is pressing forward without quarter, leaving so little room for argument. He leans forward, head slightly tilted, gaze vicious.

“A couple,” you say, “Are you allergic to cats?”

Lou leans back, shakes his head, and smiles. “No. And I like that you’re thinking ahead. Foresight is important in any relationship.”

You swirl your wine around your glass, and avoid Lou’s relentless eye contact. “About that. How serious are you about this?”

Lou looks confused. “How serious? I wouldn’t be proposing a relationship if I wasn’t serious about wanting it.”

It’s your turn to press. “You want it now, sure. But you’re not going to dump me in a few months if someone else who catches your eye comes along?”

Blinking once, deliberately, Lou shakes his head. “No. I’m rarely interested in people.” He pauses, and breaks the eye contact with you, and you sense a raw, blatant truthfulness in his words. “And it’s even rarer that I like them as much as I like you. I want... to relate to people. I want to have relationships and friendships. But most of the time I find it’s impossible. People end up being shallow, and petty, and wrong.” The bitterness in his words is clear. “They don’t listen to me, and they always inevitably make things... complicated.”

He seems lost, for a moment. You take his hands in yours gently, and smooth your thumb across his knuckles.

“I understand,” You murmur. “In a way. Relationships come easy to me. Getting people to like me, to trust me. But connecting on a deeper level... isn’t so easy.”

Lou’s attention snaps back to you, and he watches you like a vulture closing in on its dying prey.

“You’re going to be my girlfriend,” he implores, an unspoken threat lining his tone, the kind which you couldn’t even put words to if you tried. “Aren’t you?”

You nod. “I just have one question left.”

“Yes?”

“Are you going to take me home tonight, Louis Bloom?”

---

Louis does take you home. On the cab ride back to his apartment, his hand never once leaves the small of your back, as though he feels like if he stops touching you, you’ll vanish. He’s quiet for nearly the entire ride, as if he’s mapping out the night ahead in his mind, trying to anticipate how the evening will go so he has total control.

Silly Lou. If he wants total control, you’ll simply give it to him. He doesn’t need to work so hard for it.

Closing and locking the door behind you, Lou takes off his shoes and sets them aside, and throws his keys onto his counter. Now late in the evening, the lights from the city outside shine in from Lou’s uncovered window, and the room is silent, save for the sound of cars speeding by his apartment. Even with the room barely lit, you can see Lou watching you, and feel the way his focus sharpens and becomes carnivorous.

Your heart begins to hammer as alarm bells go off in your mind. Every instinct you have tells you that Lou is a threat, and it makes you feel absolutely wicked.

He walks across the room in slow, stiff strides, keeping his eyes on you. He stops in front of you.

“Take of your clothes.” He says, then walking past you, across the room. Lou picks up a camera from his computer desk, and turns back to you. “You can set them down on the couch. When you’re finished, follow me into the bedroom.” With those words, he disappears from your sight, heading into a room that you’ve never seen before, but you assume is the bedroom.

Quickly, you follow his instructions. You’re so nervous you feel nearly ill, and though you’d imagined many times how an evening with Lou would go, you didn’t expect this. Folding your clothes neatly as you disrobe, you feel bare and vulnerable in a way you hadn’t before. It was one thing to know Lou was watching you when you were naked through a camera. It was another to strip down in his home.

You walk lightly into the bedroom, stopping as you pass the threshold of the door. Lou stands at the end of the bed, his camera in his hands, watching. Moving swiftly, he snaps a photo of you as you stand there, feeling more than a little shy. You blink in surprise at the flash, and swallow your nerves.

“Good,” He says. His eyes rake over your body. “You’re perfect. Lay down on the bed.”

“Okay,” You reply breathlessly.

You’re pretty sure your entire body is blushing. Gingerly, you crawl up onto Lou’s bed, and lay back on top of his smooth, navy blue sheets. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you watch him raise the camera again.

“Spread your legs,” He orders, “I want to see you.”

Shivering, you let your legs fall open, glancing off to the side as he snaps his second photo. His stare is too intense- you’ve never felt more naked in your life. Looking back to him, you can tell how aroused he is at a glance, and it’s pleasing to know that he’s more affected by you than his expression would let on.

Lowering the camera, Lou walks around to the side of the bed. He takes your wrist carefully in his grasp, and moves your arm so that it is placed over your head. When he lets go, you keep it there, and Lou smiles wistfully at you, a pleasant hum of approval escaping his throat.

“You look worried,” He notes, “Are you afraid?”

“No,” You answer truthfully.

“Open your mouth slightly and look at the camera.” You do as he demands, and he snaps his third picture. With that, he lowers the camera and places it on the bedside table, seemingly satisfied.

Hastily, Lou crawls over you, onto the bed. Hovering over you he looks down at you for a long minute, his hands on either side of your head, his body caging you against the bed. You are, in every manner of the word, trapped.

Lou moves his head down, and kisses you, fervent and victorious.

By the time Lou finally touches you, you’re more than ready for him. His touches and movements are clumsy, and not necessarily skilled, but your skin feels set alight by him. Every press of his fingers sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and every kiss pressed to your skin another wave of satisfaction. His eagerness and your attraction to him makes up for anything that he lacks in his technique, and your body responds to him gladly.

As he is with everything, Lou is ferocious and unyielding, and his claiming of you is nothing short of a conquest. Exactly as you'd wanted. Exactly as you'd planned.

After, you lay beside him, shivering and sweating. Lou uses his hand to push his bangs out of his face, and looks from the ceiling, to you. For once, you find his gaze warm, his eyes half-closed in contentment.

A moment of silence passes. You and Lou pant and relax into the space, and he lays an arm affectionately across your waist. It’s such a peaceful moment that you think it must be just about time that you lay all of your cards on the table.

“You know, next time, we should just have sex in my apartment. That way, instead of taking pictures, you can just review the footage from the cameras you set up.”

You keep your tone nonchalant and easy, but you can feel Lou stiffen beside you. His arm, which had been relaxed, now grips you tightly, and he turns to stare at you fully, eyes wide and wild.

Your heart is in your throat as you watch Lou’s mouth twitch. You can almost feel him assessing whether or not you’re a threat to him, can see him trying to understand how this changes things.

He may be wondering if he’s going to need to hurt me, you think.

“Excuse me?” He whispers, voice low, and you have to swallow a laugh at his incredulousness. If this situation wasn’t so tense, it would be funny.

Carefully, you reach over and cup his face in your hands. You admire him openly, smoothing your thumb across his bruised cheekbone and looking over his injured features. You absolutely delight in him, and make no attempt to hide it.

“Don’t worry, Lou. I’m on your team,” You whisper back, smile bordering manic. “I know about all of it. I've known. Okay?”

He continues to stare at you, silent, assessing.

“All of it?” He repeats hesitantly. You nod.

“We’re going to make a great couple, don’t you think?” You ask him, and his expression remains unchanged, still disbelieving and suspicious.

And then, Lou surges forward and kisses you so suddenly and forcefully that you feel as though all of the air in your lungs has been knocked out of you. Pressing his mouth to yours, consuming, Lou wraps his arms around your body, and holds you to him as if you were his life line.

---

“He had you pose as a grief counsellor to speak with the victim’s family. No ethical news source is going to accept this.”

Nina Romina sits in front of you. It has been several weeks since you first went home with Lou, and you’re sitting across from Nina in her office, your hands folded in your lap. She holds a sample of your interview, typed out into a manuscript, which contains several juicy details about a double homicide that even the police hadn’t been able to gather.

“That’s why we’re bringing it to KWLA 6,” you reply smoothly. “Don’t tell me you haven’t missed Lou’s contributions.”

Nina’s mouth presses into a thin line, and she says nothing.

“You haven’t said no,” you add, and she glares at you.

“Print journalism is dead. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that he sent you instead of coming here himself. And don’t think that I don’t know exactly what is going on between you two.” Nina snorts, looking away. She’s irked. You shrug off her comments, knowing that her annoyance means she’s probably going to take the deal you’ve laid out for her.

She looks back down at the papers in her hands, and then to you. She seems to consider something, and her expression softens.

“You know, I really do feel for you. This is good work, and I know that Lou is using you. He has a way of... making people do what he wants them to. Blackmailing them, bullying them, whatever he can do to get what he wants, he does it. There’s something seriously wrong with him. I don’t know what he’s done to you. But... I could maybe pull some strings. Get you a job here, instead. Get you out of there” She looks at you expectantly.

You stand up, and smooth out the wrinkles of your dress. A wry smile spreads across your face.

“Ms. Romina. I think you’re confused about my relationship with Lou.” You can’t stop the way your smile widens, “I know what your relationship with him with him was like, so I can understand why you would be. But I assure you, Lou has never asked me to do anything I’m not comfortable doing, both during and outside of work.”

You pause, amused by the shock in her expression at your sudden change in tone. Just moments before, she had believed you were harmless, like most people do when meeting with you. You continue cheerily.

“Lou is my boss. And he’s my partner, among other things. A word of advice to you: don’t presume that you know anything about us. Now, on this interview we’ve presented you with today. You and I both know that you’d be posting it as an article online, so don’t give me this ‘print is dead’ bullshit. We also both know that your ratings have dipped ever since Lou started exploring other networking options. We’d be open to negotiating an exclusive contract with you... on our conditions, and our pricing. So... can Lou expect a call from you later today?”

A long, tense moment stretches between you, before warily, Nina says, “Yes, he can.”

“Excellent.” You reply, taking back your copy of the interview sample from her hand. As you turn to leave, you hear Nina speak from behind you.

“Jesus Christ,” Nina breathes, shaking her head. “Who the fuck are you?”

You pause at the doorway.

“I’m just the assistant.” You reply, leaving without sparing her a second glance.

#lou bloom #nightcrawler #jake gyllenhaal #slasher fic #slasher x reader #my writing #horror/romance #dark fic #louis bloom #lou bloom x reader #tw stalking

169 notes · View notes

sturniololuv08 · 12 days ago

Text

Who Is She?

"Matt." I heard Nick groaning for me. "Matt!" He yelled again. I flew out of bed and ran into Chris' room. Chris was nowhere to be seen.

"What Nick? What?" I started panicking.

"Can you get me another blanket it's really cold." He shivered a little.

"Dude, don't do that," I grumbled. He knew very well that I would adhere to his hand and foot.

"I'm really cold." He said in a slight baby voice.

"You know I'm going to worry about you." I walked over to the closet and grabbed an extra fluffy comforter from the shelf. "It's not funny," I said seriously.

"It kind of is, " he giggled. I glared at him. "To be fair, I am having some pain." I threw the blanket at his face. He pulled it off and started covering up.

"Anything else?" I spat. He gave me a big cheesy smile. "I'll take that as a no." I looked around Chris' room at the mess. Our house wasn't perfect but his lack of hygiene didn't help it look better. His clothes were thrown about. There were quite a few half-eaten fast food meals lying around. Some on his dresser, some on his nightstand, and some on the floor. His phone charger was gone from the nightstand. "Where did he go?" Ever since I moved up the ranks he's been acting weird.

"I don't know. I woke up and he was gone." Nick was disinterested. I cocked my head to the side a little in thought. Nick took notice of this action. "I know he blames you for what happened to me but you two need to find a way to get over it."

"Yeah, I'll work on it," I mumbled. I know it wasn't directly my fault but I felt liable. And Chris blaming me for it only made me feel worse. My phone rang in my pocket.

"Who is that?" Nick was being nosy.

"It's just my alarm." I downplayed its importance. It was actually an important alarm. It told me I had thirty minutes to get ready and to be at Grinds.

"I know you don't want us to know where you go or why but can you promise me something?"

"What?"

"Just promise me you are safe." Nick had genuine concern in his eyes.

"I promise I am. It's nothing bad. I need something to relieve my anxiety and this," I paused unsure of the right words. "Helps." She helps. Watching her study, write, smile, and even get frustrated calms me down in a way I can't explain.

"Okay..." He seemed like he didn't believe me.

"You want to come with me?" I offered. If I was going to balls up and talk to her today, what was stopping me from changing everything up and having Nick come along too?

"Really?" He sat up slightly.

"Yeah, why not?" I shrugged. "Start getting dressed." I smiled at him and left to do the same. I finished before he did and helped him get his shoes on so he didn't have to bend over. We didn't have to get a taxi because Chris left the car. That only made me wonder even more about what he was up to, and who he was doing it with. I drove and parked us outside Grinds.

"You get coffee?" He laughed. I knew he wouldn't take it seriously.

"Just wait." I went to help him get out but he refused my hand. I had a little smirk tugging at my lips while walking in. If either brother would understand me the most it was Nick. Growing up, Chris and I were inseparable but as we grew older we both changed. He got louder and I got quieter. He started having ambitious dreams about the gang. I found it dangerous and pointless. It wasn't until Nick became involved and convinced me to give it a try that I got sucked in. I also resented Chris for making me do some stupid initiation. Everyone in the gang, most importantly Elmer, knew I was trustworthy, but Chris insisted. It was like he didn't want me to be a part of the gang. Nick started walking to a table. "No, no. This one." I redirected him. He gave me a strange look but listened and sat down. "I'll be back." I went up to the counter and ordered our coffee. The normal barista who flirts with me was gone today. As I waited the doorbell jingled a few times, none of which were her.

"Thank you." Nick took a sip of his coffee and looked around. I stared directly at the door.

"She will be here soon." I broke my gaze to look at my phone.

"She!?" Nick yelled extremely loudly. People stared at us.

"Shut up," I yelled in a hushed tone back at him.

"Who is she?" He whisper-yelled back.

"I don't know her name. She comes here every day at three o'clock to write or read." I smiled a little thinking about her.

"Matt, what?" Nick had disbelief written all over his face.

"Just wait for her. She's perfect." I accidentally gushed. I immediately changed my demeanor. "She'll be here soon." I kept watching the door to avoid Nick's stare.

After a few minutes of silence, he spoke again, "Do you just stare at her?" Nick asked.

"I don't... I mean no. I... I... sometimes I scroll my phone." I stuttered.

"You just come sit here and watch her? That's crazy." Nick was judging me.

"I want to talk to her I just -" I looked down at my fingernails and started picking away at them.

"It's okay, Matt." Nick shook my shoulder. I looked up at him. His grey complexion was starting to turn peachy again. His eyes were soft and nonjudgmental. The bell jingled and we both looked at the door. It was her blonde friend coming in. "Is that her?" He questioned.

"No." My voice trailed off. I watched her walk up to the barista and talk. Since Nick opted to come along with me this time I wasn't wearing my headphones and could hear their conversation.

"She is my height. Brunette, wavy hair?" She said. Her voice was shaky.

"I can't say I have seen her."

"She comes in here every day." She was pleading.

"I'm sorry miss." She said. Her friend turned around and looked distraught. As she walked past Nick and me, I stopped her with my presence.

"Is everything okay?" She looked truly confused.

"My roommate always comes here to study and last night she didn't come back to the dorm. Do you know her?" She asked me.

"No, no. I just- I just come here a lot. Thought maybe I could help." I felt a pit in my stomach. She was missing.

"If you see her come here can you let me know?" She reached into the pocket of her black jeans and handed me a small piece of paper with a number scribbled on it. I nodded and went back to my usual spot. Her usual spot was empty until a couple sat down chatting away.

"What's wrong?" Nick's eyes jumped all over my face to read my current expression.

"She is missing." My mind was in overdrive. I just saw her and everything seemed normal. She was writing and happy. What could have happened to her?

"Let's go home. Maybe we can look for her later." Nick was trying to be supportive. I nodded but all I wanted to do was break down.

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolos #chris sturniolo #matt stuniolo fanfic #sturniolowattpad #the kings of national city #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matthew bernard sturniolo

20 notes · View notes

ventisslut · 1 year ago

Text

Rambling about Venti under the cut. Safe for work but one mention of being horny. Mostly about his sad life lmaoo. You may not agree with what i say here but i think this turned out to be a pretty solid post analysing his current life and loneliness. Not proof read so ignore any punctuation errors and typos.

A weird headcanon that keeps occuring to me is that Venti gets horny frequently but he ends up just taking care of it himself or just straight up ignores it, because in reality he is so lonely and isn't one for casual hook ups or one night stands, he craves a deep romantic connection. Sex is very intimate for him and he doesn't want it to be with random people.

Sure, he is quite popular as a bard, very social too, has lots of friends. But after the party ends and everyone heads home...he is left alone. He doesn't have someone, a partner, or a family waiting for him. The thing about total freedom is that...it's lonely. He travels often, doesn't stay anywhere long enough to form meaningful and deep connections, not that a 2,600 year old deity walking around as his dead friend can have much in common with mortals anyways so he doesn't really "click" with anyone either.

He is touch-starved. He got used to it for sure, and does enjoy the solitude to some degree.. but he does wish he had someone who could be there for him, someone who's lifespan matched his unending one, someone who'd take care of him, drag him home, look out for him, and wait for him, with a place to call "home". A place he can return to after traveling for days, to a partner, a warm bed and a warm meal. He craves that domestic comfort and love.

He surprisingly doesn't get many suitors either because most people avoid approaching him in that manner from how young he looks, and people tend to immediately assume he is a minor from his baby face and rather petite figure. I'm sure a few youngsters get puppy crushes on him from time to time, but seeing (assuming) as how traditional family structures are in Mondstadt i doubt anyone would want or allow their daughter/son to date a drunk bard anyways. Weirdly enough I don't feel like he'd be comfortable with dating one of his own citizens anyways since he considers them to be his own children.

When you actually get in a relationship with him, for all the romantic advice he gives to people during the windblume festivals he is unsure of how to act at first. It's been too long since he had an actual partner, and he doesn't want to scare you away or make you feel suffocated, but he really needs that physical connection, that reassurance that you wont be going anywhere, that he wont be left alone to deal with the silence on his own again, that you really do love him as he loves you. As time goes on and he gets comfortable in a moderate pace (depending on how you act). He gets more clingy. A hesitant hand resting on your waist turns to his arm wrapping around your waist. The awkward brushing of your shoulders when you stand next to one another turns to his arm linked to yours, or your hands interwining with one another. Refuses to let you out of the bed often, holding onto you.

The floodgates open really, he's pent up and frustrated both sexually and emotionally, and he doesn't even know what to do with it all or how to relieve himself without overwhelming you. He wants to make the most of the time you two spend together while you can, because he knows anything can happen in Teyvat, and you could be separated one day.

#venti #genshin impact #venti x reader #anemo archon #lord barbatos

215 notes · View notes

coffehbeans · 9 months ago

Text

Gt WAC Day 23

"A story with a nonhuman/ monstrous character"

THIS, this was a challenge to write ahsushus I'm so nervous cause it took me SO long and as per usual I'm still unsure about it.

This story is based on a dream I had a month ago, I was writing it since then so i could post it on day 23 of gtwac. So yep, new character. It's different from what I've wrote so far, but I hope you guys enjoy it!

Depending on the reception of this story I will continue it, but fair warning that it'll not be a happy one (IF I continue it).

I'm not sure if I'll rate this chapter in particular as above PG-13, but general warning for overall spooky, unsettling vibes.

Enjoy!

........................................................................................

Edward Becker has not seen his wife in seven years.

People called him crazy for waiting for her return. "She's done for", someone mentioned. "Why don't you find another one?", someone suggested, all falling in deaf ears as every single day, he'd go back from work, sit by the porch, and wait for her until the sun went down. A useless effort, as they said, a delusional hope, or the sign of going mad. But for Edward, it was his strength. The only support for his failed attempts at finding her. His last pillar of sanity that made him get up every morning and wait for her until nightfall. His wife would come back, like she always did. She would come back to his open arms, embrace him gently like she used to, cover him with kisses as he pulled her close. They would giggle and enter their home, enjoy a nice meal they cooked together, talking about their day during dinner, about plans for rebuilding their house, plans for a new job he wanted to get, plans about their future children. When night falls, they would sleep holding each other tight, relishing in their shared warmth.

All he had to do was wait for her by the porch.

...

One day, she did comeback.

It was past midnight. So dark and cold outside, most animals have gone to sleep, making the woods around his remote home dead silent. The cows and chickens of his small farm uttered no sound as they slept, and the wind billowed the wheat fields outside, his plain wooden house colored pitch black by the late-night sky. It was a weathered home, well kept indoors but in need of repairs, with ripped, dingy furniture and leaks on the roof. It was protected by a measly three-feet-tall fence that threatened to fall apart, and over the backyard, where the overgrown grass was blown by the wind, laid a simple wooden shed meant for storing farming equipment. Tossing and turning on his bed, Edward sat up with a jolt, sweat dripping on his face as anxiety threatened to eat him whole. He sighed, holding his face in his trembling hands, and letting out a shaky breath. He couldn't fall asleep in those nights, where the memory of Cordelia haunted his mind in his dreams, ones where she wore desperate expressions as she's dragged away from him by detached, withered hands, and no matter how much he ran, he didn't reach her. Nightmares where he found her dead body, pale and laying limp, lifeless eyes staring at him. Nightmares where he found her hurt, bleeding and beaten up, face covered by bruises – in most nights, those visions would plague him.

With a shiver, Edward got up, lighting up the oil lantern. He trudged for the kitchen, on his way to do the same as usual: put some water over the wood burning stove, boil it, try this new tea his friend had brought for him, and drink it aimlessly, hoping in vain for sleep to come back.

He sluggishly put wood pieces inside the firebox, reaching a hand for the lighter on the table. A flicker, two, and the fire was lit. He put the kettle over the stove with a clank, and stared at it blankly, waiting for bubbles to form. The house was pitch black, only the flickering flames of the stove and the lamp’s dim glow illuminated the room.

A loud sizzling of the kettle snapped Edward out of his torpor as the water boiled. He picked the hot handle, feeling its heat burning his skin, lifted it from the fire and — THUMP. A loud thud by the window behind him sent him jumping, fumbling with the kettle in his hands, heartbeat skyrocketing. He banged it on the table. Hot droplets prickled his hand. He turned around with rapid breaths. A blurred shadow dashed away from the window, sending a cold chill down his spine, the wind howling and heavy thuds echoing outside the house’s walls. Rhythmical and constant. Pounding on the ground. Edward sucked in a breath, head ringing against his skull. He stomped towards the cabinet containing his shotgun. There were thieves? In the middle of the night? Were they finally coming to steal a poor and mad man's house? He wouldn't allow it.

He can’t die yet. Not until Cordelia comes back to him.

Loading the gun with precise clicks, Edward aimed it at the window, darting his aim from window to window until he reached the door, the last place he heard the strange sound. With trembling hands over the trigger, his eyes focused on an invisible target. He held his breath, standing still. Not a single sound. Ears trained on any disturbance. THUMP. THUMP. A shadow passed by the window to his right. BANG!

He twisted his body and shot, missing the shadow by an inch.

"W-who's there!?" He shouted in a trepid tone.

No answer. Not even a sound. Maybe the sound of breathing. He couldn't tell. He couldn't tell if it was someone's breathing or his own.

The “sshhhs” and “thuds” echoed around him, heading towards the backyard. Edward adjusted the position of the gun in his arms.

He took a deep breath.

Edward ran to the back door and slammed it open with a kick, pointing the trembling shotgun towards the field. The sky was pitch-black outside, engulfing the horizon with its inky tint, and the stars didn't dare approach the darkness. The faint moonlight was partially obscured by the clouds, its glow too weak to lighten the outdoors. He huffed, feeling the weight of his gun, and headed further into the backyard with measured steps. His shoes crunched the grass below, the dry air amplifying the sound of his stride. Deadly silence filled the field. A puff of smoke left his nostrils as warm exhale met with the frigid air. Tightening the grip around the gun, he aimed it at the decrepit shed. Waiting for movement. Eyes trained forward. The dark blur of a large silhouette shifted behind it.

BANG.

He shot. Once. Twice. The sound of the bullets making his ears ring, metal creating holes in the aged wood. A loud, high-pitched, and definitely human scream cried behind it.

He stopped shooting, heart leaping to his throat. A weight plunked in his insides, making him loose the tight grip on his gun. Behind the shed, he heard it. A gasp. A whimper. A sob. Clearly feminine. Edward lowered the gun, furrowing his brows as the cries made a lump form inside his throat. A trick to let his guard down? A trap? It must be a trick for sure. No way an innocent person would show up in the middle of the night. No, there's no way. Goosebumps trailed down his back as the cries reached his ears. Why was there even someonehere?

The sobbing got louder, echoing in the cold, dark night. He shivered when the shrill voice reverberated in his ears, an uncomfortable knot twisting in his stomach at the thought he could have shot an innocent woman.

"Who... Who's there?" He repeated, cautious this time, as if talking to a cowering animal.

The sobs dwindled little by little. He didn't dare move. The figure was hidden behind the shed, not even the faint moonlight giving a glimpse of its appearance.

Finally, he heard it: that feminine voice. Frail, faint, and so utterly scared.

Its familiarity so potent, something clogged in his throat.

"... Ed..."

That voice. The voice he waited for so many years by the porch. The voice he dreamed of in his sleep. Screaming. Crying for help. Calling for his name.

"... Edward..."

The same voice that recited sweet words of so much care, so much love and adoration to him every day. The voice that followed a gentle embrace, the smell of perfume and a prolonged kiss. The same voice that said "I do" by the altar over 12 years ago, that whispered close to his ear, giggling with joy. The voice that chatted to him relentlessly, which he couldn't get enough of. The voice that laughed, cried, shouted, only to say sweet words of gentle love again. That melodic yet striking voice. Edward didn't notice the tears falling from his face. Didn't notice the gun falling to the ground. Didn't notice his feet moving on his own, towards the shed, towards the faint possibility that she was behind it. He stumbled faster towards it, raising a trembling hand. "C-Cordelia?!" "NO! DON'T COME CLOSER!" The powerful shout made him stop dead on his tracks, ears complaining from its sheer force. He never heard his wife sound so... Desperate. In panic. "... H-honey...?" "Pl-please... D-don't come closer yet." She said, her voice returning to its normal pitch, but shaking with trepidation.

"W-what's wrong...? Did I –"

Then he remembered it. The gun. The shootings. The fact he almost killed his own wife. His heart sank, face turning pale, his voice hoarse.

"Oh God. It's - it's really you, it was you and I almost, I-I a-almost... A-are you hurt? Are you bleeding? I –"

Edward took more shaking steps towards it, the nightmare of his dead wife still clear in his mind.

"NO!" - He stopped again. - "I-I'm fine! I'm not hurt, you d-didn’t hit me."

Edward covered his face with a hand and stopped himself from wanting to vomit.

"Cordelia I'm- ... I-I'm so, so sorry I thought it was a thief, I..."

He lowered his head, and took a shaky breath.

"Am I going crazy? Is – is it r-really you?! I, I waited for s-so long – I thought you were dead —!"

Tears poured desperately from Edward's eyes, his attempts to stop his sobs coming in vain. He hiccupped under his cries, breathing rapidly as reality came crashing down and years of restrained emotion leaked out. The voice sounded just like her. The voice could really be her.

‘Then, if it’s her, why is she hiding?’

"Please, d-dear, if it's really you..." - he whispered, his voice croaky and dry. Tears continued to fall.

"Please let me see you..." The shed grew eerily silent. Cold air made him quiver. A silent second spread throughout the night, the sounds of his sobs echoing through the pitch-black darkness. "I... I can't."

She whispered back in a shaky voice. Unsure. Afraid. Edward raised his head, glancing to the fallen gun on the grass, a realization hitting deep inside his stomach. "Are you scared of me...?" A pause. He heard her sucking in a breath. A long, deep exhale was carried by the wind. Her voice faint and trembling. "N-no... Dear, I... I'm not scared of you." The shed's wood creaked, like something was gripping it and scratching it down. "...I'm scared of myself." Edward's guilty expression changed to confusion. He furrowed his brows. A part of him wanted to giggle. His adorable wife, scared of herself? Why? She always had some impatience and anger she was discontent about, but even so... That made no sense. The way she acted, hiding from him, made no sense. Another part of Edward felt an odd sense of dread. As if something was not right. "Honey, why are you hiding from me? I... I waited for so long... I-I searched everywhere for you, and when I couldn't find anything, I waited. And when I couldn't wait anymore, I prayed. I hoped. I-I never paid attention to what the others said, even if they called me crazy." He took a step towards the shed. She sucked in a breath. Edward didn't notice more tears started to pour from his face. "And it's you, r-right? It's you who's behind here, right? Alive and well? Please dear... Don't let me think I've gone crazy!" He took another step closer. Then another. She whimpered behind the decrepit barn. Edward's vision was blurry from his own tears, but he didn't care anymore. He just needed to see her, even if it wasn't true. Even if he died.

Gosh, he just wanted to see her.

"Honey, DON'T!" The sheer loudness of her rigid voice made him stop dead on his tracks again. He opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Cordelia interrupted him.

"It's n-not... It's not that I'm not alive and well, Edward..." "So why are y-"

"...I-it's that I don't know what I am anymore..." He paused. That uneasy sense of dread sank heavier inside him. "What...? Cordelia, what do you mean-" "If I," – She interrupted, taking a deep breath. – "If I really come out of this shed, Will you promise, promise me that you will not run?" A shiver ran down his spine. Heartbeat rocked harder against his chest. Something's not right. Something's clearly not right. But Edward planted his feet firmly on the ground. It was his wife's voice. He lost her seven years ago. He doesn't know what happened to her in that time. She could be different from how she looked back then, hurt and bruised from whatever abuse they inflicted on her. Rage bubbled up inside him. Whoever did anything to her, he would kill them in cold blood. They would pay for taking her away from him. Being hurt and disfigured by her captors… That was probably what Cordelia meant.

There was no need for him to feel so nervous.

"You know I love you, dear... No matter what. You know I'd never run away from you... So why would you even ask that?"

"Please, Edward." She said louder than he expected. Desperate. Too desperate. "Please promise you won't run." The moonlight cast over the shed, the little gaps between the wooden plates showing a faint shadow behind it. A hulking mass, piled up like a bundle of hay, a head peeking out of the lump as if there was no body attached to it. Edward's eyes widened, heart drumming faster in his chest. Cold sweat scurried down his forehead. 'What is that?' And yet, he couldn't deny the pleading voice of his wife, sounding exactly as she did seven years ago. It couldn't possibly not be her. Something grave must have happened when she was gone, and that's why she was so afraid. Yes, that's most likely it.

So Edward gulped his nervousness down, and wiped the sweat from his face.

"Honey... I promise I won't run away from you... I would never run away from you."

A light, quiet wail whispered in the cold night, slowly dwindling down. A sniff sounded behind the shed. A long inhale and exhale belonging to powerful lungs.

Silence.

"... Alright."

And the heavy sound of something dragging over the earth.

A form encased in shadow peeked from the wooden walls over fourteen feet above him. Edward took a while to notice the large silhouette was a head. His wife's head. It was truly, truly her! Looking just like he remembered and – pale. So sickeningly pale. A dark and somber expression covered her face. Her eyes were baggy and downcast, white lips trembling. But more importantly, he couldn't understand why she has so high up.

"P-please..." - she uttered, almost to herself. - Please don't run..." Gargantuan claws appeared next to her, black, sharp nails curling over the creaking wood. A long, bony hand covered by charcoal scales. His wife pressed her eyes firmly shut. Edward took a step back, his mouth going dry. The sinking feeling in his stomach cut deeper. And then he saw why she was so high up.

The rest of her appeared under the pale moonlight, her form triple of a human size. A gigantic torso loomed over him like a small tree, covering him in her shadow. She wore nothing on her, long, mahogany hair covering her chest.

Then he looked down.

Black and yellow scales jutted out of her skin, covering her lower half, legs attached together in a single, cylindrical body that twitched and writhed as it came closer. The thick tail uncoiled behind the shed, extending further and further to Edward's right, so much so it could envelop around him if it moved. With loud thumps, Cordelia's massive form fell on the ground, hair obscuring her downcast face. Black talons gripped the soil as she pushed herself forward. Rough and coarse scales scraping against the earth as the hulking, round tail crunched the grass and lugged over it like a corpse dragging on the dirt. Rocks broke with a sickening "crunch" under its weight.

Edward's face contorted in shock. He took one, two steps back, eyes widening in horror, shaken to the core as his heart jumped in his throat. Pounding harder against his ribcage.

It was a gargantuan something, half snake, half something that resembled human. Resembled his wife. He mumbled incomprehensibly. Primal fear took over him. A crying, shaky voice resounded from the creature's mouth. A clawed hand the size of his head reaching out to him. "P-please... Edward..." He ran. He screamed bloody murder and dashed back towards his house, hearing it holler back his name. Tears fell from his eyes, desperation taking hold of his body. A deafening sound of thumps and scratches came from behind him, growing closer, coming for him.

"WAIT–!" Tha thing can’t be his wife. Whatever it was it could not be his wife. It shouldn't be his wife. It shouldn't be human. He ran through the house's corridors, left became right and up became down and the crunches behind him grew louder and louder and he had to hide, he had to hide but there was nothing in his room aside from the cold, old bed so he bolted, ran and ducked under it, mumbling shaky prayers, begging to heavens for his life. Begging that he was hallucinating. To not die to someone who looked so much like her.

That couldn't be real. He heaved. It can't be real, can't be real can't be real it can’t – He's gone crazy. Yes, that must be it. He's finally gone mad and that’s why.

But the cracks of the floorboards under the creature's weight sounded far too real for him to doubt. The scratching of the claws over the ground as it dragged its gargantuan body caused a fear too intense for him to doubt. The cracking of the walls as it squeezed itself inside felt too real for him to doubt. Edward clamped his mouth shut with a shaking hand, curling up under the bed and closing his eyes tight. If he remained immovable, if he remained silent, maybe it wouldn't find him. Maybe he wouldn't die. He gulped down a whimper that threatened to escape from his throat. Cordelia's voice resonated from the creature's mouth again. Weak, raspy, and grieving. It was a strategy to lure him out. Yes. That was probably it. It couldn't possibly be something else. Because that huge monster with crude scales couldn't be his wife, with soft skin and flowing hair, with her dress that billowed in the wind when they walked over green fields together. No. That thing could not be her. "Edward... Please, I-I..." She whispered under her heavy sobs. Loud thumps echoed outside the room. "I won't hurt you... Please believe me!"

The sobs that sounded so much like her broke his heart in half. But he remembered to what it belonged to. He would not fall for it. Even if he wanted to scream for help, knowing that no one would come. Even if a part of him wanted nothing more than believe it was all true and run towards its scaly arms. He gulped down his screams of fear, and remained silent. Frozen. Unmoving. He would not fall for it

The scrapes and scratches got louder. Scales hissed over the floorboards that chirred in protest.

"I'm not a monster. I'm not –" A claw unhinged itself from the floor and the creature raised itself up. A loud bump thundered on the ceiling, a shocked gasp echoed in the dry air. Edward clutched his eyes shut. Dust and debris fell on the ground. The monster laid down again, a heavy bang thundering in the silent house. The floorboards groaned as it settled on the ground.

"If you... If you look at me like that again, I-I think I'll go crazy... I can't stand it!"

Loud sobs filled the house. Edward flinched and clutched his eyes shut, breathing heavily, curling further inside himself. He resisted the urge to break down into tears.

The dragging and shuffling got heavier. The floorboards of his bedroom, the ones he was currently laid over, creaked in complaint of the weight being placed upon them. The sound got louder. Closer.

It was entering his room.

He sucked in a quivering gasp. Heart threatening to escape his throat, he shook as if the room was freezing cold, tears cascading down his face at the thought that he really could die now. He would die. He would die. Maybe he should. Maybe she should just end him.

He saw it. The black and yellow scales, shimmering as it moved. The snake body crawling as it reached the door, so massive it got stuck in the door frame. A push or two and it got free, the walls around it cracked, dust fell around him and a crunching sound reverberated in the room. Black claws scraped the ground, wood screeching in the deafening silence. A towering human body, pale torso as tall as him, laid down, auburn locks of hair trailing on the floor. The face obscured by its raised head.

It stopped moving. He looked at its skin with heaving breaths and widened eyes.

They remained still for what felt like an eternity. The only sound was his own heartbeat, his breathing and the creature's. The tail twitched and thumped against the walls with a loud noise. He flinched as his eyes darted back and forth, hearing the friction of scales against wood.

Silence.

She sniffed. And spoke first. "... When the civil war happened, we hid here once. You would wrap your arms around me, and we'd curl up together under the bed, praying that it'd protect us." – she whispered.

"– But even when I cried, even when we thought we would die, I still felt safe with you. Do you remember that, dear…?"

The sorrowful voice spoke of memories that a monster should not have. Edward felt cold. So cold, alone under that bed.

He closed his eyes tightly shut. Maybe, after a while, he wouldn't see her when he opened them. Hugging himself, Edward shuddered as a shiver crawled up his spine. Maybe he could still return to a normal life, where he didn’t hallucinate. Maybe he could still pretend none of this happened.

There was a shifting sound, and he sucked in a trepid breath. A thud, right in front of him. With his lips trembling, and teeth grinding against each other, Edward wondered if his death would be quick. But time stretched as the room fell into stifling silence, the monster's breathing ruffling on his face. It was right in front of him. He knew. He knew that he should just keep his eyes closed, waiting for his death. He knew that. His heart hurt inside his ribcage from pounding so hard, and his stomach sank lower with fear. He should close his eyes more firmly. He should just wait a while longer.

But instead, he opened them.

Her face. Her same crying face, if not for the magnified size and its greyish blue eyes with slitted pupils. A shadow of what once was her. His wife. The one he waited for so long. The one he imagined walking back to him as he sat by that porch every day. It did come back, as a monster, a ghost ready to haunt him, blame him for the pathetic man that he was, for not being able to prevent her from going missing. A reflection of what he lost. Evidence of his cowardice. A sign that he has gone mad.

That's what he wanted to believe.

But the face that resembled his wife so faithfully mirrored his expression of dread and grief. It covered itself in such humanity, with the exhausted eyes dripping with tears. With the mouth, when its pale lips parted as it sucked in a shaky breath, even if it revealed sharp teeth underneath. With its thick, auburn hair as it clung to her sweating face. It looked so distinctly human. So distinctly real. Not at all like a ghost. Not at all like a monster out to hunt him.

In that closeup by the gap under the bed, it just looked like his wife.

Edward’s breathing got less exasperated. His heart rocked less inside his chest. His tears dried as his widened eyes remained frozen on the figure before him. He glared at its mouth, as it opened to speak.

"Edward..." It whispered. So silently, so tender yet certain, just like the time when he had her by his side.

"... I am real."

The tears resurfaced, a mix of fear, hope and despair turned into quiet, then loud sobs, then muffled screams as Edward cried and curled up further under the bed, letting out years of frustration. Years of guilt as it made his chest hurt and his breathing to narrow. He couldn't hear her, who was sobbing on her own, as he drowned in the sorrows that leaked out of his weathered body like a dam that has been broken. Did he have her back? Could he really put a stop to this? He felt guilty. So guilty. Was that his fault? If he found her, would she have turned out like this? No, she wouldn’t. He knew she wouldn’t and that was why the tears wouldn’t stop. If the monster wanted to hurt him, Edward wouldn’t blame it, not even a little.

When he started to calm down, he didn't realize the creature was still there, in front of him, with tears gathered on its enlarged face. He regained his breath, steadily and gradually, refocusing his eyes on the grey blue irises. Her gaze softened, just like when she greeted him home after a tiring day, eyes inviting him for peaceful rest.

He needed that rest. More so than any other day.

"If I... If I move away, will you come out?"

She whispered so quietly Edward struggled to hear it. But it still sounded the same, that sweet, honeyed voice that said “I love you” with so much earnest and ease. But a part of him still doubted. His body still trembled under her alien gaze. Doubts echoed in his mind, and adrenaline pumped in his veins. If this was her, then how? Why? What kind of degenerate devil would do this to her?

But still, he wanted to believe... He did, but... He didn't want to die.

"Dear... If I wanted to hurt you, don't you think I'd already done so?"

There it was, her bolder side, the one that always made her win an argument, that scolded him sometimes but he always loved it when she did. The one that now made him snap out of it, and helped Edward realize that he didn't have any power in this situation from the very beginning. The creature was huge and could see him. Indeed, if it wanted it would have hurt him long ago. Edward repeated this in his head over and over until it was enough to clear his mind.

In a glimpse of calmness, he managed to speak in what was left of his hoarse voice. "Yes... You're right, honey." And she smiled. A relieved, sad smile, one that did not have any hope in it, but that was glad he at least spoke to her like a person. Like his wife. Even if it was only for a little bit.

She got up, the long claws visible for a second in Edward's field of vision. They recoiled towards the snake creature's chest as if it had touched a burning kettle, knowing he had seen its intimidating appendage. It shifted its body away and the scales glistened as it slithered towards the door. After a while, it stopped. The area in front of Edward was free to move now.

His heartbeat rocked louder. What if the moment he leaves it slices him open with those claws... – No. 'Snap out of it. Snap out of it.' he repeated in his head, recalling the events and the fact that if it was a predator after its prey, he was already too difficult to be bothered with. He would be fine, Edward assumed. He had to be.

And if all of that was a lie, then it was better that he died anyway, granting the sweet release of death instead of sinking into his madness.

Because if all that he saw this night was not real, then he really has gone mad.

Edward took a deep breath. One... Two... The snake creature remained still.

Three.

He scrambled away from the bed and sat up in a hurry, heaving like he had run a marathon. Eyes closed. Waiting for the inevitable.

It never came.

So he opened his eyes, coming face to face with the creature's scales stretching in the distance. His heart throbbed.

"I-it's okay, honey... You're doing great." She whispered, voice clogged by her own desire to break down into tears.

Edward took another deep breath. In… And out. No closing his eyes now. And slowly, he raised his head up, searching for the face of his beloved. Even if he was shaking from head to toe.

His eyes trailed up her body. Nervous and slim hands, covered by black scales, interlaced over her lap. The scales of her tail became thinner and thinner as he looked up, their color contrasting against the ivory skin of her human upper body. It was ashen, slim, the torso alone was as tall as he was. He looked to the chest concealed by her hair, mahogany and wavy, just like he remembered, although the strands were much longer and thicker than before. And finally, he reached it. The same sweet, tender face, looking down at him. The trembling lips struggled to show a reassuring smile, forcing her mouth shut in order to cover the fangs underneath it. Those elongated eyes, with thick eyelashes that fluttered, blinking away tears. The same straight nose. Those previously beautiful blue eyes, now a greyer shade and with pupils like a reptile's, yet with that human, longing glance, darting around Edward's face as she analyzed his every expression.

It was her. No doubt about that now.

Edward opened his mouth and closed it, struggling to form words. Thoughts spiraled inside his mind. Feelings of guilt, frustration, anger, indignation. Fear. Sorrow. Pain.

Yet hope. Above all it was hope.

Edward got up, not taking his eyes off hers.

That was no monster. It was, indeed, his wife.

"Oh, Cordelia, what have they done to you?"

His voice whispered, thick with sorrow. He looked up to see pools of tears splashing from Cordelia's face, a clear expression of relief. She sobbed, burying her face in her clawed hands, relieved that her husband called her by her name again. Relieved that he was here. Relieved that he didn't see her as a monster, at least for that moment. A piece of humanity she lost, a piece of her previous life that she missed, a piece of hope that was snatched away from her seven years ago and that she never thought she'd have again. It was returning for her.

He was returning for her.

Cordelia was surprised by a warm touch over her scaled lap. She wiped the tears from her eyes with the rough back of her hand, looking down with a gasp. Her husband was rubbing his hand over it, tiny and shaking, comforting her. An attempt to reach out.

"D-don't. They are hideous..." Tears flowed on her face.

‘Indeed, they were’, Edward thought. He never liked snakes, their scales always making his skin crawl whenever he found one in the farm. The feeling wasn't any different as he trailed his hands over her, goosebumps raised the hairs on his skin and he shuddered with each motion. Edward exhaled shakily. No matter how much he looked at it, even if everything felt unreal at the moment, he couldn’t deny who was in front of him.

"They are still you." He said.

Cordelia widened her eyes and Edward looked up at her with compassion on his face. Love, longing. They both yearned for that. For the same feeling to return to them. For the same life, that was so cruelly snatched away from them, to return as if nothing had gotten between them in the first place. Even if it was a pointless dream.

They fumbled awkwardly at what to do.

Edward wasn't sure how to proceed. His mind conjured images of him holding her tightly, back to her human form, like a dream manifesting. Yet the reality loomed over him and the long tail that filled his bedroom in multiple coils covered his skin with goosebumps, a knot tightening on his throat.

He looked up and confirmed it, Cordelia's unsure face was there. He’s not crazy. All of that was still her.

She looked away under his apprehensive gaze, turning deep red and ashamed of herself. Edward took a deep breath; she didn’t feel well and he needed to fix this. He looked down. Then looked up again.

"Can I hold you?"

The question took Cordelia aback. She backed away from him and widened her eyes. Her tail bumped on the cabinet and he twisted his neck towards the source of the sound, clearly flinching from the movement.

He was still terrified of her. Then, why...?

"You don't need to do this, Edward. You did great already –“

"No. I want to do this. If you're really you, I want to do this."

Cordelia looked down and saw Edward's determined face. Her heart broke silently inside her. Why he was so adamant in dealing with her, Cordelia didn't know. But gosh, if it wasn't for his fear and for her disgusting claws, she'd have held him close a long time ago. She missed it so much. How much she missed his strong embrace.

So she nodded, and he came closer.

Edward couldn't quite contain how much he was shaking. Couldn't contain his jolt when he touched her frigid skin, chills crawling down his spine. But despite this, he pushed on forward, kneeling over her scaled lap, glancing at how they shone even in the partial darkness. With silent fascination, Cordelia let her arms hover around him.

A moment hung between them.

And Edward latched onto her. He rested on her torso and enveloped his arms around her, as much as he could, as they barely reached her back. Cold. She was cold like a corpse. He rested his cheek against her stomach, shivering upon contact. Gosh, it was so cold. He wanted to pull away. He wanted to hold her closer. Cordelia didn't remember the last time she sensed so much warmth. She felt herself getting hot inside even when she thought she was not capable of feeling warm anymore. Edward snuggled closer to her chest, and she sighed, relishing in his contact. Gently, like she was cradling an injured bird, Cordelia enveloped her arms around him, careful not to hold him too tight or not to loom over him, either. Gosh, the way her arms completely engulfed him... She felt monstrous. Edward shrank upon contact and she started to let him go, fearing this was a bad decision, but the feeling of his hug getting tighter made her arms remain still.

They stayed like this for an amount of time, taking in each other’s presence. Edward heard his wife's strong heartbeat against him, which grounded him in his current predicament, but still... Maybe he'd blink and she'd be gone, or maybe something would finally reveal that he'd made all of that up. Cordelia's embrace got a little tighter, not in a way that was hurting him, but she shifted around and her shadow loomed over as she curled around him. Her arms closed the hug in, and his heart skipped a beat.

"I missed you." she croaked.

She leaned over Edward, pulling him closer. He sighed in sweet relief upon hearing her melodic voice, feeling exhaustion weighing down on him as his body relaxed. He sank in her gentle embrace, kissing the surface of the freezing cold skin.

"I missed you too, dear."

...

They were laying on their backs under the early morning light, on the floor of the same bedroom where everything happened. Cordelia's tail stretched way further outside the room, disappearing through the door. Edward rested on top of her, not after much insistence that he wrapped a warm blanket around him. He ran his fingers through her hair, dazed, letting the reality of the situation sink in. He wasn't exactly afraid now, but the memories of the night made his heart twist with a mix of dread and guilt. Edward needed to know. How bad was everything that happened to her? Too much happened, she was gone, and now he had her back. It felt unreal and too real at the same time. And yet, Edward needed answers. Maybe, just for a few minutes, he thought, they could stay like this, and pretend that nothing had happened, but he knew that curiosity would get the best of him. Cordelia looked down at her husband with tenderness, watching as he caressed her hair, as she avoided touching him with her claws. She noticed his pensive expression and frowned.

“Is something wrong?

Edward hesitated, looking for ways to phrase his question. "What happened that made you turn into this?" He asked finally, tone even, yet with seething rage building up inside his chest. "Who did this to you?"

Cordelia sighed, closing her eyes. All the memories surfaced in her head like a messy conjecture of disfigured images and sounds. She took a shuddering breath, and spoke.

"I regained memories of you first before I remembered my own name..."

#this was my attempt at suspense #giant/tiny #g/t #hope y'all like it!#I've got some goosebumps while writing this so I hope y'all get some too lol #coffeh writes #story #writing #sfw g/t #g/t story #g/t writing #oc: cordelia #oc: edward #g/t angst #g/t hurt and comfort #gtwac #wacprompts

63 notes · View notes

magicspace114 · 9 months ago

Text

I need to rant, sorry in advance

Ok so I have been a bit obsessed with Epic the musical by Jorge Rivera-Herrans. For anyone who doesn't know it's still in the making with 4 concept albums out and follows the story of the Odyssey. This rant is about his most recent album, the Circe Saga.

So. I love these songs, they're all really amazing and I really recommend people check it out if they've not listened to it before but I especially like imagining how they'd be performed on a stage, the acting and blocking behind the lyrics, which is what has me fixated on the last two songs in the Circe Saga "Done for" and "There are other ways" because the way the power dynamics shift back and forth between Circe and Odysseus leads to some pretty fun blocking.

Considering you hear lion roars in the track emphasising some of Circe's lines, you can imagine her being pretty imposing when the odds are in her favour. Meanwhile Odysseus has always been cunning, hiding his advantage for the first part of the song, he's allowing her to impose on him so there's a lot of back and forth both in the song and in the actual blocking.

I can't tell this rant to anyone I know because this isn't their type of thing so I'm taking it to Tumblr and maybe some of you will actually like it.

A little context to the scene in my head just so you know where some things are in the room that are relevant. There's a table in the centre of the room. This would have been the table Odysseus' men had ate at before they were turned to pigs. The food is gone and the table has new placements set awaiting another meal. To the far right of the stage, a lounge chair that Circe is sitting on at the start of the song, pointing out at a possible veranda or something with a small table beside it.

So, the blocking in my head, as well as a bit of thought tracking, following the lyrics of the song goes as follows:

Odysseus enters from the opposite side of the stage, having to cross the room and past the table. He never approaches farther than halfway between the table and Circe.

"Lady of the palace, sorry that I ask this..." - This entire start of the song is a ruse. Odysseus is under no impression that this is a misunderstanding. He's purposefully playing up the innocence to keep Circe off guard.

Circe is initially fooled, having easily tricked her last visitors. She's not worried or threatened so remains in her seat looking away from Odysseus. Her hands are busy, I'm imagining a wine glass in one hand and maybe she's petting a lion with the other hand or something.

"Did you do something to them?" Odysseus plays up the innocence and unsureness, letting himself appear weak, stopping his approach here before he gets too close to Circe.

"Who me? All I did was reveal their true forms." Circe mocks Odysseus' innocence, still not looking at him or moving.

"You turned them into pigs." This line from the track sounds like he's in awe, almost like he's unaware such magic exists so likely more ruse to keep Circe off guard.

"Ha." Circe puts down her wine glass and stands up, finally turning to him.

"I don't know who you are nor why you're here..." Circe approaches Odysseus, holding all the power in this scene as she backs him up to the table.

"I've got people to protect, nymphs I can't neglect, so I'm not taking chances dear." Odysseus' lower back hits the table behind him and she closes the gap. I see Circe as a rather tall woman, at least a little taller than Odysseus so she's able to tower over him here.

"If you make one wrong move then you're done for..." she boxes him in with her hands on either side of him, making him lean back against the table. During her chorus, she's very predatory, leering and appraising him like a cat playing with prey. Odysseus' face is stoic.

"I don't mean to tip your scales..." Odysseus' face breaks into a smug smile and he straightens up. Circe stops leaning over him and her arms drop from boxing him in.

"You must be a liar, mortals can't acquire moly without dire consequence." She stands back a little now, looking at him with suspicion. She's not threatened yet but her guard is going up.

"Then I must be a god like you cus I got this root from the ground with my bare hands." Odysseus playing up his confidence in hopes of bringing Circe off guard again and making her think he's more cocky than he is.

"Hermes gave it to you, didn't he?" Circe's having none of the act.

"Alright, yes, fine, but regardless." Odysseus also drops the act.

"You and I are now evenly matched. Our fates are intertwined they're attached." He draws his sword and points it at Circe's neck. She's stepped back so she's a full sword length away from him, putting her in the exact opposite position than she was at the start of the song.

"I have people to protect, friends I can't neglect." Odysseus starts backing Circe up. Circe is backing away but specifically, she's backing towards her chair where her staff is.

"So now there is no turning back." Both pause for this line.

"You've made your one wrong move-" Circe darts for her staff, using it to counter Odysseus' blade. "-now you're done for."

This chorus, the pair are fighting with each other with their weapons but also with their magic. I know in Jorge's idea of the scene, Odysseus conjures a cyclops to defeat Circe's monster (I can't remember what it is) so in my vision, a cyclops and lion monster are fighting with each other in the background while Odysseus and Circe fight in the foreground, their moves being somewhat mirrored by their creatures.

When the cyclops overpowers the lion, Odysseus has disarmed Circe. He's not flush to her with the sword under her chin, more standing with the tip of his blade at her neck so he's a sword's length away, sword poised and gaze sharp and calculating.

"You've lost." He can't kill her yet, he needs her to change his men back.

"My nymphs are like my daughters..." It's Circe's turn to start acting. Her face softens to garner sympathy.

"But everyone's true colours are revealed in acts of lust." Her face morphs into a suggestive look.

"I'm not sure I follow." Odysseus tenses up here, maybe knowing what's to come.

In this song, though there's a lot of sensual touching, all of it is very purposeful for Circe. In this song, it's not about seducing him, it's about distracting him until she can get the upper hand.

"There are other ways of persuasion, there are other modes of control. There are other means of deceit, there are other roads to the soul." Sensual touching starts on the blade, a finger moving down it, gently nudging it away from her throat, by the end of this line, she'll had reached his wrist and fully pointed the blade away from her.

"There are other actions of passion." She's taken steps to close the gap between them, hand moving up his arm and to his face, directing him to stare at her face.

"You have so much left to learn, want to save your men from the fire, show me you are willing to burn." She's circling him closely, once on the other side of him, she's within reach of the table.

When they start to harmonise their songs, Circe directs Odysseus closer to the table using the hand on his face, cupping the back of his neck so she can bring him with her as she backs towards the table, getting close enough to take a knife from the table placements. Odysseus tries to shy away from her seduction but every time he tries to look away, she has him look back with the hand on his cheek or chin to ensure he can't see what she's doing.

"There is so much power, so much power, but there's no puppet here." She slips out between him and the table, going behind him, hiding the knife behind her while she continues to sing in his ear.

As they harmonise again, she keeps up the sensual touching, keeping him looking at her as she appears at his other shoulder again, now backing him up against the table.

"There's no puppet here." "Forgive me." At this harmonisation, Circe has her arms around his neck, knife behind him, poised to stab him.

"I can't!" Odysseus pushes her away and she's so surprised that she actually stumbles. She quickly hides her knife at her side.

"Back at home my wife awaits for me..." At this point, Odysseus is genuinely pleading with Circe, knowing he needs to appeal to her in order to get her to willingly turn his men back. This is a moment he shows her real vulnerability.

"So I beg you, Circe, grant us mercy, and let us puppets leave." Circe has turned away by now to hide as her face softens. Her shoulders drop.

"Poseidon, ey?" She relaxes, setting her knife down on the small table beside her chair.

"There might be a way to evade him, there might be a way to get home..." She turns back to him, eyes calculating but not hostile.

"I can't get you home but I'll get you to the underworld instead..." She's closing the gap again but now not stepping into his personal space, just really standing at a comfortable distance for conversation.

"Wait, you're helping us?" Odysseus steps forward, surprised but tension releases in his shoulders.

"There are many ways of persuasion..." Circe moving away as she sings the last of her lines.

"Maybe one day the world will need a puppeteer no more." She walks to Odysseus again.

"Or maybe one day the world will need a puppeteer more." She passes behind him as she holds out her last note.

Sorry again for this, I just wanted to write this down somewhere and see if anyone wants to read it.

#epic the musical #epic the circe saga #circe #odysseus #acting

61 notes · View notes

adorethedistance · 1 year ago

Text

First Date - Jamie Drysdale x Reader

Hockey Masterlist

Warnings: swearing, mentions of homicide, sexual references.

Words: 1249

Summary: First date - Jamie invites you over and cooks dinner for your first date, complete with bottle service and banter.

A/n: Hey! I'm back! Summer classes kicked my ass so I promised this mini-series to make up for the lull in activity. You can read part 1 called "First Meet" here. Some other firsts coming soon (and by soon I mean eventually): first I love you, and first time.

“Hey!”

“Hi!” I smile brightly as Jamie opens the door. After our smoothie shop meet cute, Jamie invited me over to have dinner and watch a movie, just to get to know each other a little better. He offered to take us somewhere nice but with how nervous I was in the smoothie shop, I figured staying in would minimize my nerves. Granted, I’m still nervous as hell, since he’s so cute and sweet. I feel an intense anxiety weighing on my chest. But Jamie just smiles brightly and the kindness in his features dissipates all my nerves in an instant.

Stepping aside, he welcomes me into the space. The first-date jitters are eased, yet not fleeting. After I cross the threshold, I gently kick off my shoes, smoothing the fabric of my skirt before following Jamie into a sizable kitchen space.

“I’m surprised the kitchen is so clean,” I say, mostly as a joke. Jamie laughs softly before turning the flame of the gas stove higher. The walls of the pan are high enough that I can’t see inside, but it smells great so I opt to trust the process.

“You should’ve seen it this morning,” I hear from behind me. Turning around Trevor smiles at me as he’s slipping on his shoes.

“I was gonna say.”

“That’s because Z is immune to doing dishes.”

“I am not!”

“You so are!’

“Who usually cooks?” I ask, interjecting their sibling-like argument.

“I do,” Jamie answers proudly.

“The way I’ve always done it is one person will cook, and the other does the dishes.”

“Hah!” Jamie argues.

“But that’s only if the meal is for both of you. If you make a meal for yourself then the dishes are also your responsibility.”

“Ayy!” Trevor calls out to spite Jamie who has fallen silent. His sheepish expression as he bites back a smile. I giggle softly at the exchange and shake my head before walking into the kitchen. “I’m going to the Terry’s, do I need to sleepover there, you two?” Jamie huffs a laugh, shaking his head. He’s somewhat stalling, as if he’s unsure of what to say. I seize the opportunity and without looking away from Jamie I yell back,

“We’ll keep you posted!” Jamie looks up surprised before blushing madly and turning back to the stove. “Do you need help with anything?” I ask as I stand beside him. Jamie glances at me over his left shoulder. He doesn’t fight the smile that appears on his face when I step closer. Jamie’s eyes get seemingly lost in my own and I blink smugly to bring him back down to earth.

“I’m working on searing this right now, but if you wanted to pour drinks?”

“I’m on it… Where are the cups?” Jamie laughs before nodding to a higher cabinet. I open the cabinet door, locating the drinking glasses on the middle shelf. The middle shelf that I am unsure of if I can reach unassisted. Looking back at Jamie, I see him sticking a thermometer into the food and decide not to bother him. I can totally do this.

I place my right hand on the cool countertop to brace myself, lifting up, stretching to reach the drinking glasses. I feel the smooth surface brush my fingertips, accidentally pushing the glass further back into the cabinet. “Fuck,” I swear under my breath, reaching with an extra stretch. The clink of the glasses against one another must have alerted Jamie as I feel his presence behind me. He gently places his left hand on my lower back and reaches above me to easily grab the glasses. He smells like crisp eucalyptus and lavender behind notes of beechwood and mint. I pull my lower lip in between my teeth to try and keep the thought from surfacing but, I could definitely get used to this. Jamie effortlessly grabs two glasses in one hand, offering them to me with a quaint smile. I guess looking at me allowed him to consciously process his actions as he immediately drops the hand that was on my back. His smile grows sheepish and I resist the urge to giggle at the blush creeping across his cheeks.

“Am I just pouring drinks or am I pouring drinks?” I ask, setting the glasses down to wash my hands. “Actually, are you even old enough to drink?” I playfully poke.

“I was twenty-one in April of this year, thank you!” Jamie teases back and I turn to him wide-eyed, trying to keep as straight of a face as I can.

“Oh my god, are you- you’re not… forty?!”

“No, I am not forty. Are you?!”

“Yes!” Jamie looks at me in pretend sorrow before we both dissolve into laughter. Dropping my initial timidness, I physically relax my shoulders. When I open the refrigerator, the facade of cleanliness vanishes entirely. It is as messy and chaotic as I would expect the young boys to be. Take out boxes, abandoned vegetables, sculpins, and meat. Tucked in the door is a bottle of white wine with the cork and foil intact. Assuming that’s the drink Jamie selected for us, I grab the bottle and close the door behind me.

“I’m guessing it’s the sancerre, right?” The sound of the bottle making contact with the counter alerts Jamie from the stove and he looks at me over his shoulder.

“Yeah! Sorry, I don’t know why I didn’t just tell you what to grab.”

“All good. What are you working on over there?” The contents of the pan erupt with a sizzle as Jamie pokes his spatula into the pan.

“It’s a pan-seared butter chicken and roasted broccoli.” I crumple the gold foil in the palms of my hand before tossing it to the trashcan. I then turn back to Jamie, suppressing my astonishment.

“I have to admit I’m surprised you know how to make that.”

“Butter chicken?”

“No, the broccoli.” I say, keeping my face as straight as possible. Jamie and I lock eyes before laughing once more and returning to our tasks at hand. Our culinary symphony of sizzling poultry and the flowing of wine makes me smile, a blush creeps across my cheeks at the thought that comes next. I’m thinking of what it would be like to have a sort of domestic bliss with Jamie. A silent but content early morning where we would brew coffee and sit on the counters, laughing through chaste kisses. Eventually making dinner one night to introduce our friends over a meal, just sitting back and laughing at how Trevor would inevitably break his words per minute record while hosting. Dancing to Billie Eilish together, sliding in fuzzy socks over the cool tiles while trying to stay on task with chores. Jamie’s hand on my throat as he bends me over the counter to-

“What are you smiling about?”

“Huh? What?” I say, blinking back into reality.

“What were you smiling about?” Jamie asks, smugly.

“...I was thinking about how I’m gonna kill you later,” I declare just to wipe the smirk off Jamie’s face.

“Uhhhh, Trevor?!” He yells into the empty hallway.

“You really think he’s gonna save you?”

“Definitely not, but…”

“You just figured it was worth a try?”

“Yeah.”

“Mhm.” Jamie and I laugh through the quick back and forth before I hand him his glass of wine that I had just poured. He holds the cup out to me and I pause for a moment,

“Cheers to… new beginnings.”

#Jamie Drysdale #Jamie Drysdale fanfiction #Jamie Drysdale fanfic #Jamie Drysdale fic #Jamie Drysdale imagine #Jamie Drysdale oneshot #Jamie Drysdale one shot #Jamie Drysdale x reader #Jamie Drysdale x Asa #Jamie Drysdale smut #Jamie Drysdale fluff #Jamie Drysdale angst #Jamie Drysdale blurb #Jamie Drysdale drabble #Jamie Drysdale hc #Jamie Drysdale headcanon #trevor zegras #Trevor Zegras #Platonic!Trevor

143 notes · View notes

bg-brainrot · 9 months ago

Text

WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 7: Just One Night

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence, angry Astarion, threats

WC: 3k words, 7/?? chapters

Summary: You plead your case to the vampire.

Ao3 | [Ch6][Ch8] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

You idiot. How could you be so dense? How in the hells is 'You're the man from my dreams' the right sentence to spout when meeting the man whose very existence makes your soul sing? This might be worse than your previous life. You may as well send your soul back to meet Corellon for all the good it's doing, but no. You can salvage this. You take a deep breath.

Another few knocks on the door.

You don't hear anything from the other side for a second or two, but the door swings back open in another breath. "What about 'not interested' did you not understand?" Astarion’s tone seems to be growing angry now, and you recall a memory with a vile drow woman, how important saying ‘no’ was to him. You don’t want to push this, and you know that this is different. You just need to be yourself and help him understand.

“I know you’re not interested, and I’m sorry that this is abrupt,” you start, holding up your hands in a show of peace.“But I’m an elf!” You say, as if that were an explanation.

He clicks his tongue at you. "That you are. The pointy ears rather gave it away I'm afraid."

"I mean," you start, shooting him an annoyed look. How in the hells did your previous self deal with his attitude. "I have an elf's soul. I know it's hard to believe, but I've been dreaming about you since I was young. Hence the– erm, rather odd introduction. In my previous life… I was the hero of Baldur's Gate."

Astarion all but laughs in your face. "My what an original idea you have. Must have earned yourself a pat on the back for that one."

“I… don’t know what you mean by that.” Your tone is cautious, sensing that his hostility is not improving by any means. “But, please let me prove it to you.”

“No need,” he responds easily, waving a hand at you dismissively. “If you’re here on that premise, I know what it is that you want.”

Your brows furrow– the words should make you feel better, if he truly understands. But it just fills you with a bit of dread. “You do?”

“Of course,” he says, flashing you a fanged smile. “I should have assumed, night has fallen, you’ve done your research. You’re here for a vampire.”

You blink at this, unsure what he means. “I did do research, but I’m not sure what–”

The man holds up a hand to stop you. "Are you here for a nibble or aren't you? I haven't got all day.” He crosses his arms and taps a single slippered foot on the floor impatiently.

Oh, no. He thinks you’re here to offer him blood? Or sex. You’re not sure which is worse.

"Gods below, none of this is going to plan," you mumble, putting a hand to your head in frustration. Halsin had been entirely too optimistic, and 'eccentric'? Eccentric was certainly not the way to describe it – more like a closed off, standoffish, arrogant man. You suddenly realize how woefully unequipped you are to handle this man. “I’m not here to–to be a meal of any sorts. I just want a bit of your time and understanding.”

“My understanding?” he asks, tone sharpening. “I’m afraid I’m fresh out.” He starts to close the door on you and you shove a hand forward to stop it. The look that he shoots you could curdle milk.

“Please. Just five minutes. I beg of you.”

At that, he barks a single laugh, short and harsh. "Darling, if you think you'll be able to get something from me, you have another thing coming. I have dealt with fools like you for my entire, unending existence and you’re no better than the last person who came to my door to beg.”

Something in you finally snaps at this. You were so used to his sweet, loving words over decades and decades of dreams. The reality of it threatens to bring you to rageful tears. How dare he, you can’t help but think. How dare he treat me – my soul – like this, after a lifetime together. “I am telling you, I’m nothing like them! I promise you, on my life, I want nothing more than to speak my peace.”

Sensing your own building anger, he stops snapping back for a second, opens the door a small crack once more. You feel his eyes rake up and down your body, the judgment in them plain as day. “You, my dear, are everything like them. And more importantly, you could not possibly be the Hero of Baldur’s Gate. If anyone were to recognize them, it would be me.”

“Halsin recognized me!” You spout, and immediately regret the words out of your mouth when his face shifts from one of open judgment to one of complete and utter disgust.

“As if my former lover would go see that oddity of an old man before me. You’re not even a good fraud,” he says, going back to closing the door.

Oh no you don’t, you think. Through the crack in the door, you focus on a point. Magic flows through you as you speak the incantation, “Inveniam viam!” Blue mist surrounds you as you’re teleported into the house in a single step.

You find yourself in a grand foyer, framed by two grand staircases leading up to the top floor. You’re struck by how opulent this entrance is, all reds and golds, including the extravagant carpet you’re currently standing on.

“Gods, do you have any idea how expensive that rug is?” Astarion’s voice comes out annoyed, you turn back toward him just in time to see him taking long, angry strides toward you, knife drawn. Shit. “Get your dirty boots off of it before I’m forced to spill your blood on it.”

Hastily, you hop off the rug, onto an equally lovely looking hardwood floor. Astarion tuts, clearly still annoyed, but stops short of an attack. Now that you’re both staring each other down like this, you have a chance to get a better look at him.

And good gods, you’re not surprised he left you speechless. Not only does he look identical to your memories, but he’s dressed impeccably, neck to toe in delicate satins, each piece of his outfit a testament to the arts of embroidery and fashion. It fills you with a small joy to see him doing so well, one that’s quickly dashed by the predicament you find yourself in.

“Fine, you’ve had your fun,” he says, pointing the knife at you. “You’ve managed to anger the beautiful tortured vampire in his mansion. You’re not here to offer blood or sex, you’d be even more of an utter fool to rob me. What are you really here for?”

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose to compose yourself. Is this worth it? you think. He’s clearly not interested and he seems hellsbent on misunderstanding me. “I only want you to believe me. Can I please show you my memories?” you ask, chancing one last effort. You’re prepared to use a number of illusion spells to prove who you are, and you raise a hand to express this.

Astarion waves the knife back and forth in a pseudo-head shake. “Not a chance, darling. I saw that magic you used. If you so much as think of a spell, this blade will find its way into your pretty little throat.”

You expected as much, nodding. “Right then. I’ll just talk.”

“Excuse me–”

You cut him off, understanding now a bit better how your past-self might have dealt with him. “I remember memories that only the Hero of Baldur’s Gate would know. I can’t tell you everything, but I can recall a lot of your time together, defeating the Absolute, helping the spawn in the Under Dark, living a life together.”

“I’d really rather you didn’t recite history books to me,” he says, but there’s no venom in his voice. Now it seems to be clouded by a dull ache. “Especially of events that I myself have experienced.”

“It’s not history, it’s memories. Like that time you both spent the day sitting at the glowing purple lake in the Under Dark. Or the time you both tried riding unfamiliar horses at night on a farm– I could never tell where that was…” You trail off, realizing that his expression is entirely closed off to your words, his mouth firmly set in a displeased frown.

“Darling, you think I’d trust a wizard with their horrendous little tricks?“ He jabs the knife in your direction emphatically. “You could be reading my mind for all I know. Out with you.”

You shake your head, “I’m not done. I have notebooks, journals filled–” Your hand approaches the lip of your Bag of Holding and before you can so much as pull the string, Astarion’s cold hand wraps roughly around your wrist.

“I’m not about to let some strange person open their magic bag in my house,” he says through gritted teeth. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Startled, you try to pull your hand back. He doesn’t budge so you simply say, “I promise I only brought journals. Full of your life and…” You gulp. “Your love.”

His hand grips your wrist even tighter, painful now in its pressure. “I don’t know who put you up to this,” he growls, face suddenly closer to yours. His red eyes are narrowed at you, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him level a look like this at you in any of your memories. “But stop. Now.”

Suddenly, you feel so small in the face of his fury. It’s entirely unfamiliar to you and you don’t like it. “Let go of me,” you command, voice steadier than it has any right to be.

To his credit, Astarion releases you. Taking a moment to rub out the pain in your wrist, you dart a look back at him only to find him staring at you, eyes trained on where he’d grabbed you. He still holds the knife, but it seems to be limp in his hand. “I’ve listened to you,” he says, voice losing all of its anger, all of its bravado. It sounds tired. “Now please, leave.”

There’s something about his resignation, the slump of his shoulders, the dead voice that gives you pause. And a slight modicum of hope back. He’s not mad at me, you think. He’s just… sad? And tired. Well, I’m tired too. Tired enough to try one last tactic. A tactic that might work on the reluctantly kind man from your memories, the man who wasn’t quite as mean as he made himself out to be.

“I traveled so far to get here, and it’s getting rather late. Could I at least stay the night? Surely you can spare a room for a lonely traveler.”

“There’s an inn down the road, closer to Baldur’s Gate.” His words come out flat, harsh.

It’s better than anger or sadness, so you keep going, trying your best to look pathetic. You feel pathetic after all of this, so you suppose it’s not a grand disguise. “That’s almost an hour out. Please? I promise I’ll be on my very best behavior. No magic in the house unless you ask.”

Astarion arches a single eyebrow at you and narrows his eyes in suspicion. “If you were really who you say you are, I know you wouldn’t be on your best behavior. So which is it?”

After all of your memories, you know his words come from decades of experience. You also know that you have no plans on giving up now. So you smile at him unconvincingly and say, “I won’t be on my worst behavior?”

“I'm 500 years old, darling, do you really think I'd fall for a pair of puppy dog eyes? Especially when the pup is fresh off the teats by the looks of it.” Another narrowed look, this time his gaze boring into your eyes. As if he could see through them to your real intent.

“What if I offer you something in return for the stay?” You say, sounding far more easy-going than you feel. You know that you’re treading a very delicate line at this point. “I have blood.”

He yawns at you dramatically, looking bored. “That ship has sailed.”

“I have gold.”

“I have more gold than you can hope to see in your entire lifetime. You’ll have to do better than that.” He inspects his nails, putting on an air of indifference.

An idea strikes you then, understanding that this might be the only truly unique thing you have to offer him. “I have memories from my past-life. Memories before they met you, memories where you weren’t present. If you let me stay, I’ll share them with you.”

He stops his inspections at that. Then Astarion looks at you, eyes open and questioning, vibrant like how you remember them. Perhaps you’ve finally broken through. He asks, “And why would I care for those?”

“Because you loved them,” you answer, simply.

The way his expression closes off just about stops your heart. “Exactly right. Loved. Past tense, my dear.” You might have up and left at the sharp honesty he’s pierced you with. But you can see a bit of his former self in the hard set of his jaw. Like when he was in the early stages of his relationship with your past-self, lying through his teeth.

“Well then, because they loved you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, and where it’s abundantly clear that you know nothing of whom you speak,” he says, a cruel glint in his eyes as he leans forward. “If they truly loved me, they would be here, not you.”

It hurts. Your heart is fighting for its life and he may as well have stabbed you in the chest with the knife he brandishes. But you can’t relent, because you know your past-self wouldn’t either. “It may mean nothing to you now, but they died loving you.” You look away from him, the anger in his eyes far too much for you to bear. “Until their last breath.”

A moment of silence passes between you. You wonder if you've gone too far, pressed too hard on an unmended wound. Perhaps you've come too soon, or, more likely, should never have come at all.

Then he says something that leaves you well and truly speechless. You were about ready to ungracefully bow out, leave him and this waking nightmare behind. But he lifts his head and glares as he says, “You can stay the night. But come morning, I want you gone.”

–

Once things settle down, you finally introduce yourself to him– your present day self. He nods in acknowledgement, and only says, "I'm Astarion, but you clearly already know that."

Better than you're willing to believe, you think.

So many questions burn on the tip of your tongue, and, if you hadn't already barely made it into the house, you may have been foolish enough to ask them. As it is, you silently follow him up the stairs to the East wing of the house.

You walk down the hallway in awe, amazed by the tapestries on the walls, the decadent rugs that lead you forward. Again, you're struck by how very ostentatious this all is, and a huge part of you wants to ask him just how much gold he's spent on this house. You refrain, mentally calculating what must be an absurd sum.

When you finally reach the doorway of your lodgings, you find that the room is somewhat tucked away, this part of the house markedly less gaudy than the rest. Astarion doesn't seem to have any commentary on this, nor much more to say. As you're tired of saying the wrong thing, you leave him with only words of gratitude, "Thank you, Astarion. For letting me stay, and, well, hearing me out."

The man gives you one long look, eyes guarded behind his long lashes. After the appraisal, he gives you a scoff. "Only because you look so ludicrously weak. Also, if you get bored after your reverie, don't even think about crawling your way to me. If you try anything, you'll be dead before you can so much as whimper my name."

Turning on his heel, he leaves you in the doorway to your borrowed room. You know you should take that for the threat it is, but you only find yourself blushing. Gods, I'm as idiotic as my past-self. It must be that damn voice.

You ignore the warmth in your veins and turn to the room you've been offered. It seems oddly out of place in terms of decor, somewhat cozy compared to the luxurious trappings of the rest of the mansion, and something about it sets off a thought in the back of your head. The couch is plush, the bed is laden with blankets, the hearth is large and welcoming. And there's a large standing mirror in the corner. You distinctly recall that Astarion can't see himself in mirrors.

Whose room is this?

You have no one you can ask, of course. So you turn to the next best thing. You flip to a journal entry, recalling a particular passage.

Hero’s Life - Entry 9978: I was in bed with Astarion again. He refused to let me get up, claiming that I'd and I quote, "Been neglecting a stunningly beautiful lover in favor of dull adventures for too long." I felt guilty, but also a bit… annoyed. I don't know what my past-self has been up to, but he seemed really reluctant to release me. I would have just stayed in bed all day with him.

We did stay in bed for a while, I lost track of the number of kisses he showered me with. I just remember sitting up in bed to see myself in an elegant standing mirror. My hair was tousled, my face flushed, and before I could even attempt to get up, his pale hands pulled me back to bed.

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion masterlist #gn reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 astarion #when he's all but forgotten how to love again #whabfhtla #reincarnation trope #elf!tav #astarion x you

28 notes · View notes