#he's also good at noticing when something has gone too far and shutting it down before it can go any further

[notalexhorne]

One of my favourite things about Taskmaster, and it really doesn't get talked about nearly enough, is the relationship between Greg and the panelists. There is the element that nobody wants to be there sometimes, including Greg and Alex. Nobody's having a good time, and everyone's suffering. It's a mutual case of Stockholm Syndrome, as has been mentioned on the show multiple times.

But the bit I like best is when everyone just becomes sick of one another's bullshit. It's expected for the panel to reach a point where they get sick of one another and threaten to throw down, or tell someone to stuff a satsuma up their ass.

I particularly enjoyed this series crossing a brand new line of Frankie threatening to sue Alex over his terrible wording of a task, and Greg offering to help with the costs. It reminded me of when Greg offered to put his own money toward counselling fees, because there is clearly something wrong with Rhod Gilbert.

But what I love best is that this is a show where the host will tell his contestants to fuck off, or flip them off, pull them to an unlit corner of the stage to give them a personal telling off because they have managed to uniquely irritate him. The moment of silence in series 10, because he's so fucking fed up with how awful all of them are at completing tasks still makes me howl every time I watch it. He instantly regresses five grown adults to school children as soon as he stands up in front of them.

In a vacuum, out of context, it's all dreadfully horrible and toxic, but that's what this entire character is. He's an insane tyrant, and the whole concept of the show hinges on that. What would that insane man want done? And I love how much he leans into it.

[moonstruckme]

pls hear me out 🙏🙏 vampire!james is recently turned and doesn’t feed cause he’s such a sweetheart he doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

reader notices how weak he is and finds out he hasn’t been feeding and basically offers herself to him and it’s just really comforting and cute

Babe I hear you !!! I hear you soooooo clear (the voices omg, I was so excited to write this). Thank you for requesting!

cw: blood mention

vampire!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.7k words

James never had a problem with eating animals before he became a vampire. You pointed this out to him, once, but he only said it’s different. You suppose it is. The chicken nuggets he used to devour came to him cooked, fried, and with sauces, utterly unrecognizable from what they’d once been. There’s no separating the live-ness from what James has to eat now. 

You spy on him over the top of your book. He’s sitting on the other end of the loveseat with your feet in his lap, massaging your arches through your thick socks while he watches a football match on the telly. His dusky skin had paled after he was turned a few weeks back, but he looks even paler than that now. If he were still human you’d think he was anemic. It’s four in the afternoon, and your ball-of-energy boyfriend looks as tired as if he’s ready for bed. 

“Jamie,” you say, and he squeezes your heel to indicate he’s listening, “can I ask you something?”

“Of course you can, lovely, yeah.” 

“Have you been feeding?” 

James stiffens at the term. “Mm, why do you ask?” 

It’s as close as he thinks he can get to a non-answer, and it’s an answer for you anyways. James can never stand to lie to you. It’s terribly endearing. 

You turn your foot to poke his abdomen. “I can hear your stomach growling.” 

His lips curve. He glances at you. “I’m not sure that’s how it works.” 

“Really? How does it work?” 

“I don’t actually have a clue.” James smiles, which was your aim. He’s been far too downcast for your liking, his new condition entirely to blame. 

“Well, you’re looking pale.” 

“I’ve been pale.” 

“Paler than pale.” You set your book on the side table, moving closer to him. You sit with your feet folded under you. “Also, you haven’t been going out to feed like you used to.” 

James finally looks a bit sheepish. You smile and cup his face in your hand. Though he knows you know, James has still been a tad secretive about the vampire business around you. He sneaks out after he thinks you’re asleep. You’ll hear the front door open and shut when he leaves and then again when he comes back, the kitchen tap running as he cleans himself up. You wish he’d just use the shower. You don’t mind him walking through your bedroom with blood and dirt on him if it means he gets to feel clean when he slips back into bed with you. 

You rub your thumb over his cheek. “What’s keeping you?” 

He sighs. His face weighs a bit heavier in your palm. You think this must be progress, and you repeat your ministrations to his cheek to encourage it. 

“Everything’s hibernating,” says James, a quiet shame underlying his tone. “The…things I used to feed from are gone, and I’m not left with a lot of choices.” 

You hum. “Well, you’ve gotta eat, Jamie.” 

He hesitates, and you give him your sternest look. 

“You do. What about the deer?” 

“They’re harder to catch. And…I…I just feel bad, you know?”

You nod. Take his hand and press a kiss to his palm. Your poor sweetheart. You know James hasn’t killed anything he’s fed from, but even scaring them and potentially hurting them for the time it takes him to feed rattles him terribly. He’s too good, good and kind down to his core, but you know he’s going to have to find some way to cope other than starving himself. 

“What about people?” 

James’ eyes round behind his glasses. “Wha—no, I—”

“I wouldn’t mind you using me.” 

He seems to falter for a moment. His thick brows draw together in stages, from disbelief to confusion and back again. “Angel,” he says, “I couldn’t do that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because, it’s—it would be—” 

“Or maybe we could try someone else. Someone bad, like a corrupt politician or one of those people who siphons money away from charities.” 

“No.” 

“Then we’re back to me.” You smile at him, one part teasing and two parts genuine. “James, I want to. I don’t like seeing you like this, and I really don’t think I’d mind it.” 

James looks like he’s still having trouble processing. “You don’t think you’d mind?” 

“I don’t,” you repeat patiently. “I’m sort of curious, actually. It could be fun.” 

He looks, to your surprise, like he might actually be considering it. He’s gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know if it’d be fun, angel.” 

“That’s okay,” you promise him. “I want to do it for you. You’re hungry, yeah?” You try to make your voice serene and persuasive, your hand coasting up and down his arm. “Let me help.” 

James looks you in your eyes. You hold his gaze. After a while, the fight seems to go out of him. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says. 

“Oh, baby.” You kiss him on his cheek, your heart bulging. “You won’t. It’ll be fine. How do you want me? Hair up?” 

He shakes his head. “It’s good the way it is. I think, um, it might be easier if you were in my lap.” 

“Okay.” You grin, lifting your thigh over his so you’re straddling him. His hands settle on your hips. “Are you romancing me? Is this part of it?” 

James lifts the corners of his mouth, but you can see the trepidation lingering beneath his smile. You do your best to soothe it away with your hands on his shoulders. 

“I want to be gentle with you,” he says.

“I bet you say that to all your victims.” 

“Sweetheart…”

“Sorry, sorry.” You’re nervous. You kiss his nose in apology. 

“If I hurt you—if you don’t like it for any reason, I want you to squeeze my shoulder. Okay?” 

“Okay.” You nod, trying to look certain. “Does it usually hurt?”

“I don’t think so,” James admits. “With animals, they don’t usually…move much after I’ve bitten them. I’m not sure if it stuns them or what.” 

“I’ll report back,” you say seriously. You glance down at the couch cushions. “Will it be messy? Should we go to the bathroom or something?” 

“No, I’m—I’ve gotten better at it. We should be fine here.” 

You smile at him, your pride genuine. “Sounds good.” 

James is starting to look worried again, so you kiss him. On the lips, as sweet as you can muster, and imagine all your love pouring through it. Then, you pull your hair to one side and bear your neck. 

His pupils splay out.

“Remember to squeeze my shoulder.” He sounds hoarse. One of his hands slips up your back to steady you beneath your shoulder blades. 

“I will,” you vow. 

James looks dazed, almost reverent. He wets his lips, and when he opens his mouth you see his tongue skim over pointed teeth. Some prey animal’s instinct sends a shiver of fear through you. Your blood hums with anticipation. But just before James’ teeth skim your neck, he pauses. 

“Jamie.” It’s soft, a murmur, a plea. “It’s okay. Do whatever you want with me.” 

He makes a quiet sound, like a sigh or a whine, and closes the gap. 

At first, it’s only like he’s kissing you. He’s exceedingly sweet about it, lips opening warmly over your skin, his tongue pressing over your artery as though testing the waters. He splays his palm wide over your back in silent warning before his teeth sink into you. 

There’s a sting, but you were ready for it. You keep yourself from wincing, from doing anything that would make James move away, and after a second the pain dulls. Everything does, except for the extraordinary feel of James’ mouth on you. 

“Oh.” Your mouth opens of its own accord, head lolling further to the side to give him better access. You want more, more of this, more of him. Your brain fuzzes and your heart pounds, every nerve in your body narrowing its focus to where James is sucking at your neck, lapping you up. 

You wind your arms around his neck, wanting to be closer to him, and his palm coasts up your back comfortingly. You feel molten, spectacularly, transcendently languid, like you could press your fingertips to his shoulders and they’d melt right in. You don’t, not wanting him to misinterpret it as your signal and stop, but after a while James’ arms are the only thing keeping you from tipping sideways onto the couch, and he stops anyway. 

He finishes with a few chaste kisses, and you think giddily that you weren’t too far off about the romancing. 

“Y’okay, lovie?” he mumbles into your skin. 

You hum in reply. 

James presses one more sweet kiss to your neck, almost a thank-you. He seals the wound with his tongue. A giggle bubbles out of you, one shoulder coming up to ward him off. 

“Sorry,” you say to James’ surprised look. Your head is starting to clear. “That part tickled.” 

His grin splits his face, one part tentative and two parts relieved. “Yeah? Are you really okay?” 

“Super okay,” you promise him. You can’t help grinning. “You were right, it didn’t hurt. That was nice.”

James’ expression eases, some mix of relief and interest in his gaze. “Was it actually?” 

“Mhm. I would be your blood donor any time, really.” 

James scoffs, but he’s clearly elated. He strokes from your hip to your ribs with a big hand, trailing tender kisses up to your cheek. You’re thrilled to see how much more energy he already has. 

“I don’t know about that,” he says in between kisses. “I’d still rather not make you my victim if I can help it.” 

“I didn’t feel like a victim, if that helps.” Your words go mushy as he reaches your lips, but you keep talking, wanting to make your point. “I just mean, I wouldn’t mind doing it again. Maybe when you’re lacking in other options.” 

“Mm, maybe. What was it like?” 

“Like a really good kiss.” 

James backs up from you to give you a dubious look. “Better than the ones I give you normally?” 

You grin. “Maybe a little.” 

His eyebrows shoot up and his mouth drops open, curving on one side. “Oh, yeah? Bold claims.” 

“I don’t know if you can compete with whatever vampire magic that was, Jamie.”

“My kisses are very magical. It seems like I may have to remind you how good they really are, though.” 

You shrug coyly. “If you think you can top that, you’re welcome to try. I mean, you’re really only competing with your—”

James is on you before you can finish.

[inkdrinkerworld]

Talk Too Much

Pairing: Remus Lupin x loud but shy!reader

Cw: college!au, fluff, kind of friends to lovers, obliviousness by Remus for a while, drinking (mentioned), smoking (cigarettes), I think that’s it

Wc: 2.2k

You’re a loudmouth. Through and through. Of all your friends, you honestly think you and James would be the ones to never shut up or run out of words.

That is until Remus transfers into the school and infiltrates your friend group and suddenly you find the words can run out.

It’s not on purpose.

It seems to take you over purely by coincidence- the way your throat gets dry and your tongue seems too heavy to form the words you want to get out when Remus seems to be paying attention to only you. His gaze isn’t unwelcome- that’s the entire problem.

You like the feeling of being what he looks at, but it feels too good, too natural.

His honey eyes that are just lightly flecked with green, and his sharp jawline that’s adorned with silvery scar tissue that somehow makes him even more handsome.

He’s also always got a cigarette to fiddle with.

You’ve only seen him smoke twice, and had been mesmerised by the way his cheeks hollow and how he blows the smoke out and it seems to curl around him like it’s unable to obey his exhales in the opposite direction.

He reminds you in a way of Charlie Dalton and Stephen Meeks.

Fctional characters who Remus seems to emulate in his confidence (from Charlie) and a sort of confidence that’s self-assured yet mild at the same time (a mix of the two) and that in itself makes you fall a little more for him.

It’s overwhelming- this attraction to him. It confuses you and has you tripping over words in your head, far less for if you voiced them and all that was heard were clunky excuses for sentences.

What makes your sudden bouts of silence obvious is the fact that your friends have caught onto you.

It’s not like it’s exceptionally hard to decipher either- you’re not really good at being subtle.

You suspect James and Sirius are taking bets on when it’ll all be too obvious for everyone to walk around it and you desperately hope that it takes months while simultaneously hoping it takes only weeks.

Remus notices the way your body freezes when you realise you’ve caught his attention in your storytelling. In his mind, it’s because you don’t like him.

The way you shrink down and suddenly go silent the moment his eyes set upon you, the way you remain quiet even though he sees the way the corners of your mouth twitch with something to say.

He thinks he’s put you off somehow, especially when the second he’s gone a little ways away to get a drink or get his lunch, you seem to perk right back up and dive into storytelling once more.

It bothers him so much he asks Sirius about it- a mistake in itself, because Sirius only pokes fun at his friend.

“If you can’t realise why she goes silent the moment you stare at her Lupin, I can’t help you.” Sirius walks off leaving Remus even more perplexed, moreso when he hears Sirius says, “How’s he so thick for someone doing so many higher classes?”

It bewilders Remus for weeks, your always sudden vows of silence and then your equally sudden broken vows.

You’re all at a house party when it comes to an almost end.

You’re dressed pretty like always, a skirt that hugs all the places Remus longs to touch and a top that shows a sliver of your stomach and Remus catches a glimpse of jewellery hanging in your navel.

Your ears have a pair of hanging bat earrings, and your necklace is your standard one- he’s sure he’s never seen you without it.

You’re smiling and laughing with Marlene and Mary as you walk in. Remus wants to figure out why you dislike him so, he desperately wants to change your sour opinion of him. He’s going to at least try to do so tonight, if you can stomach looking at him.

“C’mon losers,” James’ loud voice is unmistakable, “We’re playing seven minutes in heaven.”

Remus is only approaching when he hears your teasing,

“Are we taking a blast back to Year 9 Jamie?”

James nods, “Yeah we are, and would you look at that you and Lupin are up first.” You’re sure there’s an evil little grin on James’ face when you look up and find Remus standing there in his soft brown sweater and jeans.

You can smell a little of the cigarette he’d smoked before coming in, but mostly you smell his citrus, pepper and amber cologne.

It’s heady and you swear your brain gets a little drunk on it.

“Get going you two,” Sirius teases and you sigh standing.

Remus’ mind is reeling, wondering how he’s going to get back at Sirius and James and the rest of your friends that he knows are in on this too.

Out of ear shot of your friends as you both go to the nearest room, Remus says lowly, “You don’t have to come in. I’ll just tell them we talked.”

You look up at him, eyes wide and Remus takes your surprise as a moment to admire you up close. He counts three beauty marks near your right eye, another on your neck just under your chin, and one on your nose. He’s distracted by you for a good long while that he doesn’t register you’ve spoken till he sees you walk into the room and gesture for him to follow.

It’s tense, a silence neither of you are sure how to break.

You think Remus is the most gorgeous man to be placed on the Earth, and Remus thinks you find him repulsive.

You watch Remus climb onto the bed, his long legs crossed at the ankles as his back presses against the headboard.

His casualness makes him look even more attractive and while you’re aware that you’re staring at him, you can’t make yourself stop.

‘Now or never,’ he thinks to himself before asking, “Have I offended you somehow?”

There it is, laid open and bare. The question hangs in the air, like the most tantalising yet foreign fruit you’ve ever seen.

“No?” It comes out like a question. One Remus takes as a chance to explain.

“It’s just that you’re always talking or telling a story with the others, and as soon as I’m near earshot you go silent and you can’t meet my eyes. So I’ve been thinking that maybe I’ve offended you, and I just wanted to say sorry for if I did- directly or indirectly.”

Remus’ attractiveness has been upped by a thousand- you’re sure all the love deities are having a laugh at your hopelessness.

You can’t meet his eyes now, even as you sit on the bed, so close to him that your biceps brush each other’s. “You haven’t offended me.”

Your voice is much softer than he’s ever heard it. Remus thinks this must be the softest you’ve ever spoken in your whole life.

“I haven’t?” he asks and you shake your head. Hazarding a glance at him, you find Remus leaning his shoulder down, his chin tucked as his eyes roam your frame.

“N-no,” your stutter gives you away slowly. “You’re just different from the others.” It’s not a clearer explanation, but the gears are turning in Remus’ head all the same and you can tell.

“Different how?” Remus doesn’t want to assume anything and that’s what causes the gears to come to a screeching halt.

You sigh, fiddling with the hem of your skirt. Remus has never seen you this unsure. Everything you do is with confidence and ease, like you were just made to walk, talk and move the way that you do. Like it was as easy as breathing.

Maybe it’s the way you take your time to consider your words, or the way you fiddle with your clothes or even the way your breathing changes as he leans just a bit closer that makes Remus smile a little.

“Will you look at me for a second, darling gwerthfawr?” The softness of his tone and the way his accent changes to something a little more melodic makes you more jelly-like than you usually are in his presence.

“Hm?” you hum and Remus smirks. Silvery slithers of scar tissue moving with his mouth and making him look wicked in a way that has you falling a little more in love with him.

“Why don’t you like looking or speaking to me?”

Remus doesn’t let you turn away, doesn’t let you tuck your cheek to your shoulder as you deliberate what you want to say. No, instead, the menace holds your chin and stares at you, holding your gaze and making your brain cloud even more as his cologne and attention wash over you.

“I like looking at you,” you admit shyly, the confession coming from your lips with hesitation. Like Remus will be repulsed by the fact that you like looking at him. “But you make me nervous.”

The words are suspended in the quiet of the room. All there is the muffled sounds of the party going on in the living room, and then yours and Remus’ breathing.

“I make you nervous?”

Sirius and James burst through the door, wide smiles that turn into shocked smirks at your positions.

“Well love birds, sorry but your seven minutes are up.” Remus staggers in letting your chin go, but when his fingers slacken, you leave the room, belly in knots in the almost wordy confession.

“So, how’d that go?” James asks him as you bend the corner- he’s sure that Lily and the other girls will be doing the same with you.

Remus flops on the bed, “Nothing that concerns you two gits.” His mind is racing with possibilities of finishing this conversation.

Sirius boos, “After all that planning to get you two in here and snogging each other’s faces off, that’s the thanks we get?” Walking out with James who’s shaking his head.

-

“But you make me nervous,” repeats in his head for days. He’s not dense by a mile, but Remus has a hard time figuring out what about him makes you nervous.

Sure he’s tall and a little serious, but he’s not as intimidating as he’d first thought Sirius was. Remus doesn’t want to turn to his friends, sure they’d tease him endlessly for being ‘thick,’ and then more than likely tell you and that would just make you even more nervous to look or speak to him at the very least.

What Remus does do, is consult the best person he knows that will give him impartial advice; books.

There’s always a book for any occasion, so he delves deep. Behavioural analysis books, books on people with social anxiety (which he doesn’t think you have because it’s just him that gets the selective mutism) and even at the end of it, he turns to romance novels. Something must stand out.

It comes to a head when Remus comes to the library when you’re busy typing away at your essay. You feel the presence, the warmth of his pepper and amber cologne as he pulls the seat out beside you.

Remus doesn’t say a word as he sits down. Instead, he pulls out his laptop and begins typing at the same essay prompt you’re working on.

You’re hyper aware of everything he’s doing- every breath, every sigh, every harsh backspace and enter.

Remus doesn’t seem to be half as affected as you are and it has you whispering, “What are you doing here, Remus?”

He hums, tapping his forefinger near the touchpad. He finishes his sentence and then turns to you. “Working on that essay due tomorrow.”

You frown, lips pulled downwards as you think of your next words. “You know what I mean, why are you sitting beside me?”

Remus sighs, head hanging off the back of the chair. “I want you to not be nervous around me anymore. I also want to know why I make you nervous.”

You swallow, mouth suddenly dry.

Remus turns to look at you and the amber lighting of the library makes his skin look sunkissed and supple. His honey and sage eyes blink owlishly at you, no sign of rushing you along for an answer.

That was something you had learnt while silently watching Remus. He’s always actually listening- not just listening to respond.

“Because,” you start, eyes darting all over his face in search of any insecurity in it. “You always seem so hyper focused on what it is I’m going to say next and it flusters me.”

Remus’ face morphs into a smile, his lazy expression from before melting away as his eyes warm to your embarrassed whisper.

“So it’s not dislike?” He asks, hands itching to tip your chin up like he had the other night.

“Are you going to make me say it out loud?”

“Poor girl,” he feels much more confident now. Now that he knows for sure that you don’t hate him and that you might actually like him as much as he likes you, he can be a little more flirty.

His hand reaches for your wrist, thumb running back and forth around your pulse.

You scowl, more than a little bashful to have exposed your feelings to Remus. He doesn’t mind.

No, Remus feels over the moon. Enough so that his hand moves from your wrist and his forefinger hooks under your chin so you’re making eye contact again.

“I like you too. Just as much,” it’s his turn for a whispered confession and you hope to all hell that he can’t feel the thundering of your pulse. “Maybe more.”

You feel your body buzz under his attention. Remus leans in closer, “Let me take you out after this? We can go somewhere quiet and have a proper ‘first’ conversation.”

[pastlivesxpastlie]

✧・┈・╴you turn up in the reveries of my mind‧ ₊˚・

summary: your roommate, Vessel, lets his lust and curiosity get the better of him after weeks of wet dreams about a certain someone...you

vessel x fem!reader, roommate!AU, friends to lovers, smut (are we surprised) wet dreams, masturbation (m + f), sex toys, mentions of somno and dub con, subby!vessel, softdom!reader, scent kink?, vessel is WHINY, p in v, light choking (m receiving), light biting (m + f receiving), dirty talk, teasing, begging, cunnilingus

a/n: at one point this was a drabble. then it evolved into this big boy whom i love very much. thank you everyone who reads and interacts. ୨♡୧

MDNI

✧・┈・╴

Ten. That’s how many mornings Vessel awoke with his hand already palming his cock as if his life depended on it…and how many mornings he awoke from a wet dream about his roommate. You. You’re always so kind and punctual with rent. And you’re a good cook. You’re clean. Quiet. Funny. Beautiful. Single. But when did you become desirable…tempting…fuckable? He couldn’t wrap his head around that part, quite frankly, he was too far gone to question it. Was it something you said? Maybe. Something you did that he just happened to notice? Could be. Or did the dreams come first? Either way, he knew that waking up just to imagine being with you felt good.

Oh to sneak into your bedroom after these dreams and have you take care of his “problem.” To slip under the covers and press against your warm, sleepy body…to kiss your shoulders and neck. At first, he thought about the thrill of surprising you. The way your eyes would focus after waking…asking what he’s doing and why he never said anything before only to shut you up with a wet kiss. But soon that fantasy evolved into something much more satisfying for Vessel. Instead of shock, you’d greet him with comfort and soft touches…like you were expecting him. He’d whisper “good morning, pretty” as you immediately embrace him. Maybe you were already naked for him. Or maybe there were no words between you…just his hand between your legs as you gently take his cock out of his underwear. Just the idea that you’d be willing and ready for him first thing in the morning…that he’d be lucky enough to be on your mind like that. And that’s the thought that finishes him this morning.

A bit later, he’s already put his decadent morning routine out of his head. Nothing a shower and scrolling can’t fix. That is until he sees you. Do you have to look like angel even when you’re doing something mundane like loading the dishwasher? Also, weren’t you supposed to be out of the house today? Things become worse when he’s a few paces from you and he realizes you smell divine. Like sugared flowers…candy…sex, honestly.

“You ok, bud?” You laugh with an eyebrow cocked. “I said ‘hi.’”

Vessel’s eyes flutter as he comes back to the present. He shakes his head and coughs a little “Your perfume…”

“Oh! Oh my god,” you cover your mouth. “it’s too much isn’t it? Its a bit much! I should change my clothes or…”

“NO!” 

He didn’t mean to yell. He just…god…please don’t deny him that scent. He puts his fingers to his temples, shaking his head. “Sorry, sorry, no I don’t what came over me. No it’s…” he walks towards you and clears his throat. “It’s really…really nice.” He has to look away. “It suits you.”

You look down and smile, a blush forming over your cheeks. Recently you two were warming up to each other more. Joking more. Spending more free time together. But you haven’t noticed his lingering stares…mostly because you look away quickly before he notices your own lingering stare. 

…

A bit later, you’ve left to run errands. Ves is still reeling from your encounter. It wasn’t overly flirty…not even sexual in nature…at least it would appear that way to an outsider. But to him it was erotic. The way you blushed when he mentioned your perfume and complimented it. The way your confidence seemed to perk up after…god. What else could he do to make you act like that? And what else were you capable of? What could you do to him? And while he’s letting those fantasies unfold, he finds himself in the doorway of your bedroom. Shit. He shouldn’t do this. He should not be walking in, taking deep lingering breaths to inhale the scent of the room. Your candles. Your perfume. You. Just you. Fuck! His inner monologue is weakly begging him to stop rubbing his face in your pillows. To stop grabbing your blankets and taking in the smell of your body and what he assumes is your body wash and, of course, that fucking perfume. Oh he’s frantic. Actually feral. He gets up quickly and approaches dresser. There’s no perfume bottles on the top so maybe they’re in a drawer? Before he even knows what he’s doing he opens the top drawer and starts riffling around. He feels something solid..aha..there it…isn’t. He pulls the object out of the drawer and…oh. 

If the perfume made him feral…this drove him to the brink of insanity. He held up the sex toy and felt every ounce of blood in his body flow downwards. God he wanted to touch it all over. To run his finger gently over the rabbit part that teases your clit…to stroke the part that thrusts against your g-spot. He wants to watch you use it. He wants not be allowed to touch himself while you fuck yourself in front of him. He wants to clean it with his tongue when you’re finished and and and *DING DING*

You: hey, almost done over here. Sure you don’t need anything?

He nearly jumps out of his skin when you text him and yank him back into reality. 

Ves: all good :) thanks 

He throws the toy back into the drawer and breathes heavily. He looks at your bed and notices how messy he left it. He quickly smooths out the blankets and pillows to make it look less disturbed. God he hopes you don’t pay too much attention to how your duvet looks or the divots in your pillows. He rushes to his room and plops on his own bed. God, he hates himself. Why did he do that? Why was he snooping? Why was he imagining such crazy things? He’s on the verge off tears when he considers “what would I have done if she caught me…actually saw me?” The spiral leads him to think that maybe he should start finding ways to kick you out…or ways to keep him out of the house. Fuck fuck fuck fuck “FUUUUUUCK!”

…

The evening is fine, but Vessel keeps to himself more than usual. He’s also nicer than usual. He gets you another slice of pizza. Obsessively asks if the volume of the tv is ok…if you have enough of the throw pillows to be comfy…do you want more water…dr pepper…a snack?

“Ves…I’m. Fine.” You say with a dry, exasperated laugh. “Are you ok?”

GOD he wants to be good. He wants to be decent and pleasant but he also needs to know how you taste and what your eyes look like the first time he thrusts into you.

“I’m great, hun. Really.”

He shifts uncomfortably. You don’t believe him. You take a chance and gently poke his thigh with your foot. He jumps a little, and you snicker but that’s it. That’s the interaction. You both feel the tension. Something is different. You figure he’s dealing with something he doesn’t want to share. He figures you want nothing to do with him beyond being his roommate. That’s what he tells himself. Begs himself to believe it.

After you both go to sleep, Vessel finds himself in a fitful dream where you caught him in your bedroom. You chide him. Scream at him. Start beating him with the dildo (this is how he knows it’s a dream). He jolts awake and, damnit, he’s hard. He can’t bring himself to take care of the issue but he also can’t stop thinking about you. About coming clean. It’s late but he can’t stop himself from coming to your room. He whispers your name, and you make a small sleepy noise.

“Mmm. Yeah?”

He’s already standing by your bed and trying to get a grip. “I…I had a bad dream.”

You chuckle a little at the innocence of his answer. “Are you kidding?”

“No…no I’m not.” His face burns. What is he doing? He feels stupid being back in here…in the middle of the night…taking in your scent again. “We got in a bad fight.”

“Well, thank goodness it was just a nightmare…right?”

He doesn’t answer your question, he just poses his own. “Your perfume…what’s it called?”

You look up at him in the darkness and can barely make out his features, but you can tell he’s breathing a little hard. 

“It’s nothing special.”

“Perhaps to you…”

“Ves, what’s wrong?”

Vessel’s brain feels like it’s on fire. He should just jack off and get some sleep but he’s in here being a creep. “I just…I’m in a weird place.” God he’ll take anything right now. Any crumb.

And you pick up on that. You pull back the covers, and he wordlessly slips in. You roll over…ready to try and initiate some kind of less-than-friendly cuddling…but he had already started dozing. Sighs. Boys.

…

Vessel wakes up from the best sleep of his life. Seriously. He groans softly and rubs his face against the pillow and slowly opens his eyes…surprisingly he isn’t shocked to see he’s not in his bed. He remembered how soft and heavy his body felt right when he laid beside you. As much has he wanted to touch you…kiss you…he couldn’t fight his body’s desire to rest for once. He rolls over and realizes you’re waking up, too. You stretch and make a content noise. God…you look so sweet right now. He realizes he didn’t have his reoccurring wet dream but the urge is still there. 

You nuzzle into your pillow a bit and groan. “I’m coooooold,” you whine playfully.

He laughs softly at your little voice but doesn’t immediately offer to warm you up. How awkward would that be? After all the strange things he did yesterday it would be his undoing if he offered to hold you…to be sweet and kind…and then you back away because he’s poked and prodded you. But those thoughts don’t last long because you’re already up against him. Already hugging him close. Letting your hips press against his…becoming painfully aware that he wants this just as bad as you do. His breath becomes ragged as he bites his lip.

You want to ask him if had wanted to kiss you last night…if he had been in your room (because you absolutely noticed your dildo was out of place in the drawer)…if he felt the same. But words feel exhausting right now. Why not just see what happens when you let your hand glide up and down torso mindlessly?

He groans softly and lets his head fall back a little. Your eyes trail up to the spot on his neck you find yourself looking at often. When you were alone you often thought how nice a hickey would look right there…you have to take the chance. As your soft, wet lips kiss and nip at his neck, he holds you tight. Like you were supposed to do that. Like you belong in his arms. You suck gently at his neck and coo softly when you see the spot redden. He pulls your hair gently so you’re looking up at him. His lips are on yours instantly and so are his hands. Those wide..spidery hands. He touches you gently like you might break….like he can’t believe it.

And he can’t. He cannot believe his luck…that being a little creep has gotten him this far. Your tongue brushes his in a way that makes him whimper. You bite his bottom lip and let your hand trail down his stomach.

“I need you,” you whisper.

“Then have me.”

You don’t need telling twice. You trail kisses down his neck and chest, stopping for longer, nibbling kisses when you hear him moan or his breath catch. You’re getting closer and closer to his crotch when he stops you. He pulls you up and gives you a sweet kiss as he slips off his sweats…no underwear. Fuck. He’s ready for you. Rock hard and dripping. At first you thought you were going too fast for him…but you see now that he just wants to feel you. To fuck you. 

He watches you undress, enraptured. You’re already pushing him onto his back softly and kissing his neck when his fingers find your slit. You moan softly, losing yourself in the feeling of your friend touching you like this. 

“That’s a pretty sound, baby…” he whispers as you little bite his jaw. “Mm. You’re a biter, too?” He punctuates his question with a quick nip your shoulder. You yelp and giggle. “Bet you’d like it if I marked you up. You wear that pretty perfume for me all the time and you’ll have to fight me off like a feral animal.”

You straddle his hips and lean down to kiss him, his hands kneading your tits. “Hm. I think you’re just a scrappy puppy…no feral animal. Aren’t ya?” He groans at your teasing but secretly he loves it. He buries his face in your neck and breathes you in with a moan. Oh…oh thank god. There’s still the faint scent of perfume in your hair and on your skin. He groans softly and wraps his arms around you. You’re trapped. 

“Rub your cock on it…” you whisper 

“Wha….what?” He groans out. Vessel has gone completely pathetic. The feeling of you laying on him with your neck in his face feels like the dreamiest way to suffocate. He wants to rub his face on you like a drunk slobbery puppy. You asking him to rub his already throbbing cock on your pussy doesn’t feel like a reward, it feels like torture. “Please,” his broken little mind pleads, “one stimuli at a time.”

But he obeys and rubs the head of his cock against your slit. You arch your back and moan as it hits your clit…fuck he’s a big boy.  And you can tell he likes it too. Maybe too much. 

“Look at how you’re blushing, baby. What’s wrong, hm?” You whisper teasingly. 

“I…mmm” Vessel whines. He’s given up rubbing his cock on you and lets it rest against your entrance. “It’s too much.”

“Ooh too much? We haven’t even started,” you hold his jaw so he’ll look at you. “Don’t you want me?” You pout playfully. Who knew he’d be so easy to tease?

He whines and tries to push your hips down on his cock. His eyes are glazed over and his throat bobs roughly as he silently pleads for anything from you. “…I saw your toy…”

A smirk forms across your lips as rub your thumb against his pouty lips. “I know you did. You did a very bad job at hiding that you snooped.”

His face darkens even more and he looks away, embarrassed and vulnerable. You giggle and pepper his face with tiny baby kisses. He holds you close again and hides his face, groaning, “I’m such an idiot.”

“Did you imagine me using it?”

He nods shyly. 

“Did it feel good to think about it? Hm? Come on…”

He tries to buck his hips upward and into you. “Please…” 

“So needy…” you tease. He helps you lower onto his cock and adjust to his girth. “Oh my god…fuuuck Ves.” 

He grabs your hips as his breathing becomes ragged. “Please. Don’t. Move. Yet”

“Why, Ves? Too good?”

“Yes oh my god….fuck.”

“Does it make you wanna cum? Hm? Are you that desperate?”

“Ffffuck. Fuck. Just for you. It’s always just been…for you.”

“Then lay there and be my toy.”

You lean up a little with your hand on his chest. Your hips rock back and forth as you adjust yourself to rub your clit against him. He doesn’t seem to mind that you’re just grinding against him instead of fucking yourself with his cock. No…he looks like he’s found heaven. He’s still holding on to you but he looks like he could be moved…manipulated…how ever you wanted. 

“Pretty girl…oh my god…fuck. FUCK” he grips your hips and tries to move you faster but you swat him away. “Mm…please. Please use me…please touch me…please I’ve been so good. So good. I…fuck…I’ve wanted to sneak in here so bad…watch you play with yourself…or…mm…wait for you to come out of the shower. Please.”

You stop to look down at him. You’re in control right now but that doesn’t mean you aren’t teetering over the edge. You’re gagging for it. You want to bounce and moan and “please daddy daddy daddy” on it but you’ve got him in a very very fun position. “‘Being good’ would have been coming to play with me. Silly boy. You’ve been having fun touching yourself without me.”

He whines like a dumb puppy “nooo that’s not…babe…” You chuckle and press your hand to his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs again as he whines with his teeth clenched…is he about to cry? “Quit being a cock tease! Fuck!” 

You squeeze a little on his throat, which elicits the sluttiest noise you’ve heard from any man you’ve fucked. “Listen to you. Bratty and eager. You gonna cum for me? Once I get started again you won’t be able to hold it…no…no you won’t.” You flash him a devilish grin and start bouncing on top of him. Your hand has moved to his collarbone but he quickly pulls you down by your wrist. His face is smothered in your chest, but you’re losing your balance and ability to ride him bent over like this. He holds your ass down and starts fucking up into your pussy kind of like your favorite little thrusting toy…but this one whimpers and pouts and whispers little desperate words of praise as he cums inside you. 

“I need to see you cum.” He says pushing you off of him. “Please. Let me help you. Please baby…” he pins you down on your back in a breathless, messy kiss. You spread your legs and start to rub your clit. He pulls away, wiping your combined spit off his mouth and lets his jaw fall when he sees the mess he’s made of you. “I wanna help…please…please…”

You’re already close but when he starts tonguing your slit where his cum seeps out of you, you’re done for. Even after you stop rubbing your clit he still licks and sucks at you…like he has to….

And he does. What if this was a one time thing? What if this was just for fun? What if you actually don’t care beyond this morning? Vessel wants to soak all of your cum and spit and scent up and lock himself away so he can’t forget it. He can’t share it. When he finally gets his fill, he looks down at you softly. And you smile back up at him. As if you hadn’t just been absolute little whores together…you enjoyed yourself…you enjoyed him. 

He slumps beside you and yawns. “You know I like you, yeah?” 

You laugh and roll your eyes. “Oh is that what that meant?”

He flicks your arm and lays on top of you, trapping you in a big hug. “You know what I mean. I want this. I want you. Everything. All of it.” 

You stroke his back and breathe him in…thinking about how fun it would be to just cut the bullshit…just be together. And you do.

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - V

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters warnings: nsfw, blood, biting, violence, divider by animatedglittergraphics

5.  fight the good fight

When you wake again you are bouncing, bent in half slung over a man’s shoulder; the vampire hunter’s. You can tell from the intoxicating scent of his cologne, his sweat, his blood–him. It’s like catnip to you, and for a moment you just want to go back to sleep, and let him take you wherever he’s taking you. 

That’s a very bad idea, of course, and good on you for recognizing it through the haze of bloodloss and whatever other hold he has over you. You still do not understand what he is, or why he has such power over you. 

From what little you can see, it seems like you’re in a dark alley. There are sirens in the distance–the aftermath of the massacre in the club, you presume. He has got you far away. How long have you been out?

You struggle again, managing to worm free and get down, before the vampire hunter pins you against the wall of the building. “Stop that, you’ll hurt yourself,” he grouses, annoyed. He seems in much better shape than before, having stolen your blood. You, on the other hand, feel so weak you can barely stand. 

“Let go. Please let me go.” 

You must sound so pathetic that even this brutal killer softens for you. His grip changes slightly, holding you up against the wall by your waist. You have no delusions, however, that that can change in an instant. Yet…he’s looking at you with those sad dark eyes, like a man drowning. Even with the splatter of blood across his face and the crust of it dried in his long dark hair–he’s so handsome it hurts, and your fingers clench in his jacket, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, vampling. I saved you.” 

“You…ate me!” 

There is a tick at the corner of his well-formed mouth, betraying his amusement. 

“I took too much. Here, have some back.” He unbuttons his shirt further at the throat to display the strong column of his neck. Your vision zeroes on his jumping pulse like a laser sight, and you notice that intoxicating scent engulfing you again. It’s warm spices and your favorite flowers and pure man–it’s so good that you want to mold yourself to him and never let go. 

It’s a good trick, for a vampire hunter, and at least you are conscious enough to know now that it is a trick. 

“Stop that,” you scold, squeezing your eyes shut as you try to fight it.  

“I can’t help it,” he answers, his voice gone low in a way that shuts down your brain and skips straight your loins. He leans closer, his forehead nearly touching yours, engulfing you with the pure size of him and his hair swinging down to brush your face–he also smells like blood, which does not help you at all. “It’s…you. It’s us.”

“No,” you answer, mostly because you're afraid of someone having that kind of control over you, again. 

“It’s…rare,” he admits. “Who are you?”

“No one,” you insist. “I’m just a girl…who’s really good at being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” And really good at keeping a soft spot for the wrong man. You cannot stop yourself from thinking about John in that moment, and how just one night with him flung you into this strange and terrible supernatural world. Would you change it, if you could? Will there ever come a time, when the thought of him does not feel like talons digging your heart out of your chest? 

“Hmm. Maybe.” He lifts his hand to his throat, and you watch as his fingernails lengthen to sharp points, perfect for breaking his own skin in one neat, bloody line. “Here, milaya. My apology to you.” 

That ruby welling of his life’s essence smells marvelous, and you want to seal your mouth on it more than you’ve wanted anything in a good long while. Somehow, you manage to shake your head, even if minutely. “No, you’ll…enthrall me again or something. I don’t trust you.” 

He sighs. 

“I admit that I want you,” he acknowledges reluctantly. “But you need blood.”

“Yes. Let me go, and I’ll go get some. Again.” It annoys you in that moment that the efforts of your hunt all went to this man’s benefit. Dhampiro, don Juan had called him. Dhampir, you translate to English. Not human, by his own admission. 

Obviously.

He smirks a little down at you. “I saw you feed earlier. Why did you pick him?”

“He killed his wife.” 

“Ah. You like to play jury and executioner.”

“I didn’t kill him.” 

“You’ve killed others though. You’re sloppy about it too.” 

“Am not.” 

He laughs at you, a short, amused, huff, which is as good as an ‘are so’.

“What do you care?” 

“The High Table might start to care, if you make a big enough spectacle of yourself. Naughty little vampires get a visit from the Boogeyman, you know. You aren’t supposed to draw attention. There are rules.” 

“I don’t…know what any of that means,” you’re loathe to admit. 

There’s so much John Constantine could have chosen to fill you in on. Maybe he thought you’d figure it out on your own. Or maybe…he has as much trouble thinking straight around you, as you do him. If he felt a fraction of what you did, when this man before you took you–it’s no wonder you scared John off. Surrendering to that would not be easy for a man like John Constantine. 

“I’d say you need a coven to teach you, but considering what I’m going to do to the locals here…you’d better stick with me.”

“You’re…going to kill them all?” you ask, more intrigued than horrified by the thought. 

“Yes.” There is zero doubt in this man that he can do it, too. After what you saw…you guess you agree with him. Constantine is dangerous, but he could never wreak the sort of massacre this man unleashed in the club. 

And here you are, in his grasp. Well done. 

“Why?”

“Don Juan’s scheming to overthrow the High Table. They don’t like that.” 

“Wait, wait.” A hunger pang washes through you, and you grip his jacket a little harder, your knees weak. The blood dripping down his beautiful throat smells so good, but you realize this might be your chance to finally get some answers. “Who the fuck are the High Table?” 

“How do you not know that?”

“Why does everyone always ask me that instead of just fucking telling me the answer?” you snipe, practically vibrating with frustration. 

“You really have been so alone this whole time?” he asks, his dark eyes inexplicably softening for you. He looks down at you, cupping the side of your face with a paw of a hand, stroking your cheek with his thumb. Maybe it just feels good to be handled like you are something precious, rather than like a farm animal. Or maybe…you are losing your mind, but you have to close your eyes again, shielding yourself from the weight of that blackhole gaze.

“Yes.” You’re not proud of the way your voice cracks as you utter that one word. You hate it, that you think of John, and how he said he’d help you, but mostly he just disappeared on you. You know he has his own life, and his own problems…but he practically abandoned you, all while living right next door. 

It was a good trick, truth be told.  

“That’s a hard way to live. I would know.” His thumb is still stroking your cheek, and it feels so good, and you know this is madness. It has to be a trick. Everything is a fucking trick, with these guys. And yet…it’s as though you can feel this man’s loneliness, the weight of his solitude pressing down upon you, every time you look into his eyes. 

Maybe it’s because he kills everyone, you remind yourself, marveling at your unflagging ability to empathize with the most unavailable men you can find. 

“The High Table?” you prompt again through gritted teeth, trying not to give in to the urge to pull him close, to hide in the bend of his neck, to lose yourself in the heady taste of him and forget everything else. 

“They rule the Underworld. You. Me. Everything that goes bump in the night answers to Them.” He tells you this without condescension, and you could kiss him for that alone. 

“Demons too?”

“No, they’re Hell’s problem. Usually.”

“Then…the High Table are vampires?”

“Vampires. Weres. Sirens. Fey.” He tilts his head in thought. “I’m sure I’m missing something.”   

You nod, trying to digest this information while you are so starved you can hardly think. He’s named more things you didn’t even know existed, but you shouldn’t be surprised at this point. But then…if demons are Hell’s purview, what system of belief do the rest of them answer to? The magnitude of this question makes your head spin. Finding out that the Christian God was real was wild enough for you. What about the rest? 

“Wait…does this mean…all the Gods are real?”

Your leap of logic to the biggest existential question known to man seems to amuse him, the corner of his mouth curling for you. “Malyshka,” he scolds you softly. “You really want to discuss this here? Come on.”

He seems to think he’s taking you somewhere, but you resist again, bracing against the wall.   

“I’d rather…go home, if it’s the same to you.” you admit, winning yourself a tired sigh.

“I can’t…let you do that yet.” 

“Why not?”  

Again, he strokes your face with that big hand, and you feel as though he’s looking into your very soul. 

“You remind me of someone I once knew,” he admits. “A long time ago.”

Someone he lost, you infer from the longing that is woven into those words. Why does that make your heart ache for him?

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “But whoever she was…I’m not her.”

“No,” he agrees, but he tilts his head to examine you, like you are an amoeba under a microscope.  

“But the universe moves in circles, and something is happening here.” He inhales, and you see a flash of that eerie electric blue in his irises again. “I have to know what it is.”

Whatever you meant to say in answer is swallowed up by his mouth lowering to yours, a kiss that is somehow demanding and languorously slow. He claims your lips for his own, holding you to him as his tongue slides into your mouth, teasing you like you’ve done this a thousand times before. Maybe you don’t need to breathe, but he leaves you breathless all the same, overwhelmed by that pheromone scent and his hands on you, one paw at the back of your head guiding your mouth to his neck. He tastes like a miracle, strong and heady and so delicious as you drink him down mouthful by mouthful. His blood is so potent you feel your strength begin to return just from the first swallow, and the rest is pure high. 

You start to see some things, about this man whose blood is in your mouth. You see flashes of a forbidding dark forest, and fighting, so much fighting. A quaint little cottage in the woods, so humble, so warm. There is a woman whose touch feels like sunshine. ‘Yelena,’ he calls her. And with her hands in his hair and a smile on her lips she calls him…

“Jardani?”

 He jerks back to look at you with haunted eyes, pinning you to the wall with his big hand spanning your chest. Drunk on the want of him, you whine like a thwarted kitten, trying to return to the bloody font of his throat. He searches your face as though desperate for the answer to some crucial riddle written upon your features. “How…?” But does not give you the chance to answer, his mouth crashing over yours again with a new ardor, gripping you so hard that even you will have bruises. 

You cannot think. 

There is only the taste of him, intoxicating and wonderful and you cannot stop yourself from pulling at his clothes, holding him to you. You want to climb him, devour him, be inside him, as surely as his lightning-charged blood is raging through you. 

“Fuck,” you hiss when at last you manage to pull away, not for breath but just a break from this madness. What the fuck is he doing to you?

“Yeah?” he asks, seemingly with all seriousness, hoisting you against the wall with hands on your thighs like you weigh nothing at all. Your legs wrap around his waist out of instinct; he pins you with his hips, his manhood rock hard against your center. He grinds against you, his lips on your neck again, teasing open the wound he left earlier, and you can’t help but moan, soaking wet and aching to be filled. In that moment you don’t care that you’re in a dirty alley with a man you don’t even know. You know the heart of him, and right now you would swear unequivocally that he belonged to you. 

“Wow. You High Table assholes sure know how to treat a lady.”

The sound of that familiar voice makes you freeze, some small modicum of sanity returning to you. 

Your would-be lover is less civil, snarling at the newcomer in the alley. “Not a good time, Constantine.” 

“No time like the present, Wick. Put her down.”

With his attention fixed somewhere else, some modicum of clearer thought returns to you. Your first stop is pure mortification. 

There is John, standing tall with his legs spread in his usual black and white suit, and to his shoulder he is holding a large, golden…cross gun? Like he totally intends to use it if he has to. 

The sight of him makes your heart ache with longing. No tricks. No magic. You just…adore him, even while wrapped up in another man’s arms, and you realize you are as hopeless as you are smitten. That connection between you glows again. You feel it in your chest, and it helps clear the lustful ardor that a moment ago gripped you so completely.

Dhampir magic is some scary shit.

The vampire hunter–Jardani?–Wick?–looks at you as though you’ve said something out loud. His eyes narrow; he doesn’t seem to like it one bit. He does put you down, but holds you in front of him like a shield, his big hand at your throat. 

“Never thought the John Constantine would turn vampire’s familiar. Who knew?” taunts the dhampir behind you. 

“What?”

 Both men ignore your question, fixed on each other in this standoff. 

“Call it what you want,” Constantine answers stonily. “I’m the one holding the gun. Let her go.” 

“I don’t want to.”

“I see that. Nice, you always gotta use your Blood Lure to get laid?” 

“Hardly. Your little vampling here is a special girl.” 

“Yeah. But she doesn’t belong to you, Wick, so let her go.” 

“You love her?” 

Wide eyed, you can’t stop yourself from fixating on John at that question, gone grave-still in Wick’s unrelenting grasp. 

In answer, John mostly just grinds his teeth, his lower jaw jutting. “It’s complicated,” he finally admits, and though that’s never a good answer from a man, your treacherous undead heart still skips a beat.  

“I think she deserves better than it’s complicated.”

“Not from you, half breed. Let her go.” 

You feel Wick tense behind you, and you remember the absolute whirlwind of carnage he caused in the club a few blocks away, that supernatural berzerker rage that mowed down vampire after vampire. John is formidable, but you can’t help but think no one can stand up to that and live. “Please,” you say, appealing to the wall of a man behind you. “Please, just let us go.”

Wick growls deep in his chest–a chilling, primal sound that resonates through you, your every hair standing on end. 

His grip upon you flexes, as though his physical being abhors the very idea of it. You’re not really afraid for yourself now. You’re afraid for John, and unbidden you start to cry those bloody tears. “I love him,” you say in the most hushed whisper you can muster, and the moment it leaves your lips you know it’s true, and maybe it has been true since the night you made that grouchy man dinner, and he made you feel like you mattered to someone in this big mean city. “Please don’t hurt him.”

Somehow, this is the thing that seems to call this dangerous man down. For a moment his grip around your waist tightens; he inhales your scent deeply, his nose behind your ear sending a warm thrill down your spine. He speaks low, though you think John can probably hear him anyway. “He doesn’t look good, vampling. I won’t have to wait long for you.” 

Suddenly, he’s just gone. Disappeared into the shadows, as though he is made of night. 

Unsupported, you stumble, and fall right on your butt. 

John looks around warily with the strange gun at the ready, sweeping the alley like he can’t believe the dhampir had actually retreated. Slowly he crosses to you, impossibly tall from your vantage of the ground. He seemingly reluctantly offers you a hand. “You ok?” 

“No,” you answer truthfully, taking his hand, the warm strength of his grip a welcome boon. When he pulls you to your feet you want more than anything to just be in his arms. 

But all he offers you is a hard stare, and a brusque, “Come on,” as he pulls you towards the other end of the alley. 

It’s complicated, he’d said.  

Why does that have to feel right then like he hates your guts?

You’re getting tired of crying for this man. You remind yourself of this as the ball of despair rises in your throat and your eyes sting like mace. 

Did he hear you? If he heard your heartfelt confession to the dhampir, even if it saved his life…he did not like it at all. 

[thegnomelord]

17 with Phillip Graves I'm begging🙏

also I just found out about your account and your writing is so good what??? in love w your work

You have no idea how long I've wanted to do something with Graves but couldn't figure out what lol :D Play the game HERE.

Prompt: Oral as punishment.

CW: NSFW, sub Phillip Graves, GN reader but you get referred to as 'doll' but as far as I'm aware it's gn sooo, oral, feminization, semi-public sex, humiliation, cross dressing, mentions of masochism/pain play.

Phillip Graves is a fucking brat.

For weeks now he's been trying to rile you up, sitting next to you whenever you go to eat in the mess hall so his hand can safely wander beneath the table. He's all confident when he does this, laughing along with the other shadows like nothing's wrong, feigning worry when your breathing grows stuttered and heat ravages your skin as if the bastard's not unashamedly groping your crotch.

The little shit knows you won't react in public; he knows what he's doing.

And you know what he wants�� the little masochist loves the humiliation of being brought over your knees like a boy as much as he craves the sting of your palm on his ass, the sharp bite of your belt leaving welts on his thighs, the lingering nibble of pain from healing bruises decorating his pale skin like paint flicked by a deranged artist —each lick of pain left by your hands is like a drop of a drug he's addicted to, each session leaving him needing more.

You know you've been indulging him for too long when pulling him into his office has victory sparkling in his eyes, goosebumps spreading across his skin like he's already expecting a slap to the face.

You don't reward him with what he wants. "You're a real menace." You growl, closing the door but leaving it unlocked. "Acting up like a little brat."

"Ah don't know what yer talking about Doll," Graves says smoothly, his eyes lingering on the door. "Just bein' my charming self." He notices you don't lock it, that self-preserving part of his mind catching on faster than he does; you're up to something.

"Sure you are." You grip him by the hair, your lips only an inch apart. "My baby girl just wants to be punished, right?" Tugging on his hair just enough to tease him with what he wants you quickly pull your head away when he attempts to kiss you, shoving a small bag into his hands. "Put this on." You suddenly say.

Graves blinks rapidly, heart stuttering at your words, and he's both worried and aroused by the look in your eyes; like an old trickster god. He looks down and reaches into the nondescript bag, careful as if you've stuffed a bear trap inside it, confusion flaring in his eyes when he feels soft fabric and softer lace.

"You've got to be kidding me-" He snaps sharply, almost insulted, ears and cheeks as pretty pink as the gstring and skirt he now holds in his hand. "-I don't- doll, I can't- I-"

"You can and you will." You cut off his sputtering, yanking on his hair to shut him up. "You wanted to be a brat, I'm treating you like one." Your eyes narrow, pointedly ignoring how your harsh voice has a shiver running down his spine. "Now quit bitching and put that on. Right here."

Graves opens his mouth to argue with a retort burning like hot coals on his tongue, but the self-preservation portion of his mind kicks in from one glance into your eyes and before he knows it he's dropping his pants, embarrassment flooding his chest at how his cock bobs to stand at attention.

"Slut." You huff when you notice he's gone commando again, "I wonder how much the others would like to know their commander's such a whore."

He bites his tongue to silence himself and to stop himself from whining as he slips the panties on, the soft dainty lace trapping his cock, the light pink color darkening the fading bruises on his legs. The skirt comes next, so short it doesn't cover anything, and Phill resists rubbing his thighs together when he sees his cock poke out beneath the skirt's frilly fabric.

"Look at you, pretty girl," You chuckle, reaching down to fondle his cock like he'd done to you, the mix of your rough grip mixed with the silky soft fabric of the panties forcing a moan out of his throat. "Ready to stop being a brat and be a good girl?"

"Yes, please-" Graves quivers, clutching your shoulders and moaning while you continue to grope him, only stopping when there's a prominent damp spot at his tip and swiftly taking your hand away. "Fuck, doll."

You ignore his whining, moving him to sit in his chair, using his jeans as an impromptu cushion for your knees as you get beneath his desk. "Now, you've still got work to do." Your words has dread bubbling in his chest and his cock twitching when you pull his chair close to his desk, throwing his naked legs over your shoulders so he can't roll away. "You're finishing your work, oh, and you don't get to cum."

"Fuck-" Graves sucks in a sharp breath as your lips tickle his tip through the panties, "An' if I do?" He can't help himself, needs to rile you up even as a blush crawls down his neck.

He feels you grin against his tip, nearly jumping out of his chair when you roughly grip his balls, the tight string of the panties pushing down the middle of them to make them more grabbable. "Then this little clit is getting stuck in a cage until I decide to forgive you." You chuckle, slowly and leisurely licking him from base to tip, adding your spit to the liquid soaking the fabric. "Now get back to work."

He roughly brushes a hand through his hair, tugging on the strands to get his focus back before his bleary eyes settle on the laptop. He tries to type a report, but he keeps missing letters because it's fucking hard; you're consistent in your inconsistency, switching up the way you pleasure him with your mouth each time he's beginning to get used to it— lapping at his shaft like a dog one second, lewdly sucking on the tip the next, breaking off periodically to bite his fading bruises or tease his hole.

And all the while you keep his cock trapped in the panties, the constant strain of wet fabric adding to the building pleasure in his gut. Your hands keep him still when he attempts to wiggle or squirm, leaving fingerprint bruises to reward him for staying still as you suckle on his length and pulling moans from his chest.

He forgets the door is unlocked, moaning and groaning and squirming at how your spit cools, sending shivers up his spine. His groin is wet with your spit, from the tip of his cock down to his hole, his muscles spasming beneath your fingers as his body tries to buck into your mouth.

He's breathing like a racehorse and barely able to finish one report out of a few hundred when there comes a sharp knock on the door, followed by "Commander Graves?"

Fear and arousal floods his veins, his eyes quickly falling to you, large like dinner plates as he remembers; "Doll-"

"What are you waiting for?" You ask, teasing and smug like he'd been the entire week. "Go on pretty girl, call them in." There's no room for argument in your tone, and Graves gulps, his thighs tensing around your head and clenching his teeth.

"Come in!" He says and thinks-hopes- his voice doesn't sound as shaky to the as it does to him. He keeps his focus on the laptop, whole body tense and ears straining to hear his door open and close, mentally following the shadow's movements. "Report." He says.

You choose this time to lightly nibble on his tip, but he manages to clamp his mouth shut and the shadow doesn't notice anything. They prattle on about several things that could have been sent as an email and all the while Graves is stiff as a board trying not to squirm, trying not to show how your hot mouth on his cock is affecting him.

"Are you alright sir?" The shadow asks, bringing attention how flushed he looks. Graves briefly catches your smug gaze as you purposely open your mouth to rest his leaking tip on your tongue, the panties wet with your spit and his precum.

"Peachy," He grinds out, fingers balled into fists in an attempt to keep from squirming when your thumb presses against his hole without penetrating, trying to make him break. "Dismissed." He says sharply.

"But sir-"

"I said dismissed." He growls, hopes and prays his voice doesn't crack, ears burning and refusing to look at the shadow because he's so close, his balls and cock twitching in your hands.

The shadow hesitates, almost leaning closer and Graves nearly flinches, beath catching in his throat; the shadow would only need to take a half-step to see the pink skirt and panties, and just the knowledge of that, of his shadows knowing how much of a whore he is, has more precum leaking from his tip.

"Yes sir," The shadow says and salutes before leaving. The door closes with a resounding 'click' bringing with it heaven and hell.

Graves slumps back into his chair as if he'd run a marathon, his breath of relief broken by a moan when you dig your nails into a bruise on his thighs. "Good girl," Your smooth praise has liquid pleasure flowing in his veins, your nails digging deeper into his bruises feeding his addiction for pain and building a second need for more humiliation. "Did so well for me."

"Doll, please, I need-" He whines, head falling back against the backrest of his chair and a pitiful sound escaping his chest when you pull your lips from his cock. "-please just let me cum, need to cum."

"Oh no, you're not done yet," You're like a devil between his legs, grinning up to him. "You've still got a few hours of work left."

"You're evil," He breathes out, but he's hopeless to submit, leaning in to reach his laptop, groaning when your lips return to his leaking tip, his belly tight with heat that he's desperate to hold off. "Alright, yes, sure-"

"Good girl." You press on his bruises and suck on his tip again, and maybe you'll let him cum in a few hours...

[hey-august]

Dadbod Buggy is so good and my personal hc (because how on earth would he pull off a sixpack? I’m not even calling him weak or unfit I just really feel a pirate that’s a tad more on the lazy side and has an affinity for food and drinks would at least not have a SIXPACK I don’t CARE what canon says) so please imagine with me:

Dadbod Buggy wearing something like a a girdle or other shapewear to keep his outline a tad smoother. He feels he looks more respectable with it and it also helps him get back into place correctly after using his powers and HES NOT SELF CONCIOUS ABOUT YET ANOTHER THING ABOUT HIMSELF SHUT UP!!

Imagine him getting someone into bed and being nervous because for all his showboating and boisterous behavior he didn’t think about what to do when the clothes would finally have to come OFF. Tries to dim the lights and hope he can maybe suck it in for long enough but of course his bedfellow notices and… are just completly smitten? Swooning even? It’s not a turn off at all? What- OH OKAY SLOW DOWN SLOW DOWN THERES ENOUGH OF HIM TO LAST THE WHOLE NIGHT GEESH!! Bedmate is in heaven. Actual pirate heaven, where god has blessed them with a man with long hair and thick lashes and even thicker tights, paired with a belly that has just the right amount of jiggle when you ride him like a rodeobull.

Also now got blessed with the mental image of Buggy’s stomach resting slightly on someone’s ass while he fumbles with his belt so he can take of his pants and rail them from behind. hmmmmm fat men ❤️

ANON. ANON HOW COULD YOU. Let me tell you how I needed DAYS to recover from reading this. The way I had to put my phone down while reading this the first time. KICKING MY LEGS AND GIGGLING each time I re-read it!! so blessed 😩🫠❤️❤️❤️

BIG YES to dadbod buggy. To chubby squishy clown man. To rolls I want to smother in butter.

He absolutely would try to hide his insecurities wear functionable accessories. The leather belt corset-looking thing he wears in OPLA seems like the exact thing he’d wear to keep shape. This also works with his whole flashy outfit. Anything to distract from…whatever. Let’s not talk about it. It’s not a big deal.

Until it is a big deal and he has to be vulnerable. Ew. Awful. But you’re right, this is not a turn off. Buggy’s not sure how things turned out the way they did, but the absolute mind-blowing enthusiasm from his partner seems way too sincere and real. They can’t keep their hands (and mouth) off of him. 

He didn't expect all the attention - hands running everywhere on his body, squeezing his thighs, groping his ass and trying to get the biggest handfuls of that sweet sweet plumpness, kisses squished into every soft mound - but his partner is loving it. They’re absolutely feral.

They’re begging to suck him off and be smothered between his legs. For real. Seriously. Buggy better wrap his legs around their head. Push them so far down that their face is pressed against his stomach. They want to feel him everywhere. How dare Buggy try and deny them this pleasure????

Buggy still feels unsure the next day. The horniness is gone and so is the attraction, right? NOPE. TIME FOR SQUISHY CUDDLES. BIG BEAR HUGS. The attraction is NOT GONE. They want to rest their head on his stomach. Not his chest, not his shoulder, but his goddamn stomach. It’s the best pillow and they drift off into twilight so fast.

The hugs. Buggy didn’t get it at first...he still doesn’t, actually, but he’ll put up with it. It makes his heart pitter patter when they come up and wrap their arms around him from behind, squeezing into his rotund tum until he grunts and groans from how tight the hug his. Sometimes they sneak a handful and a jiggle of his tits pecs. His pecs.

Finally, slowly, he starts to accept this about himself a little more. It started with wearing pants and no shirt around his partner, despite his stomach hanging over the waistband. Any time Buggy was unsure about how he looked, his partner would be so supportive. They’d hear him out and give Buggy whatever he needed, which was usually a mountain of compliments that quickly turned into flirting and dirty raunchy sex.

Now listen. Imagine with me...convincing Buggs to have a little beach day. No swimming, obviously. But to hang out under the palm trees and soak in the sun. And this motherfucker shows up like a hotshot. Blue hair in a ponytail. Sunglasses. And he’s in shorts. They show so much of his goddamn thighs. You're looking so respectfully. How could you not?? He’s also wearing an unbuttoned shirt. And holy shit, the way it flutters in the breeze. You can see the chest hair on his beautiful pecs and dusting down his tummy. That gorgeous squishy body.

Fucking beach day.

[muzanswaifu]

A Step Ahead - IV

Part I | Part II | Part III

Yandere! Tomioka x Fem! Reader

18+

Previous Choice: "Apologize for running away from him in the woods"

This is the fourth round of the game. Census has determined that you shall apologize to the man for running away from him earlier. Danger. Danger. Danger. Tread carefully.

Warnings: Yandere, Slow Burn, Awkward Interactions, Smut later on

-

-

-

“Uhhh- about earlier…,” you began, “s-sorry about… running away from you… back in the forest. I was scared you were… some creep. No offense-”

You swallowed nervously as he made an actual expression for the first time, and not a good one. His feline eyes narrowed, mouth thinning. He gave a small hum of acknowledgement, a negative mood excluding off of him. Was… he actually mad about it?

A deeper uneasiness befell you, a dark thrill running up your spine. You cowered a bit from such worry, already beginning to retreat yet again and stepping back slowly.

“Where are you going?”

His voice shocked you from its sudden interruption, your ears unprepared to hear him utter any words that were above a whisper.

“Oh,” you gave, “I-I was just… going for a walk around here, so… byeeeee-”

Shuffling to the side, you tried to maneuver around him, but his eyes followed you like that of an old painting. Even as you started walking he pursued you, keeping by your side as you continued your stroll. The air was thick enough to cut with a knife and just moving was a challenge as every bone in your body begged you to fawn.

You both wandered down together on the old, pebbled road, an awkwardness eternally damning you as the man had about as much charm as an ornament. Pretty on the outside but only meant for decoration and not function. But you were nervous. And when you were nervous… you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, unfortunately.

“Sooooo, that’s some interesting outfit…” You were referencing his black uniform and haori, the ladder a strange and not very flattering pattern. “Is it for work?”

You heard him lick his lips for a moment before answering.

“Yes.” No explanation whatsoever.

“... What do you do?”

“Hunt.” Again, no context. He wasn’t very good at this.

“You hunt… what?” People? The mood? Your time?

“Demons.”

You laughed at this, assuming his ridiculous answer had to be a joke. Or moreover, you were hoping it was a joke. But after you’d resumed silence and observed his reaction, that of pure indifference, you soon realized he wasn’t. He was absolutely serious.

You stupidly continued, “Like… like predatory animals… right?” He couldn’t possibly mean actual monsters. That would mean he was not only horrible to talk to, but also insane. He gave a sigh and nodded.

“Fine,” he said, as if it were a compromise. Like you were negotiating his prey. At this point you were just going to let it be. It’s not like you were dying to continue talking about it.

You resumed your silence, realizing it was probably for the best. He didn’t seem much for talking. He didn’t seem much for anything. It was getting pretty late, the sky pitch black and empty, all the stars gone and hiding. You wish you could hide away too.

“What’s wrong with your family?”

You were taken aback by the question, not expecting him to have remembered your initial statements to him. “J-just some stuff with my mom,” you hesitantly replied, “We don’t exactly get along.”

“Why?”

“...She doesn’t like me very much.”

“Why?”

He sounded like a broken record. Or a child who couldn’t stop asking questions. Suddenly you wished you could go back to silence.

“We just never bonded, I suppose. It was a tough pregnancy for her.” You offered up that ladder piece of information in hopes that he wouldn’t pester you for any further evidence. At least you hoped it did.

“... I see,” he mumbled, looking off again. He seemed very distant, you realized, like his mind was somewhere else. Like he was planning something. And perhaps it was rubbing off on you as you finally noticed that you were several yards into the woods, far more off path than you would have liked to be.

“Uhhh, s-sorry, town is more… this way,” you pointed out, backing toward said direction. The look in his eye made your blood run cold.

“Come.”

He commanded it, almost like you were a dog waiting for an order. He sounded far too pressuring for your taste.

You questioned, “Where?” but he gave no response, only looking on at you, as if daring you to take one more step from his direction. You felt the deja vu of his sight fill your mind as you remembered your fear in the woods. He looked horrifying in the dark. You only blinked once, and he was already right in front of you, his large hand wrapping around your forearm and guiding you back toward the thick of the woods. “Come.” he told again, although it was pretty useless as he’d already had you quite literally in his hands. You felt frozen, unsure of what to do in such a scenario. On one hand, you didn’t want to go rushing home to get in trouble, but on the other, you didn’t want to follow this guy into the forest either. If you go home, you know for a fact there was punishment waiting, but what did he have in store? Fun? An escape? A break? Or did he have something more sinister? Just because he was attractive didn’t mean he couldn’t be a danger too. What if he wanted to hurt you? Or worse?

[heyclickadee]

Saw another “why would Tech even be interested in Phee” take out in the wild, so here’s a partial list of Phee’s many attractive qualities, because the double standard of every other character vs Phee is exhausting:

(Quick disclaimer—this isn’t me saying anyone has to like the ship. You don’t. It’s fine. Don’t ship things you don’t want to ship. Dislike the way it’s been written in the show if you want. Ship these two with other people or with no one if you want. I don’t care. This is just me being tired of people being weird about Phee):

1. She’s smart. She can improv her way through dealing with death traps and she’s got an area (areas) of expertise that Tech knows relatively little about. That makes her interesting. Also hot.

2. She’s gorgeous. Look at her. She’s ridiculously pretty.

3. She’s a great storyteller. Yeah, she changes her stories every time, but that’s at least part of why Tech is paying attention, because he notices that.

4. She’s a stone cold badass. And she’s a FUN stone cold badass. Disarmingly charming stone cold badass.

5. She’s a remarkably good person. She steals artifacts so that refugees can hang on to a bit of their culture in diaspora. This seems to be what pushes Tech from, “Oh, she’s interesting,” to, “OH. SHE’S BRILLIANT AND I MIGHT BE IN LOVE.”

6. She’s not nice, but she is kind, and that’s honestly a quality that she and Tech share. Phee isn’t soft, she’s not going to talk in therapy speak, she’ll push a little hard sometimes, but gosh darnit if she isn’t the person who would always stop to help someone with a flat tire (or respond to finding out some friends are broke, jobless, and on the run by immediately taking them back to her secret refuge so they can rest and recoup).

7. She’s incredibly direct and unafraid to speak her mind and…okay. This is going to get long. And I know some people will disagree with this, and that’s fine because everyone is different, and wants different things. But. Speaking personally from my point of view. The fact that Phee gives as good as she gets would be a really reassuring quality to have in a partner. I see a lot of myself reflected in Tech, but one of the many, many ways in which we’re very different is that I’m a consummate people pleaser, and Tech is very much not. At all. I don’t think he has a people-pleasing bone in his body.

But, here’s the thing—about half of my people pleasing comes from being terrified that I’ll say or do something that inadvertently hurts someone, and that person won’t just tell me or give me the chance to explain or make things right. And for how that relates to dating, I had people—friends and family—keep trying to set me up with incredibly shy men through most of my early twenties, no matter how many times I objected, because they had this perception that I was soft, wishy-washy, and needed to be treated with kid gloves. And…no. I’m opinionated as hell. I’m relatively confident about certain things. I just shut down my ability to project any of that because I was terrified of running roughshod over people without meaning to. But when I’m around someone who I know is willing to disagree with me, who I know will explain why, and who I know will push back if I take something too far? About 90% percent of my people pleasing and social anxiety evaporates. I know I don’t have to walk on eggshells around them—and that they aren’t going to walk on eggshells around me, either. They’re going to be direct about their issues and treat me like a freaking adult.

And, honestly, the fact that Phee doesn’t walk on eggshells around Tech (who also gives as good as he gets—Tech isn’t soft, nice, or shy and retiring; he’s confident as hell and he should be, because hot damn)—is. I don’t know. I like that she’s direct, and that she will recognize and pull back if she’s gone too far. This is projecting a bit, but, speaking personally, I would rather be with someone who treats me like an adult and tells me what’s up even if it’s uncomfortable than someone who never, ever tells me when they’re upset because they’re afraid of hurting my feelings and just lets me stew in social confusion all the time.

8. She can more than hold her own in a fight and she carries a sword around. That’s hot, I’m sorry.

9. Phee’s fantastic with Omega. She talks to her like she’s a person, she doesn’t ever shut Omega down, she’ll tell her stories, she’ll joke around with her, and she’s generally very respectful while also not holding her to the same standard she would if Omega were an adult. She’s even a little protective of Omega, even though Omega isn’t at all her responsibility. I think the moment that took Phee from ‘cool’ to ‘fantastic’ for me was towards the end of ‘Entombed’ while the Deadly Giraffe of Death was collapsing; Phee’s right there trying to shield Omega alongside Hunter. And. Like. Omega is Tech’s baby sister, he’s probably going to notice that how Phee treats her. Massive points in her favor for this.

[deityoftherain]

fighting my battles - Majorwood Fanfic

Rating: Teen

Relationship: M/M

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Status: Completed Oneshot

Word Count: 1,849

Summary: Martyn and Scott are on the same football/soccer team, along with Joel, a man who has decided he despised Scott for some reason. After going a bit too far, Martyn throws the first punch and they get into a fight. The fic follows Martyn and Scott shortly after the fight was broken up. Scott tends to Martyn, though they both flirt and tease until both of their spirits are lifted once more.

I wrote this for @kaihuntrr via the low budget gift exchange on the Rainers server! Also, happy birthdayyyyy!

Full fanfic underneath the cut! Please reblog, leave kudos on the AO3 fic slash notes/likes here on Tumblr, comment either place, and etc if you enjoy the story :D

“That was really stupid,” Scott murmured, his voice sharp but not unkind. They were both dripping with sweat as the summer sun shined down on them. Using a spare towel, Scott attempted to dry the droplets that formed on his brow without irritating his slightly swollen face.

“I don’t know what he expected,” Martyn huffed, glaring at Joel from the other side of the football field– soccer, for the non-Brits. “Mocking you, insulting you so openly like that, trying to disgrace your name and skill… Honestly, he had it coming.”

Most of their teammates had gone home after practice finished, but a few had lagged behind. Martyn wasn’t sure who was still left, but there was, at minimum, one other person was still here. They were fussing over the black eye Martyn’s right hook had given Joel, but Martyn didn’t pay attention enough to notice who. They had the team uniform on, so Martyn would likely recognize them if he gave it a second thought. He didn’t, however, giving his boyfriend his attention instead. “I appreciate that you care enough to stand up for me, Martyn, but I can fight my own battles. Play my own game.” Scott dabbed the hastily thrown together ice pack against Martyn’s inflamed cheek. “I’m a good player in my own right. Joel’s taunts don’t change that. A few words of ill-will aren’t enough to break my spirit.” “Well, yeah, but, it's more than–” Martyn started to protest, but he promptly clamped his jaw shut when Scott pressed a finger to his lips.

“No need to argue. Drink.” Scott let his finger drop and, in exchange, lifted Martyn’s water bottle up for him to grab. Once he took the bottle and opened the top, Scott continued speaking, “I know Joel acts all confident and full of himself, but he’s really just insecure– and petty, which says something coming from me. I’m not afraid to be a little petty, but Joel can and has taken it to the extreme. He’s just taking it out on me like an immature child, for some reason or another.” Martyn snorted at the comment, finding the “immature child” part fairly accurate. He didn’t say anything though, tossing his head back and gulping down a good portion of the liquid in the water bottle like it was nothing. 

Scott frowned, gaze wandering over to their teammate with a vague sense of hurt and longing. “He’s been like that for as long as I can remember… which is about as long as he’s decided that he hates me, or that I’m some sort of threat to his image. There’s no use bothering yourself about the why when it comes to stuff like this, because there isn’t always a why. He’s just… I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. It’s okay.”

Martyn wrinkled his nose at that explanation. Really? What did Scott take him for? Of course he was going to worry! Scott was his boyfriend, and Joel was an ass when it came to him. Scott was nothing but friendly and a team player. He got along with everyone– everyone but Joel, that is– so Martyn couldn’t figure out what was possibly going on in Joel’s head. Joel hadn’t seemed like that bad of a guy when Martyn got to know him, but his attitude towards Scott tainted a lot of his good qualities. At least, they did in Martyn’s eyes.

The three of them were all on the same football team, so it would be in Joel’s best interest to work with Scott instead of against him. Unfortunately, that wasn’t how it often played out. Their team had lost several goals because Joel refused to pass to Scott (even if he was objectively the best choice at the moment) if he thought there was another option. 

Every time they would do practice scrimmage, Joel made sure he was on the opposite team from Scott. Martyn couldn’t deny the fact that Joel was a very passionate man, but Martyn just wished he put that passion into the sport itself and, maybe, actually, y’know, help them win without foolishly instigating in-fighting. Scott had expressed multiple times that he would be more than willing to let their “rivalry” be a thing of the past, but Joel just refused to let go for whatever reason. It infuriated Martyn and the rest of the team greatly, but Joel was too good of a player to rationalize kicking him off the team.

After a moment of silence, Martyn inquired, “Why does he hate you? Do you have any idea about what it could be?”

“It’s anyone’s guess. He won’t tell me.” Scott shrugged as if it were no big deal, but his tone was exasperated. He shot a glance toward Joel, his face contorting unpleasantly. He forced his facial muscles to relax as he turned his attention back to Martyn. “I don’t think he knows why he has it out against me– at least, anymore. I probably offended him when we were little, and he’s held the grudge so long that everything I do is cause for war.”

“Well, I will fight loyally by your side, milord.” Martyn lowered his voice an octave just to add some extra dramatics and flair to his words. He put a balled fist against his chest before dipping his head in a shallow bow. “If that scum doesn’t lay off, he will become well familiar with the taste of my fist, I assure you.”

Scott’s pout morphed into a wary chuckle, and Martyn beamed at him in return. His side mission of lifting Scott’s spirits after all the horrible jabs Joel had directed at Scott were succeeding!  

With a sly smirk creeping onto his features, Scott replied, “I thought Ren was ‘milord’.”

Martyn buffered for a moment as his boyfriend mentioned his best friend. Ren and Martyn both had a love of theater and D&D, and, long story short, they often spoke to each other as if they were a king and his knight. If one were to ask Martyn about this moment later, he would claim he recovered quickly, though who's to say he did? “I can have two! There is no law saying otherwise.”

“Oh, can you now?” Scott mused, raising an eyebrow. “Does that make Ren and I husbands?”

Martyn gasped in faux horror, clutching his imaginary pearls. “What kind of eighty episode season soap-opera drama am I in? Has my boyfriend and my best friend been getting handsy behind my back? This whole time? Without me? If you two wanted to do a three-way, you could have just asked!”

“Oh my void, Martyn!” Scott squeaked, cheeks flushing a dusty red against his fair complexion. The red on his cheeks only grew more vibrant as Scott burst into a chorus of giggles. “No, I am not having an affair with Ren. I promise.” “Okay, maybe so, but, consider this: if you were going to, you would let me watch, yeah? You would, wouldn’t you?” Martyn quipped, leaning into the bit. He personally found it amusing, and he happened to enjoy making others laugh at his intentional foolishness. “It’s the least you two can do, surely. A way to make it up to me for the affair. I deserve some entertainment!”

Scott whacked him over the head, intentionally not actually causing him any harm. Scott’s hand kicked up Matyn’s blonde locks, making his hair a little messy, but Martyn didn’t mind. He was already a sweaty mess after their recent football practice, and he planned to shower once he got back home anyway.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Scott tended to the mess he was partly responsible for, brushing the hair that escaped Martyn’s headband out of his face, “or I may just have to leave you for Ren after all.”

“Well, polyamory does exist, and so does being friends with benefits,” Martyn kept up the bit, purposely playing it up to make sure Scott and potentially others knew he was just being silly. “I mean, have you seen Ren? Like, damn, that man is fine. If we weren’t exclusive, I would have ‘friends to lovers’ our relationship a long time ago.”

“If you seriously mean that, we have some things to discuss,” Scott murmured, though it was clear that conversation would be shelved for later. 

“A’course,” Martyn concurred, taking Scott’s hand in his and raising it to his lips. “It’s always good to check in with one another.”

“Friends to lovers,” Scott repeated the story trope like it had just now registered in his brain, tone displaying a hint of baffled amusement. “Void, Martyn, you’re impossible. I can’t believe some of the things that come out of your mouth sometimes.”

“I don’t either,” Martyn placed his hands on Scott’s hips to help pull Scott onto his lap, “yet you still love me!”

“That I do,” Scott agreed softly, resting his arms on Martyn’s shoulders and wrapping his legs around Martyn’s waist. His knees were grass-stained, and his hair and clothes were mildly damp from the sun and exercise, but Martyn still thought he was the most gorgeous being to walk the earth. 

No other words were spoken between them as they closed the gap, sealing it with a kiss. The kisses started off gentle, but they quickly grew deeper until they were so deep all of Martyn’s other senses turned off. The world around them faded into the background, and the only thing that seemed to matter was Scott. It was like Martyn became hypersensitive to Scott’s touch, each little movement sending shock waves of pleasure down his spine.

They both gasped for air when they broke, chests heaving with the effort. Scott fell forward into him, forehead resting against Martyn’s shoulder. “Kissing you is more exhausting than football practice. You literally steal the air out of my lungs.” Martyn mounted his hands on Scott’s back, giving himself enough leverage to pull Scott’s body closer to him. “I don’t know if I should be offended or not.”

“You should be very offended,” Scott teased lightheartedly, though his words were muffled in Martyn’s jersey. “Or, perhaps, you should be honored. You know, for making out with the husband of King Ren himself.” “Oh, you cheeky motherfucker!” Martyn exclaimed in reaction to Scott bringing back his joke. He entangled his fingers in Scott’s dyed blue hair, securing a strong grasp on the locks. Once satisfied with his grip, Martyn pulled Scott’s head back so they were face to face once more before abandoning his hold.

“Perhaps,” Scott fluttered his eyelashes innocently, knowing exactly what he was doing, “yet you still love me.”

“Fortunately for you,” Martyn jabbed his finger toward Scott’s chest, “I do, you lucky bastard.”

“The luckiest,” Scott agreed, taking Martyn’s hand and raising it up to cup his cheek. He leaned into it, letting his eyelids flutter close with a content expression on his face. “I love you, Martyn.”

Martyn softened at those words, the playful nature being replaced with genuinity. He rubbed his thumb against Scott’s cheek. “I love you too, Scott.”

[a-french-coconut]

Travis x Will

As Head Counsellor and main healer, Will has more shifts than his siblings in the infirmary.

As the oldest, he also gets the worst ones.

First shift, always pointless because Will is sure he is the only one awake from four to seven in the morning. That's when he does his "Rapunzel routine".

He sweeps the floor, makes sure no sheet is stained with blood, fills the medical cabinets, rolls meticulously every bandage, sterilises his surgical instruments, reads the campers' files until he knows them by heart. It's mechanical by now, almost as boring as he did nothing and stayed in his bed.

Next one is lunch shift, from 11 am to 2 pm. The most arduous one as his fellow demigods are more careless with the prospect of a delicious meal at noon and more slow during the digestion. The lunch hour is a brief moment of peace, one Will uses to eat his sandwiches.

His final shift is the last one before night shift begins. Going from 7 pm to 10 pm, it makes him miss dinner and he can savours once again his sandwiches.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

That's Will's routine at Camp Half-Blood, has been for over a year and will be until he either dies or leave Camp.

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

His alarm rings.

He moves his arm until he finds it and slams it into silence.

His second alarm rings, this one too far on his nightstand to shut it down.

Groaning, eyes still puffy from sleep, Will sits on his bed and silence the noise before it wakes his other siblings.

He groggily makes his way to the bathroom, almost tripping on Kayla's bow laying discarded on the floor and stubbing his toe against Austin's saxophone.

After one year of waking up at 4 am, his body should really understand that he won't go back to a blissful sleep until 10 am.

Those times are gone, washed away with Micheal's body in the river, and therefore, so is his sleep schedule.

He robotically washes his teeth, makes no effort to tame his curls and takes a cold shower to shock his brain into action.

He slips on a pair of cargo shorts, a CHB tee-shirt and bright yellow flip flops and quietly leaves the Apollo Cabin.

As always, all he hears are the harpies patrolling over his head, watching him with their beady eyes.

Dimly, he notices a shadow in the Big House, making a lot of gestures and playing with something.

As long as he doesn't injure himself, it's not Will's problem to know who he is and what he is doing.

No, Will is just going to make his way to the infirmary and deny seeing anyone if something blows up.

When he passes in front of the window, the person hastily shuts off the lights and disappear from Will's vision.

He struggles to insert the key into the lock in the dark and he is forced to glow a little to see the hole. The reception's desk is empty and he passes it to enter the main room, the one with all the beds. He goes at the end of the room and lights on the coffee machine, the loud buzzing echoing in the silence.

"It's way too early to drink coffee." A voice chirps from behind him.

Will violently jumps and in panic, he throws his steamy, hot, cup of coffee at the unknown person.

"Ouch ! Dear Hermes, it burns !" The person gesticulates, hoping on one feet to another as if it would lesser the burn.

Will takes a bottle of water nearby the machine, opens it, and empties its content on-

"Travis ?" He whispers, bewildered, at his friend standing in front of him, now soaking wet.

"Hey Willy !" Travis cheerfully replies, "you have a nice way to greet your visitors."

"You have a nice way to announce yourself !" Will argues, "you almost gave me a heart attack."

"Eh," he shrugs, "nothing like a good jump scare to start the day !"

Travis opens a closet and takes a towel, processing to dry his hair.

"Why are you up ?" Will ask him, checking his watch, "it's 4:30 am."

"No reason," Travis smiles, his eyes glinting, "just thought I would keep you company."

"Riiiight," Will drawls, pouring himself another cup of coffee, "no prank ?"

"No prank."

He huffs, still not fully convinced of his friend's innocence.

It wouldn't be the first time Travis, or Connor, woke up at night to ruin a poor soul's day.

Travis plops down on a bed, rumpling the sheets, and he beckons Will to sit next to him.

"So, what do you usually do ?"

"Clean stuff." Will shrugs, "not much other thing to do."

"You spend three hours cleaning ?" Travis shivers, "why don't sleep instead ?"

"I can't, there's alway a chance a demigod needs urgent care and that's why I'm here."

He yawns and his stomach choses this moment to loudly rumble.

"Sorry," he feels his face go red, "I'm always hungry before breakfast."

"I figured you would need something to eat."

Travis gets up and pick up a box next to the coffee machine Will hadn't seen.

"Here," he gives it to him, "open it."

Inside the box, there's some kind of cake.

"How- how did you know I would be hungry ?"

"You never at dinner, and I know you would never steal a plate so I decided to make sure our beloved medic is well fed !" Travis grins, pulling out two plates from behind his back.

"Thanks Travis," Will eagerly, and messily, cuts the cake in half with his hands and shares it with his friend.

"It's panettone, from Italy," Travis says as they eat, "made this morning."

"You made this ? I didn't know you cooked." Will marvels, "It's very good."

"Remember Grace ? One of my older sisters ? She must be almost thirty if she isn't dead by now. She loved to cook, always sneaked in the kitchens to practice and I went with her." Travis smiles softly, "It reminds of her every time I cook."

"That's a nice memory to have of your older sister."

"Yeah," he snorts, "she used to curse so much in French, always went off when something was slightly over baked and gods forbid she burnt something !"

"I didn't know she spoke french." Will frowns.

it would have been nice to talk with her, practice his french. It always get a little rusty since he has nobody to speak with but nothing a holiday with his mother can't fix. He made a cross of Aphrodite's children when they all tried to talk about his love life.

"Her mother is French, but she didn't have accent, perks of being a daughter of Hermes."

"Nice."

Will had to practice a lot to get rid of his own accent, to smooth those "z" sounds.

"Yep, and she taught me before she left." Travis grins, finishing his slice of panettone.

"Really ?" Will perks up, "you're fluent ?"

"As a native speaker !" Travis says proudly, "Another perk of dad."

Finally, someone to talk with ! And his best friend nonetheless.

But he doesn't have to say it now, no. He can enjoy a few weeks of making Travis speak French and pretending not to understand.

His face when Will tells him will be worth the followings weeks of pranks.

"Say something to me in French." Will asks him, turning his body to be face to face with Travis, "Anything."

"Okay, lemme think."

Travis looks at him, his head tilted ever so slightly that some of his curls fall on his face.

"Tu es magnifique." Travis whispers, "absolument magnifique."

Will chokes.

"Will ?" Travis takes his face in his hands, "what's wrong ? Do I need to get you something ? Oh my gods, wait a minute, I'll get-"

"It's fine, it's fine !" Will stammers, "saliva went to the wrong tube, it's fine."

"You sure ? I can get you a glass of water if you need."

"I'm fine, thanks." Will smiles to reassure Travis.

That's when he realises his friend's face is very close to his and his hands are on his face.

You're magnificent, absolutely magnificent.

"Erm", Will flushes, "maybe you can get me a glass of water."

Travis nods and quickly goes to the coffee machine to grab one of the bottles.

Will uses those few seconds to compose himself.

Maybe Travis isn't a fluent as he thought, and he just wanted to tell Will he was good-looking.

Which is very nice thing to say one friend to another.

Will tells it to Drew all the time.

It's friendly, nothing more.

"Here you go." Travis puts the bottle in his hand before sitting next to him again.

"Thanks."

"So," Travis smirks after he drank, "did you understood what I said ?"

See, it's popular belief children of Apollo are incapable of lying.

Will doesn't know who started the rumour but it helped him a lot.

Accused of something he may or may not have done ? Smile and deny.

"Nah," he shakes his head, "not a word."

He wonders if he asks Travis to translate his words, he would truthfully.

Does he even want him to tell the truth ?

"Eh," his friend shrugs, "it was nothing important. But I'm definitely going to spurt random french sentences around you now," he cackles, "it's going to be fun to see you trying to decipher them."

"Yeah," Will grins, "really fun."

"Tu as un très beau sourire." Travis says, "Catch any words ?"

You have a beautiful smile.

"No," Will answers shakily, "not one word."

"This is too much fun !" Travis snickers, "I'm going to bug you all day long."

"You better not whisper french in my ears when I'm healing people," Will warns his friend, "It's going to distract me."

"Nonsense, you're not going to understand it anyway."

Travis picks up their two plates and throw the plastic bottle in a trash nearby.

"Gotta wake up my siblings, but I'll see you at your lunch shift !" Travis cheerfully bids him goodbye.

Will checks his watch and it indicates 6:30 am.

"Travis," Will says jokingly, "you are now going to entertain me during all my morning shifts because time never flew that fast !"

He expects Travis to roll his eyes and say "I'd rather sleep."

"I'll be here 4:30 am sharp." Travis instead says very seriously, "with breakfast lovingly made just for you." He winks at him.

"When do you sleep ?"

"It's a secret but I guess I can tell you." Travis whispers, "Arts & Crafts is the best activity to take a nap."

"You're incorrigible." Will rolls his eyes. "Now go, Connor needs you."

He makes a shoo motion and Travis leaves the infirmary chuckling.

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

True to his word, Travis does pester him during his lunch shift.

He barges in the main room at 12 am sharp, whistling a happy tune.

"Shut it off, Stoll." Sherman groans from his bed.

"Rude," Travis blows him a raspberry before turning to Will, "you like my singing right ?"

"Yeah," He mindlessly says, focused on stitching back Paolo's arm for what must be the sixth time.

Travis takes a chair and sits next to him, still whistling.

Will sings his own tune, a healing hymn meant to put back flesh together. As always, his skin begins to glow softly.

"Aucune étoile n'est plus brillante que toi, tu es plus époustouflant que n'importe quel astre." Travis casually interromps his singing, causing Will to short circuit.

Only his hard won training prevents him from staggering and messing up his hymn.

No star is brighter than you, you are more breath-taking than any of them.

Clearly, Travis is only fluent in Aphrodite french style. Or Grace thought it would be really funny to teach her little brother only romantic sentences.

Will hastily finishes his hymn, apply a healing paste to prevent any infection, and he goes over his next patient.

He hears scrapping on the floor and there's Travis, still seated, right next to him.

As he apply a soothing paste on Nyssa's right arm, red with a second degree burn, he briefly glances at Travis.

He meets his friend's blue eyes right with his own, startling him with the intensity in his look.

He quickly adverts his eyes, feeling his cheeks reddens.

"Tu as des yeux sublimes, ce sont tels des saphirs." Travis sighs, "Si tu savais à quel point tu es splendide Will."

Will grips Nyssa's arm tightly, causing her to hiss in pain.

"Sorry," he winces.

"It's all right," she grunts, "what is the idiot saying about you ?"

"I don't know," Will says, ignoring Travis's huff, "I don't know French."

"But he mentioned your name didn't he ? I think I heard him saying Will."

"Good ears Nyssa," Travis claps, "I said he should try singing Rapunzel's song, to see if it works."

"Idiot." Nyssa rolls her eyes.

Will stays silent, translating the words in his head.

You have sublime eyes, they are like sapphires. If you only knew how beautiful you are, Will.

"Don't you have anything to do right now ?" Will asks Travis, his throat dry. "Siblings to take care of ?"

"Connor's got it all covered. You are stuck here with me."

"Good luck." Nyssa mumbles before he leaves her to treat someone else.

And Travis follows.

For every patient, the son of Hermes compliments him.

"Tu es merveilleux."

You're wonderful.

"J'adore la façon dont tu brilles au soleil."

I love the way you shine in the sun.

"Tu es surement l'une des meilleures rencontres que j'ai faite dans ma vie."

You’re probably one of the best encounters I’ve ever had in my life.

All with a soft tone, looking at him with a fond look in his blue eyes.

Will can barely concentrate on his patient with Travis whispering such things right next to him.

He almost gives Miranda the wrong medication.

He sets Sherman's leg the wrong way and has to do it all over again.

After botching stitches on Billie Ng's arm, he deems it necessary to take a break.

"Travis, please go tell Kayla to let Chiron teach archery and to begin her shift early. Tell her I'll owe her, it should convince her." Will sighs as he strips of his white coat and gloves, throwing the latter in the trash.

"Right away !"

He enjoys that moment of rest to plop down on a chair and expires loudly.

What mess has he gotten himself into ?

He can't reveal to Travis he's been understanding everything since the beginning but he can't endure much more of whatever is going on with the son of Hermes.

They've been friends since they met, literally.

Travis saw Will enter the Hermes Cabin, alone and wide-eyed, and decided on the spot to stick with him.

And yes, Travis has always been at ease with physical contact.

Yes, he always made those hugs a little longer than the usual, not that Will minded.

Yes, he always seeks Will's company, always smile, always laugh, always make sure he's alright...

Will likes that about Travis, honestly.

It's nice to have someone care so deeply about you.

He always greeted him with a hug, always jumped on his back by surprise, sending tumbling on the ground.

But he did it with everybody ! It's just how he shows affection.

Will can name a lot of friends who got the same treatment from Travis.

Like Connor ! But he's his brother so he doesn't count.

Then Katie and Drew !

Wait no, Travis is still sour about the whole spy thing and Drew is more Connor's friend.

He's sure they are others campers with who Travis is as friendly than he is with Will.

Annabeth would be a sure choice but she hasn't been around lately, busy in New Rome.

Percy is kind of guy everybody gets along with, he isn't a good example.

Clarisse, Travis told me and made him swore into secrecy, is only tolerated because Chris. The Stoll are still bitter about how she tried to plunge their heads into the toilets when they first arrived.

Then...

Surely there is at least someone else...

But as he racks his brain, he can't think about one person that Travis pesters like he does to him.

There's nobody else, except Connor he supposes, that would make him wake up at gods know when in the morning to bake a pastry because he cares about him enough to know he doesn't eat enough at dinner.

There's nobody else that Travis would follow all morning long and tell him nice things in another language.

In french, nonetheless.

The language of love.

There's only Will for who Travis does all those things.

But maybe he's reading too much into it ?

Maybe Travis is just flirtatious because he feels comfortable with him ? It's not like Will is supposed to understand the things Travis says to him. Maybe he's just having a laugh.

He needs to ask Drew about this.

"Nyssa," he calls her as he leaves the infirmary, "tell Travis to stay with Kayla until the end of her shift, she'll need help."

And he needs time to process without having Travis swooning over him and making his heart go crazy.

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

Will doesn't think he has ever seen Drew looking so disappointed in him.

"Solace," she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, "please tell me one more time what isn't clear to you."

"Travis is flirting with me but I'm not supposed to know that he is." Will stresses his word, "so does it mean that he actually likes me or is he just entertaining himself ?"

"Will, how many other friends do you have that go around calling you handsome, breathtakingly beautiful, light of their life-"

"He didn't say the last part."

"Just give him time and he will." Drew snickers.

"So, you think he likes me."

"Oh honey, I think he is head over heels with you." Drew grins, "the question is, are you ?" She lifts one eyebrow.

"I, ah, think so ?" Will shakes his head, "this is very confusing, I have known him for years and of course I like him ! He's my best friend."

"Have you ever wanted to kiss him ?" Drew asks abruptly.

"Hum-"

"Have you ever felt bitter when the whole camp thought he was dating Katie Gardner ?" She presses on.

"Maybe a little but-"

"Do you like the special care he gives you, and only you ?"

"Yes."

That one Will can answer without problem.

He finds very endearing the way Travis went out of his way to bake him, by himself, a breakfast.

And how time with Travis flies, not one moment boring.

And he likes very much how Travis speaks with awe of him in french.

"Oh my gods, I like him."

"Good-"

"This is a disaster !" Will groans.

"What ?"

"The only way I tell him that I know is by confessing I speak french. But, that would imply that I would have known he's been flirting since 4am in the morning and that I haven't said anything back !"

"Just tell him you were figuring it out, he'll understand."

"You sure ?" He asks feebly.

"Yes, now go tell him." Drew shoos him out, "It's time at least one Stoll gets into a relationship and Connor won't ask Malcolm out before the next century begins."

Once he's on the porch, she slams the door at his face, leaving him there, alone.

He's halfway to the infirmary when he meets Travis wandering on camp grounds.

"Travis ?" Will asks, surprised, "what are you doing here ?"

"Kayla kicked me out." Travis replies, "she said I was too disturbing."

"Oh, I suppose not everybody appreciate you as I do." He grins, nudging Travis.

He is rewarded by a choking sound that makes him smile even wider.

"Right," Travis croaks, "clearly she lacks good taste."

"Obviously," Will rolls his eyes, "you're free right now ?"

Travis, as he knows well, is very much not free right now.

He's supposed to be taking his nap at Arts & Crafts but surely Malcolm won't miss him.

"Depends on where we are going." Travis shrugs.

"Strawberry fields, I need a break from the infirmary and some sun would be really nice."

"Let's go then !" Travis replies cheerfully, launching his arm on Will's shoulders.

He could say it right now and then. Hey Travis, guess what ? I know French too and I know you like me. And I like you too ! Hum, let's be boyfriends ?

"What are you thinking about ?" Travis asks him and without an ounce of control, Will blurbs out "You." before furiously backtracking. "About how I don't think you're actually free, I even know you aren't, and you should be sleeping because I'll have you know it's not healthy at all-"

"I'll skip climbing and sleep then, don't feel like getting burn today." Travis stops him, his voice higher than usual and his hand on Will's shoulder is warm.

Will is not going to be the only one being a mess in this.

Without thinking too much, he is well past that, he slides his arm behind Travis' back and rest his hand on his waist.

There, now he just needs to act as if his heart wasn't soundly loudly enough for all Camp to hear.

"Come on, I'll need to go back to the infirmary soon." He urges Travis to walk faster, rather pleased that, for once, he is the one leaving the other speechless.

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

Will doesn't manage to tell the truth to Travis during their little escaped in the strawberry fields.

Can't even bring the subject during the whole afternoon because Kayla drags him in the infirmary and Travis can no longer escape his counsellor's duties.

He is left to follow his siblings at archery, missing miserably every target, then getting his ass kicked by Ellis during sword fighting and creating a literal monster of clay for Arts & Crafts's project of the day.

Overall, not a good afternoon because the longer he takes to tell Travis, the more hurt the son of Hermes will be when he knows.

He can't believe he is taking advantage of him like that. He's a horrible person, a terrible friend and what a catastrophic boyfriend he will be- he's not even going to be a boyfriend since Travis will probably reject him when he learns everything.

He dejectedly slams his face on his office in the infirmary, slumped in his chair and determined to swallow in self-pity during his whole night shift.

"Shut up." He groans to his stomach when it rumbles. "I don't wanna move to feed you so just keep it quiet."

Expectedly, his stomach only protest louder at the perspective of no food. He forces himself to get up and grab some sandwiches by the coffee machine at the back of the room.

When he goes back to his desk, his chair isn't empty.

"It's nine pm, you're missing the bonfire." He tells Travis who's happily twirling in his chair. He settles for a nearby stool, nibbling on his cold chicken and mayo sandwich.

"They'll manage without me." Travis grins, sprawled on his chair like it's his. "And I come with a gift."

With flourishing gestures, Travis kneels in front of Will and presents him a white carton box, of which came out a delicious smell.

"From tonight's barbecue, I figured you'll like hot, tasty, meat more than that cold chicken you eat every night."

"Sometimes it's a vegetarian one." Will replies as he digs into his new dinner, only pausing to notice Travis sneakily stealing his previous one.

"Late snack." The son of Hermes shrugs before taking a big bite from his sandwich.

They eat comfortably in silence until Travis breaks it, in none other than French.

"Ça doit être fatiguant d'être seul toutes les nuits."

Maybe it's because Will is tired. Or perhaps it is the sentence's normalcy. It must be tiring to be alone every night. In any case, Will answers automatically. "Ça va, j'y suis habitué."

It's when the last word rolls out of his tongue, when It's okay, I'm used to it doesn't sound quite right in his head that he notices his mistake.

"You- you speak French ?" Travis's voice is high-pitched, his blue eyes looking at Will with blown wide irises, mouth slightly open.

"And, hum, you understand it ?" He asks after Will nods at the first question, only to do the same for the second one.

It's a switch being turned on.

Travis goes from his usual relax self to a frozen state, mouth wide open and agape. "You, you- hahaha, you mean- from this morning, you, everything ?" Travis asks bewildered.

"Hum, yeah." Will says but before he can add "it's okay, I really like you too.", Travis lets out a high shrilled laugh.

"Woah," He coughs, running his hand through his hair and looking everywhere but Will. "Cat's out of the bag then ! The skeleton is out of the closet ! Get it ? Out of the closet."

"Very funny, I-"

"Well then." Travis claps loudly his hands, jumping out of the chair towards the exit. "I'll leave you to it, you probably don't feel that way because why would you, I'm just me and you're Will Solace, best medic and human person ever."

"What ? No, I do-"

"Anyways, gotta go, sweet dreams and everything, I'll go cry to Connor and swallow a whole pint of smuggled ice cream, please don't tell Chiron about it, I'm going to need it." Travis rants as he backs up towards the door. "If you don't see me during the following week, don't panic, I'm just bawling my eyes out because I- what are you doing ?" Travis stops dead since he is blocking the path. "I, hum, need to go through that door Will. I mean, I could use a window but-"

"Neither of them, you are staying here until-"

"Oh ! You want to discuss our friendship, yeah fair enough." Travis smiles but it's a dim thing, strained and sad. "I'll leave you alone for a while, to let you compute."

"Travis, you are not leaving me alone." Will says. "I like you too."

"You- you like me back ?" Travis stutters.

"Wanna hear it in french ?" Will laughs softly even thought his heart is pounding wildly. Unlike english, french do not do the difference between "I like you." and "I love you.". It all comes in one small sentence, three words. "Je t'aime."

Travis stays silent for about three seconds before giving him a beaming smile, one Will is way more used to see on his features. "Je t'aime aussi."

I like you too.

Fireworks, butterflies, holy choirs, whatever things are supposed to represent love, Will feels it all.

"I would elaborate but I think you heard me enough today." Travis grins, all shyness gone and confidence returned, and leans towards Will. "What about you ?" He unabashedly looks at him, eyes flittering to his lips before meeting his.

Will flushes but leans forward too, kissing Travis. It's nothing much, gone before he can really register it but it brings a stupidly big smile on his face and Travis glows in a way it makes his freckles pop, his eyes shine.

"You're really beautiful too." Will whispers, tracing softly Travis' freckles on his nose leaning once again close to the other boy. "And you really need to sleep."

"What ?" Travis says, taken aback when Will drags him out of the infirmary, all the way to Cabin 11. It's empty, his siblings still at the bonfire but none of them were up at four am like their brother.

"You need to sleep, I need to sleep." He says as he manhandles Travis into his bed, his boyfriend letting him do so.

"Don't I get a kiss for good night ?" Travis grins, looking at him expectantly and Will obliges, giving him a light kiss before wishing him good night.

"Will you be there tomorrow morning ?" Will asks him as he leaves the cabin.

"Of course !" Travis yells from his bed. "Anything for my boyfriend !"

It's a mystery for Kayla and Austin to see Will asleep in his bed, a soft smile on his face, at a reasonable hour of the night and clothes already put aside for the next morning.

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

His morning shifts are now something he wakes up excited for, curious to know what breakfast Travis baked for him today. Sometimes, Travis talks with him during his shift or sleeps in an infirmary bed, his simple act of presence enough for Will to start the day with a smile.

He doesn't see him much during the day, except when Hermes and Apollo Cabins are mysteriously paired for the whole day, a curtesy of Connor Travis said.

Over are the days where all he ate at dinner were his sandwiches because now, Travis brings him a box of whatever they ate that night, and sometimes he even managed to convince to leave the infirmary to join him at the bonfire.

Will is pretty happy with this routine, Drew occasionally popping up in the picture to look at the two of them appreciatively before leaving to pester Connor about Malcolm. Hopefully, he has it until the day he leaves Camp, and doesn't lose it because of some monsters trying to make him his lunch.

[oohnotvery]

Edges of the Night (Chapter 17)

I swear this story—if I’m not sick every time I promise a chapter update, it’s something else. This time, my daughter went to the ER for a head injury. She’s totally okay but it was awful.

So . . . some of you astutely noticed that I told AO3 this story would end at 18 chapters.

That was true until I spent a day in the ER, and now I know there’s no way I can get Chapter 17 out in its full form tonight—but I really wanted to give you all something to read today. So, I’m cutting Chapter 17 into two pieces, which means there will be 19 total chapters of this great beast.

All this to say, we’re reaching the end of a very long, very convoluted road. I want to really thank everyone for following along, even though I went through multiple spells of not writing/posting.

Also, we’ve heard a lot from Scully these past 16 chapters . . . so I thought you all might be interested in seeing what Mulder’s up to :) :) :)

Every time his axe splits open a new log, Mulder cringes at the loud whack that reverberates through the forest. He’s officially been in hiding for eight days now here in this lakeside cabin, and he hasn’t quite gotten over the feeling that someone is watching him, waiting to swoop in and carry him off to a gruesome death.

In the growing twilight, he wipes at his brow and stares at the lake spread out before him. It’s frosty and bitterly cold and the shoreline is studded with heavy chunks of ice. Over the past week, he’s gotten decently good at making fires to keep himself warm in the unheated log cabin, and even though those fires send up smoke signals through the chimney, he’s pretty confident no one has been following him. Plus, it’s far too cold to go to bed without a fire. Scully would be so proud.

Scully.

A lancing pain sings through his chest.

He still has to shut his eyes every time he thinks about that last day in the house. He hadn’t actually expected Scully to fall asleep with him, but he couldn’t have planned it better if he tried. Neither of them would have lasted through a tearful goodbye. More likely, she would have run after him, and the Gunmen, Skinner, and Alan would have had to hold her back. It would have been violent and painful. It was nice, instead, to simply listen to her deep, peaceful breathing for several long minutes, to savor the feeling of her warm body pressed to his, to inhale her scent, to trace the line of her nose with his eyes, to commit it all to memory. And then, to softly, softly press his lips to her temple before quietly, gently extracting himself from their tangled limbs. He allowed himself only one parting glimpse at her, and then he left.  

When the memory of that moment begins to overtake him, he turns his thoughts to all the ways Scully probably wants to kill him now. If he knows anything about Scully, it’s that she was raging mad when she woke up and found him gone. Hell, she probably took it out on the Gunmen and Skinner. That would’ve been fun to see. He huffs a laugh, setting down his axe. If she ever did find him somehow, she’d probably shoot him in the shoulder again just for the hell of it.

After not saying goodbye, Mulder then spent a day and a half chugging up the coast in a discrete little Taurus the Gunmen provided. Once he was deep into northern Maine, he spent a few long hours anxiously searching for the house Frohike had assured him existed near this particular lake. Unmarked roads, misleading snow-packed paths, crumbling one-lane bridges, and steep, muddy inclines made the house nearly impossible to locate, and only by pure luck did he finally spy it just as the sun began to set. It was a good thing, he had to admit, that this cabin was so difficult to find. Out here in the blasted middle of nowhere, with thick pine forests and snow drifts six feet high and not a single other soul for miles and miles and miles, he could be undiscoverable forever.

But as safe and remote as it is, it’s not in this lakeside cabin that he plans to spend the rest of his days. No, he has to get out of the States and into friendlier fields. Every time he thinks about the next phase of his escape plan, a nervous pit settles in his stomach. Tomorrow morning, he will depart this cabin forever and drive into Canada, crossing the border with documents that Frohike himself created. Any time he starts to get anxious, it’s this part of the plan that gives him the confidence he needs to go forward. Frohike wouldn’t fail him.  

So tomorrow when the sun rises, he will leave, bidding a final farewell to all the ties that bind him to his former life. Once inside the borders of Canada, he’ll be totally on his own. No one will know where he goes next, not even Frohike. It’s for his own safety, and theirs, he reminds himself. But still . . . from tomorrow on, he will be untraceable. Even if someone wanted to find him, they wouldn’t be able to.

His heart clenches painfully at the thought of taking that final, treacherous step into total isolation. Up until this point in his journey, he has still been tethered—somewhat tenuously, through Frohike—to his old life, his old existence. But tomorrow, he’ll be lost forever. Tomorrow marks the point of no return.

He shoves away the thought as brutally as he can, forcing himself to recite the mantra that has helped him get out of bed every morning since he got here. She’s safe, she’s happy, she’s safe, she’s happy.

But, god, at what cost?

He tries not to curse himself for the things he failed to do with Scully. For pushing her away when she reached for him on the bed. For telling her no, no, they can’t take that final step together, they shouldn’t be intimate with each other . . . why the hell did he do that again? He swears out loud, angered by the memory. She was desperate for him, begging with him, her pleas like something out of his most erotic fantasies. She wanted him just as badly as he wanted her. And he should have just had her, just that one time. Just for the memories, if nothing more. He shouldn’t have ever left her with any doubt about the way he loved her.

A bird screeches high in the trees and he startles. His eyes search the treetops before settling on a pair of magpies pestering a giant hawk. With cold, aching hands, he gathers a bundle of split logs in his arms and trudges up to the house, locking the door behind him. Because old habits die hard, he’s been sleeping on the living room couch right beside the main fireplace, and it’s here that he starts building his fire. In an hour, he’ll make yet another PB&J and try to read a book he found in the home’s voluminous bookshelves. His go-bag is stored right beside the door, and his weapon rests under a pillow on the couch. He sincerely hopes that he never has to use it again.

Many hours later, Mulder wakes to a frigid house. Cursing under his breath, he stands creakily and adds a few logs to the dying fire, tending to it as carefully as he would an infant. Darkly, he wonders what would even happen if he froze to death in this cabin. Who would find his body? And how long would it take for him to be discovered here? In what stage of decomposition would they find him? Would they ship him off to Scully for an autopsy? Would there even be a funeral?

He snorts and a flame licks up through the logs, sending a burst of heat into the room. He won’t be dying tonight. He glances at his watch in the firelight and notes wryly that it is nearing three a.m. The witching hour. Chills that have nothing to do with the cold run up his spine and he settles back onto the sofa, suddenly wide awake.

It is a near-constant battle not to think about her. He imagines that someday, far in the distant future, he will no longer think of her every minute of every hour. That maybe someday, he won’t wake up to a strange mixture of relief and regret: relief that she is safe; regret that he didn’t have enough of her.

A noise outside catches his attention and every muscle in his body freezes. The fire sparks and crackles and he strains his ears, listening intently. Prey that he is, he has become carefully attuned to every type of sight and sound and smell out here in the woods. Most noises can be attributed to nature—animals scrounging nearby, branches breaking off of trees, melting ice cracking on the lake.

But this particular sound has a different sense about it. It’s the creeping, hulking sound of something heavy moving across snow.

A car. And it’s driving very slowly, very quietly up the ridge to the house.

His brain slips instantly into FBI mode. He snatches up his gun, shucks on his jacket, and slips into his boots. Throwing the go-bag over his shoulder, he crouches low beneath the front room window, adrenaline pumping so hard through his veins he feels like he could crush steel between his hands.

How did they find him here? And how will he escape? Should he run for the car? It’s parked out front, which means any escape would necessarily involve passing by the car coming up the hill—

With unblinking eyes, he peers into the blackness outside until it finally comes into view, an unfamiliar black sedan, headlights killed, tires inching meticulously along the ground, as if the driver doesn’t want to make a sound. When the car comes to a stop at the front of the house, Mulder raises his gun, surprised to find his hand shaking.

How did it come to this already? Should he run into the woods? Or stand his ground and fight?

For a long minute, nothing happens, and he wonders if he should preemptively shoot at the driver’s side window. But that would be a mistake. He would give away his position. What he’s going to do is wait for the person—or people—to exit the vehicle, and then he’ll fire—

The car door swings open smoothly, soundlessly. A person steps out, their aspect unrecognizable in the dark. They shut the car door quietly and begin to walk towards the house, scanning their surroundings furtively. He can’t make out facial features because of a dark mask pulled up over the person’s nose and mouth and a hood cinched tight over their head. Loose clothing hangs off their body and a gun dangles from their right hand.

The person is close now, just five feet away. Now four feet, now they’re climbing the stairs. Mulder swallows thickly. When that door opens, he’ll have one chance to shoot. And if there are others waiting in the car . . . he’ll have to run. His entire body tenses. He’s a coiled snake, a viper waiting to inject the venom—

There’s a quiet knock at the door.

It surprises him so much that his brain sputters.

What the hell kind of assailant announces their arrival with a pleasant knock?

Stealthily, he rises and makes his way to the door. He knows this could very well be a trap. There could be machine guns on the other side of that door, ready to blast him to bits; or a host of feds could crawl out of the sedan and swoop in the minute that door opens—

The door handle jiggles and he startles. Jesus Christ, they’re trying to get in now. He raises his weapon again. His heart is beating hummingbird-fast.

Another knock, this time louder, and another try at the door handle.

And then—

“Mulder? It’s me.”

[rockwgooglyeyes]

rockrockrock i'm stealing your idea *violently slams hands on invisible table* gimme any headcanons you have for ALNST characters my fellow transgener

*looks at you deadass* aye aye captain i will do my best

Blue tbh I didn't know about the canonical bisexual words of the god (vivinos) but I will admit, I only really headcanon Hyuna and Till as bi.(Sua and Ivan wlw/mlm hostility my beloved)

I see Sua as a lesbian, maybe demiromantic? A Mizisexual, if you will. She only seems to ever like Mizi and I can't really imagine her having a crush on anyone else, to be honest. Basically, I feel like she's on the aro-spectrum. I like to think she's nonverbal autistic as well, insofar as she'll talk but when she gets really overstimulated/something bad happens, she just shuts down.

Mizi is usually a lesbian to me? but she could totally be bi, like that wouldn't stop her. If she's bi, though, she's got a preference towards women. She's got her vision problems, maybe she's far-sighted (can't see close up) instead of near-sighted? Which could be symbolic of her idealism.

Till is bisexual (not that he knows that) and I feel as though he just likes pretty people but that his type between men and women is actually different. I do like to believe that Till could/would have feelings for Ivan if given the chance and tbh Ivan and Mizi are not very similar so you know good for him. Till is very audhd (autism & adhd) to me and he would probably have combined type adhd (which is what i haaaave) because he's absentminded and restless? I think he definitely has auditory processing issues.

Ivan is gay and trans to me. I'm sorry, I've written him as transmasc for a long time and I proceed to interpret him that way because it furthers his feelings of isolation as well as cementing the way that people put him up on a pedestal and yet they don't really know him at all. Autism, next question (joking, joking) but I've already gone to bat as to some of the reasons why Ivan is autistic and so I rest my case. He feels like he's on the aro/ace spectrum to me too just because I don't think he'd ever be romantically interested in anyone other than Till.

a-spec and autism sua/ivan siblings unite

Hyuna is also bisexual but her type when it comes to men is sopping wet cats only. She likes them pathetic. I feel like she could have adhd? Hyperactive type, not really inattentive, but who knows. Maybe trans woman? Just because why not? After all, she and Hyun-Woo are practically identical, could be identical twins. With disabilities, I think besides her leg she deals with nerve damage and ghost pain. Give that carefree beautiful woman some chronic pain

Luka . . . I don't know about him. I don't feel like I know enough about him yet, to make any real calls. Maybe a-spec? Asexual? Hm. hmhmhm

i hope this is satisfactory but feel free to ask any follow up questions you pleaseeee i like to talk if you haven't already noticed that haha

[blakeswritingimagines]

There's No Easy Way Of Knowing

Summary: Rather than before your new marriage, Sigurd takes his time finding the perfect gift just for you.

Word Count: 3.5k

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Vikings characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Once upon a time, there was a brave and mighty warrior named Sigurd. He was the leader of the greatest army in all of Scandinavia, with his mighty sword and shield, he conquered many lands and brought forth many victories for his people. He was a mighty warrior who was feared by many, and respected by all.

You, his newly wedded partner, was a strong and independent person who admired Sigurd’s bravery and strength, but also feared his ruthlessness on the battlefield. You knew he was a good man at heart, but you also wondered if he truly valued you as an equal in the relationship. Sigurd had been acting strange as of late, often disappearing for hours on end, always making up vague excuses about matters needing his attention, even going so far as sneaking out late at night when he thought you'd be asleep. You knew he was up to something, and a pang of insecurity began to grow in your stomach. Despite his cold demeanor, Sigurd truly loved you with all his heart. He had been working day and night in secret, forging a gift that was worthy of your beauty and strength. But being the cheeky devil he is, Sigurd has been sneaking around, making sure you haven't noticed. He knew how observant you were, and he had to be careful to keep his gift a surprise.

The gift he had been working on was something he wanted to be absolutely perfect. He didn’t want to merely show you how much he loved you. He wanted to make you remember your wedding day forever. That’s why it was taking so much time and effort, and why he was also spending more time away from home. He wasn't too sure why he felt the need to sneak around, but perhaps he was worried you might find out too soon or he might let it slip without thinking. As the days passed, you have been noticing Sigurd had been gone more often, and the fact, that he would come in after dusk. He would give you a simple hug, and then crawl into bed, falling asleep almost instantly. You tried your best to ask him what he has been doing, yet all he would say is. 'You will find out soon enough'. Sigurd had been on a secret mission, trying to capture a young kitten for you as a gift. He had been sneaking out every night to look for one, and recently he had gotten lucky. One evening, after a few weeks of searching, he finally spotted a small kitten. He quickly and carefully approached it and picked it up. He was unaware that it was a lynx, thinking it was just a normal cat. The little kitty, which looked like a normal kitten, meowed loudly in protest as he held it carefully in his arms.

Sigurd tried to calm down the little kitty, as it was squirming around in his arms, meowing in protest. He whispered quietly to it, "Calm down, little one. I'm not going to hurt you." He held the cat close to his chest and started making his way back home. Sigurd couldn't believe he had actually found a cat, a very feisty one at that. He looked down at the cat, which was now eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and annoyance. As Sigurd quietly approached your shared home, he carefully opened the door, trying not to make any noise. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, still holding the cat in his arms. He knew you were probably asleep in bed, but it was still quite early, and he didn't want to wake you up just yet. He carefully made his way to the living room, where he slowly placed the cat down on the floor, wondering how you would react to its feisty personality. The cat, a feisty little creature, immediately began to explore its new surroundings. It sniffed and mewled at different objects, its curiosity piqued. Sigurd stood by, watching with a small smirk on his face, anticipating your reaction when you saw the little bundle of fur. The little kitty continued its exploration of the living room, its tiny paws pitter-pattering across the floor. It eventually began to climb onto the couch, its long tail swishing back and forth. Sigurd chuckled quietly, finding it amusing how much energy the little creature had. He decided to go check on you and see if you had awakened from all the noise. He quietly made his way to your bedroom, opening the door silently.

As he entered the room, he saw you still asleep in bed, a peaceful expression on your face. Sigurd smiled as he looked at you, feeling grateful for the wonderful partner he had. He walked over to the bed and sat down beside you, careful not to wake you up. He leaned in and gave you a gentle kiss on the forehead, just watching you sleep for a moment. After a few moments, Sigurd decided it was time to wake you up. He gently touched your shoulder and whispered, "Wake up, my dear. I have a surprise for you." Your eyes fluttered open, and you groggily looked at Sigurd, still half-asleep. Sigurd watched as you slowly woke up, a hint of annoyance on your face for being woken up so suddenly. He suppressed a smirk, knowing that he had successfully woken you up without waking the tiny creature in his arms. He gently continued, "I have something to show you, my love. I think you'll like it." You sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes and trying to wake up properly. You looked at Sigurd, a mixture of curiosity and sleepiness on your face. "What is it?" you asked, still groggy from being woken up.

Sigurd felt a wave of excitement run through him as you sat up in bed, still half-asleep and confused. He could see the curiosity in your tired eyes, and he knew that he had your attention. He replied, "I have something special to show you, my love. Something that I think you’ll be very pleased with." He smiled mischievously, knowing that you were in for quite the surprise. You raised an eyebrow, now fully awake and intrigued. You looked at him with a curious expression on your face. "Alright, I'm listening. What is it?" you asked, now fully awake and interested. You scooted closer to him, waiting for him to reveal his surprise. Sigurd chuckled at your eagerness, enjoying how you had woken up completely from the mention of a surprise. He loved seeing the curiosity in your eyes, knowing that he had your attention. He replied, "I can’t just tell you, my love. You’ll have to come see for yourself." He gestured for you to get out of bed. You chuckled and rolled your eyes, amused by his teasing. You slowly got out of bed, still a bit groggy but filled with curiosity. "Alright, I'm coming. But this better be good," you said, following Sigurd out of the bedroom and into the living room.

Sigurd chuckled again as you got out of the bed, clearly intrigued by the surprise he had in store. He led the way to the living room, with you following behind him, still a bit tired but full of curiosity. He could feel your anticipation growing with every step, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit excited himself. "I assure you, my love, you won’t be disappointed," he said, hiding a smirk as he came to a stop in front of the sofa. You followed Sigurd into the living room, your curiosity growing with every second. You tried to peer around him to see what he had in store, but he was blocking your view. Finally, he came to a halt in front of the sofa, and you tried to peer around him again, still trying to catch a glimpse of the surprise. "Show me already," you said, playfully swatting his arm. Sigurd chuckled as you tried to peer around him, clearly impatient to see the surprise. He could feel your curious gaze boring into him, but he kept his stance firm, preventing you from seeing the surprise. When you playfully swatted his arm, he feigned offense, acting like he had been hurt. "Hey! A little patience, my love," he said, trying to keep his cool. He could feel your impatience growing, but he wanted to tease you a bit more before revealing the surprise. Finally, Sigurd stepped away, revealing the tiny kitten sitting quietly on the sofa. Your eyes widened in surprise and delight as you saw the little ball of fur. The kitten looked up at you, its big, curious eyes studying you. "It's a cat!" you exclaimed, your eyes brightening with excitement. You slowly approached the sofa, reaching out a tentative hand to pet the kitten.

Sigurd watched with a proud smile as your eyes widened in surprise and delight upon seeing the kitten. He knew that you had always wanted a pet, and he had wanted to surprise you with something special. The little ball of fur looked up at you, its big, curious eyes studying you intently. When you exclaimed, "It's a cat!" he chuckled softly and watched as you approached the sofa. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, as he watched you tentatively reach out a hand to pet the cat. You gently stroked the kitten's soft fur, and it let out a soft mewling sound, nuzzling its head against your hand. You couldn't help but smile as the little creature responded to your touch. "It's so soft!" you exclaimed, looking at Sigurd with excitement. "Where did you find it? It's adorable!" Sigurd observed as you stroked the kitten's soft fur, and it responded with a soft mewling sound, nuzzling its head against your hand as if wanting more from you. He couldn't help but smile at how quickly the little creature had taken a liking to you. As you asked where he had found the cat, he answered, "I found it in the forest near our home." He pushed off the wall and stepped closer to you, watching the interaction between you and the cat with a soft smile. "I knew as soon as I saw it that it would make the perfect gift for you."

You continued to pet the kitten, who was now purring softly in your lap. You looked up at Sigurd, touched by his thoughtfulness. "It's perfect," you said, a soft smile on your face. "But why a cat? I know I've talked about wanting a pet, but I didn't think you were listening." Sigurd chuckled softly as he watched you pet the kitten, which was now purring contently in your lap. He could see the genuine appreciation on your face as you spoke, and he was pleased that his gift had been so well-received. At your question, he replied, "I may act like I'm not listening sometimes, but I do pay attention to what you say. I know you've mentioned wanting a pet before, and I just had to find the right one for you." You looked at him with a mix of gratitude and disbelief. "You're full of surprises," you said a warm smile on your face. "I never would have expected you to remember something like that. But I'm glad you did. This little one is already making me smile." You gently scratched the kitten under its chin, and it responded with a contented mewling sound. Sigurd chuckled, a bit self-satisfied at your surprised reaction. "Well, I do like to keep you on your toes," he said with a cheeky grin. He approached you and placed a warm hand on your shoulder, watching as you gently scratched the kitten under its chin. The little creature mewled in contentment, and he felt a sense of pride at having picked out a gift that had already had such a positive effect on you. "I'm glad you like it. I thought it would be a nice addition to our home."

"I don't just like it, I love it," you said, looking up at Sigurd with a huge smile. "And it's perfect for our home. It's almost like it was meant to be." You leaned back on the sofa, still holding the kitten in your lap. It was now purring loudly and rubbing its head against your shirt, clearly enjoying the attention. As you held the kitten in your lap, it continued to purr loudly and rub its head against your shirt, clearly enjoying the attention. Sigurd sat beside you on the sofa, watching the two of you with a fond smile. "Have you thought of a name for it yet?" he asked, curious to know what you would call your new pet. You looked down at the kitten, which was now batting at your fingers with its tiny paws. You hadn't thought about a name yet, but now that Sigurd had asked, you tried to come up with something. "I haven't decided yet," you replied, thinking aloud. "I want something unique, but also something that suits its personality." You looked down at the kitten, which was still cuddling in your lap. "I got it." Sigurd looked at you curiously, eager to know the name you had chosen. "Well, what is it?" he asked a hint of excitement in his voice. "I'm going to call it Loki," you said, a small smile on your face. Sigurd raised an eyebrow, a bit surprised by the name choice. "Loki? As in the Norse god?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You nodded, looking up at him with confidence. "Yes, Loki. It just seems to fit him. He's sneaky and mischievous, just like the god of trickery," you explained with a grin. Sigurd chuckled a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Well, I suppose that's fitting. But let's just hope he doesn't start causing too much trouble."

A few months had passed since Sigurd had surprised you with the little stray cat known now as Loki. The mischievous growing bigger-than-normal feline was now a part of your life, and you had grown quite fond of its presence. Today, you found yourself spending a lazy day at home with Sigurd, enjoying each other's company. Loki, as usual, was sitting in a patch of sunlight by the window, lazily grooming itself. You both sat together in the warm sunlight, enjoying the peaceful moment when something caught your eye. As you watched Loki grooming itself, you noticed that the feline had grown significantly larger than the average cat. It now resembled a lynx, with its pointed ears and sleek, muscular build. "Say," you said, breaking the comfortable silence, "have we been feeding Loki too much?" Sigurd glanced at Loki too, and his eyes widened a bit as he observed the cat's size and features. "He has grown quite a bit, hasn't he?" he noted, sounding puzzled. He then nodded in agreement as you asked if they had been feeding Loki too much. "Perhaps we have been a bit generous with his treats. But I've never seen a cat grow so big and develop such features." You both continued to watch Loki, who was now blissfully unaware of your observations. The oversized feline continued to groom itself, its pointed ears twitching occasionally as if sensing your stares. You couldn't help but feel a sense of bewilderment at how much Loki had changed in such a short amount of time. "What should we do?" you asked, looking at Sigurd. "Should we cut back on the food?"

Sigurd pondered your question, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "It might be wise to cut back on the food for a while," he said, still observing Loki intently. "We don't want him getting too chubby and unhealthy." He chuckled softly, a hint of amusement in his voice. "If he keeps growing like this, we might have a miniature lynx on our hands instead of a cat." You laughed at Sigurd's remark, imagining the hilarious sight of a miniature lynx in your home instead of a cat. You had to admit, Loki's impressive size and lynx-like features were rather captivating. "You're right," you said. "We can start cutting back on the food and see how he adjusts." You couldn't help but wonder, however, if there was something more to Loki's transformation than just overfeeding. You and Sigurd had implemented the decision to cut back on Loki's food, but the oversized feline didn't seem to show any significant change. In fact, it seemed as if he had continued to grow larger, and his lynx-like features were even more pronounced. His pointed ears were even more prominent, and his body was sleek and muscular, almost eerily resembling that of a young lynx. As you observed Loki one morning, the realization hit you. "Sigurd," you spoke softly, "I think something's a bit strange." Sigurd, who had been nearby, heard your comment and turned to look at you. He followed your gaze to Loki, who was now lounging in his favorite spot of sunshine. He observed the feline for a moment, and his eyes widened as he too realized how much Loki had changed over the past few weeks. "You're right," he said, his voice tinged with concern. "This isn't just normal growth. There's definitely something unusual about Loki."

You both continued to watch Loki, who seemed completely unbothered by your gazes. The oversized feline stretched lazily, showing off its muscular frame, and its pointed ears pricked up as if sensing the change in your demeanor. "What could it be?" you wondered aloud, feeling a hint of unease. "Is it possible that he's not just a regular cat after all?" As Sigurd stood there, intently observing Loki, a realization dawned on him. He remembered the day he had found Loki in the woods, and a pang of guilt washed over him. He had thought he was bringing home a regular stray cat, but now it seemed that he had unknowingly brought home a baby lynx instead. "Ah," he muttered, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. "I think I may have made a slight error when I found Loki in the woods." You looked at him quizzically, curious about the sudden change in his tone. "What do you mean?" you asked, furrowing your brow. Sigurd sheepishly scratched the back of his head, still feeling a bit sheepish. "Well," he said, "It seems that I may have mistook a baby lynx for a stray cat. I had no idea that was what Loki actually was until now."

You stared at him, a mix of surprise and intrigue on your face. "A lynx?" you repeated, your eyebrows raising in disbelief. "How did you not notice that Loki was a lynx? They look quite different from regular cats." Sigurd shrugged sheepishly, clearly feeling a bit embarrassed. "I guess I just wasn't paying close enough attention," he admitted. "I was so focused on finding a cute little cat to bring home to you that I didn't even register that Loki wasn't a regular cat. I should have known better." You couldn't help but laugh softly at Sigurd's confession. "Well, I must say, it's quite a hilarious mistake to make," you teased. "Did you really not notice the distinctive ears and size?" Sigurd chuckled sheepishly, realizing the absurdity of his mistake. "In hindsight, it seems obvious," he admitted. "But at the time, I was just so excited to gift you a pet that I didn't think twice. I guess I was a bit too caught up in the moment to notice the glaring differences between a lynx and a cat." As you laughed together about the amusing mistake, Sigurd couldn't help but smile at your contagious laughter. He stepped closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into a warm embrace. "Maybe I'm a bit scatterbrained when it comes to finding you a pet," he said, his voice laced with affectionate amusement. "But I guess you can't blame me for being so eager to make you happy. After all, I love seeing you smile."

You chuckled, melting into his embrace. "I suppose I can forgive you for the mix-up," you said, a smile still on your lips. "But I have to admit, having a baby lynx as a pet is pretty unique. No one else can say they have a lynx lounging around their home like a housecat." Sigurd nodded, holding you close. "True," he said, his eyes drifting over to Loki, who was now basking in the sunlight. "And I have to say, Loki is quite the character. He's grown so big and has such unique features. It's a bit surprising, but I think he fits in quite well with our little family." You nodded in agreement, looking over at Loki as well. "I agree," you said, a warm feeling filling your chest. "Loki may be a bit different from a regular cat, but he's become such a part of our lives now. Having a baby lynx as a pet may not have been what we intended, but it's certainly a charming and unexpected addition to our home."

[morgana-ren]

I think Tav is definitely developing a smidge of Stockholm syndrome with ascended Astarion. I love the idea that at this epilogue party the others notice just how disturbing their relationship has become. Gale or wyll trying to talk to her, to help her but she's too lost in denial or far to scared to say anything outloud, because He's everywhere.

Also unrelated, ascended Astarion can turn into a bat and it's freaking adorable

Speaking from experience, if someone tries to call out the behavior, Tav is likely going to shut that shit down immediately.

Why? Because you get in trouble.

You are held accountable for the actions of others. If Gale or Shadowheart or Wyll or any of the gang try to say something bad about Astarion or her relationship with him, depending on how far gone she is, she is going to immediately get nervous. She is going to change the subject, or just outright lie if they pressure her. No place is safe. He will know. He always knows. The best you can hope for is he hears you trying to defend him-- and even then, you are going to get in trouble that they ever question it in the first place.

It's not if Astarion overhears. It's when.

And guess who is getting punished for it? Because it's not Wyll. It's not Karlach. It's not Shadowheart. It's not the well-meaning friends who are trying to protect her.

It's her.

Whether it's physical or emotional or verbal, he is going to react. And men like that are smart enough to not react in front of people. He will wait until she is alone again, and he will unleash the fury.

And on top of that, isolation is inevitable if Astarion finds them a threat.

"They don't want us to be together. You heard what they said about me. They think I'm hurting you. Is that the impression you gave them? Is that how you show your appreciation for everything I do for you? You tell your little friends that I hurt you? Well, clearly, you must have. Why would they think that if you didn't? Are you calling me a liar? No? Well then clearly, they are jealous of what we have. You're going to be loyal to someone who doesn't want to see us together? You're more loyal to them than you are to me?"

Sadly, love for your abuser sets in quickly and swiftly. You don't even realize it's happening. She's going to defend him like she always has. She is going to say he is just rough around the edges, and that it's a part of his trauma. Excuse after excuse after excuse. No matter how absurd.

Even if she realizes it's absurd, she will defend him. She will shut down the arguments, the concerns, the worried sentiments. The hole is too deep. Even if she realizes cognitively that she is lying through her teeth, there's nothing she can do. He will hurt them; he will kill them. She has to protect them.

Perhaps she loves him. Perhaps she doesn't want to upset him. Perhaps the manipulations work so well that even she buys into his bullshit. Perhaps the emotional leveling is enough to keep her in line because not only does she not want to risk upsetting him, she doesn't want him to think she doesn't love him, or is abandoning him. Because if he feels unloved or hurt, it's her fault. It is always her fault.

Once he realizes the others are a threat, he is going to become the same charming, suave manipulator he always has been. It's likely too late, but it's good to keep up appearances. The real work begins once they are alone again-- and he will keep it that way. No matter what he has to do.

Aww fuckin' cute little bat-man. He just goes bat mode anytime he's irritated just "I need to do something!" turns into a bat.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: addiction, implied alcoholism, abuse references, trafficking references, conditioning, blood and wounds, dehumanisation, abduction, violence, implied sa references, and manipulation

AO3 link

Chapter 39 - Jesper

Shit. 

Shit shit shit shit shit. 

Jesper stood on the front porch of the boarding house, staring at the closed door, not quite sure what to do. He was a fucking idiot. Wylan had told him to back off, told him to leave him alone, and Jesper had ignored him. And now look what he’d gone and done. Dammit Jesper. 

Wylan had told him to leave him alone. He had told him. Jesper had pushed too far, again, and now look what he’d fucking done. He’d managed to make Wylan feel like shit. Again. Great, he was running two for two. 

He waited on the front doorstep of the little boarding house for a while, half an eye on the window above him that he knew was Wylan’s room because he’d seen him standing by the curtains as he arrived this morning. A few minutes passed and Jesper’s fingers began to itch. Halfway down the street he turned back, and saw that Wylan’s curtains had been pulled shut. The walk to the Crow Club had never felt longer. 

But Jesper was apparently not destined to let a drink and a hand of cards or two clear his head; Kaz was waiting for him as soon as he stepped over the threshold. 

“Nina’s gone back to the White Rose,” he said, “But she’s ready for you,”

Jesper bit the inside of his lip. 

Three days ago he’d been hoping to go to Raske’s workshop and speak to Wylan, but had instead been quite succinctly thrown off course. 

“Jesper,” 

Kaz had beckoned him across the room and he followed quickly to see that Nina was also waiting at the base of the stairs, tucked around the corner and playing unhappily with her hair. 

“What’s going on?”

All Kaz said was:

“Upstairs,”

The three of them had walked up to one of the private game rooms in silence, and when they passed Layla on the landing she looked like she was about to say something before thinking better of it. Jesper frowned, but if either of the others had noticed then they didn’t mention it. Kaz stopped outside the door and knocked once; Jesper looked questioningly at Nina and she mouthed something he couldn’t entirely make out. No reply came from inside the game room, and after a moment Kaz opened the door and stepped inside. 

A girl, maybe fourteen or even thirteen, definitely younger than the three of them, was huddled on the floor at the foot of the table, her knees pulled up to her chest and her head buried somewhere behind them. As she heard them enter she looked up slowly, golden eyes shimmering with fear. Nina closed the door. 

“Jeluna,” 

She turned to Kaz as he spoke but seemed to recoil slightly at the sound of her name, clambering slowly to her feet. Her red, silken nightdress fell just beneath her knees, and only then really because of its lace edging, her feet were clad in little dance slippers, and she wore only one black lace stocking, the ripped remnants of the other clinging to one of her ankles. Her bare knee was badly grazed, he could see dried blood clinging to her skin, and as she flicked her quivering gaze between them she moved her arm, giving Jesper a perfect, if brief, view of her swirling black tattoo. He blinked. 

“Not Jeluna, Jeluna? Missing Jeluna?”

“Jeluna Kir-Mai,” Kaz nodded, glancing back at him.

Jesper looked at her properly. The girl had been missing for two weeks but clearly she was still wearing her costume from the Willow Switch, and when he paid better attention he could see that her fancily arranged hair was sporting several heavy mats. He swallowed tightly, studying the blood on her knee and the tear tracks on her cheeks, and the terrified gaze that kept on hovering between them. 

For a long moment no-one said anything, before the girl parted her lips only just wide enough to release a pained whisper:

“I want to go home,” 

Her lower jaw was quivering; her voice shook. 

“Oh Saints, Kaz,” Jesper breathed, “What the hell did you do?”

Kaz looked at him like he’d offended his mother and cursed his bloodline. 

“I didn’t fucking kidnap her,” he snapped, eyes flashing. 

“Well, technically…” 

Kaz’s glare fell on Nina, and she shut her mouth. 

“Nina found her, just wandering around town,” he said, and then turning back to Jeluna, “We want to talk to you about what happened the last couple of weeks,”

“I want to go home,” she repeated, balling her tiny fists and tilting her chin up towards Kaz. 

“Saints, Kaz, let the kid go home,” Jesper shook his head, “Where do you live, Jeluna? Are you from Ketterdam or do you need-?”

“She doesn’t mean home,” said Nina, quietly, “She means the Willow Switch,”

Jeluna began to nod almost desperately, her voice abruptly spoken over by Kaz as he turned back to Jesper: 

“She won’t eat anything; won’t let anyone treat her cuts. I don’t-” Kaz curled his lip, grimacing, “I don’t know what to do with her, but we aren’t getting anything out of her like this,”

Jesper hesitated. Behind Kaz, Jeluna had apparently given in on her pleading and curled back up on the floor to lean against one of the table legs. What the hell had they done to her at that place? He felt slightly sick. 

“Well, what did Inej say?”

There was a very long silence. 

“You didn’t tell Inej,”

“The Wraith isn’t-”

“You didn’t tell Inej?”

“The Wraith is not relevant to this job,” Kaz snapped almost violently, striking his cane hard against the floorboards. 

Jeluna flinched at the sound, and Jesper felt his heart wrench. He brushed past Kaz and picked up an untouched plate of food from the card table, then sat down cross-legged in front of her and placed the plate in between them. Jeluna stared at him. 

“Hi, Jeluna” he ventured, a little nervously, “I’m Jesper, this is Nina and Kaz. Where are you from?”

“I live with Tante Kaatje,” she said softly, “She’s going to be very upset that I’m late. She worries,”

“But where are you from, Jeluna?” he asked, frowning, “I’m from Novyi Zem, near the frontier. Kaz is from here, from Ketterdam, and Nina’s from Os Alta, in Ravka. Where are you from? Did you grow up in Shu Han?”

“I live with Tante Kaatje,” she repeated, as though it was ridiculous of him to ask, “And if you want to sell me then you’ll need my contract, and she won’t give it to you. I’ve been good. I’m good. She’ll keep me safe. She’ll keep me,”

She said it so obstinately that Jesper was quite entirely taken aback. He felt a little like he’d been smacked in the face. 

“No-one… no-one wants to sell you, Jeluna. We want to help you,”

She might have almost laughed as she turned away, shaking her head. Kaz’s cane tapped lightly against Jesper’s shoulder and he stood up, moving out of the way. 

“I’m not indulging this any longer,”

“Kaz-”

“Jeluna,” he waved his gloved hand a little above her head, “Jeluna, look at me,”

She let her gaze rise very slowly; Kaz’s patience had run out before their eyes actually met. 

“Do you know who I am?”

She shook her head. 

“I work with Kaatje De Waal,” he outright lied - or at least, to Jesper’s knowledge that was an outright lie, “And as much as I was hoping you’d be co-operative that clearly isn’t going to happen so we’ll try a different tact. Stand up,”

“You… she knows where I am?”

“Yes,”

“Is she waiting for me?”

“She knows that you’re going back when I say you’re going back, now stand up,”

She stood instantly. Her entire demeanour had changed as soon as she heard Kaatje’s name, and now she remained standing in front of Kaz, eyes tilted to the floor, hands folded behind her back.

“Am I in trouble?” she asked, her voice almost entirely inaudible. 

Kaz squared his shoulders slightly, doing a bad job of masking his distaste as he said:

“No. Put these on,”

He picked up a small pile of clothes from the far side of the table that Jesper hadn’t even noticed were sitting there until now, and dropped them back down again next to her. The edge of the fabric began to slip and Jeluna moved quickly to grab them before they hit the floor, then seemed to suddenly panic; she flung them back onto the table before darting back to where she’d stood before, her breaths shaking loud enough they may as well have cause rippled in the air. Kaz frowned.

“Get changed. Eat everything on that plate, and finish that glass of water. When I’m back, we’re going to talk. Clear?”

“Yes sir,” she murmured, not looking up. 

Kaz grimaced again, but said nothing as he beckoned Jesper and Nina back into the hallway. 

“What the hell was that?” hissed Nina, as the door swung shut behind them. 

“Apparently the only way we’re going to get anything from her at all,” Kaz eyed the door, his expression infuriatingly unreadable, “And possibly the only way we’re going to keep her alive. She’ll let you Heal her-”

“She won't let me Heal her, Kaz,” Nina shook her head, voice shook, “She’s not making a choice here,”

“Nina, dear, she’s not making a choice anywhere. You’re Healing her, you’re not-” his breath caught tightly, and then he sighed, “I need information, and if you want to help that girl thenthis is the closest to it she’s going to let you get. Take it or leave it,” 

Nina’s cheeks had turned a vivid pink, but she only held her glare at Kaz for a brief second longer before relenting. The three of them waited in tense silence before knocking on the door and slipping back inside, to see that Jeluna had changed into the tunic and trousers Kaz had left for her. He must have given them to her before and she refused to put them on - that was something, Jesper supposed. She’d folded up her little red slip and laid it neatly on the table, her little slippers and ruined stockings sat on top of them, and she’d already drained the glass of water. Kaz sent Nina to fetch her another one whilst Jeluna sat down and began to nibble, slightly half heartedly, at the bread roll on her plate. 

“You can take your hair down,” he told her, not demanding but Jeluna dropped the bread and began to undo the fastenings in her hair anyway, “and you can take that off,” 

Kaz nodded towards her, one gloved finger tapping his neck. Jeluna’s hair fell in a massive, near-crazed wave as her hands dropping away from it to find the golden choker at her throat, now completely free but for the slender braids that framed her face. With her hair untied the knots and matting were more obvious, and Jesper felt something inside him tighten. Wherever she had been for the past two weeks he didn’t know, but he was becoming more and more certain that whoever had been keeping her deserved a punch in the nose. Probably several. 

The choker around Jeluna’s neck was so tight against her skin it actually looked like it was constricting her, and it wasn’t until Jesper studied it more closely that he realised the intricate, almost woven design was constructed of curling willow branches rendered in fake gold. The girl’s eyes flashed briefly with panic as she ran her fingers over the metal, her gaze fixed on Kaz. 

“I can’t,” she whispered, her shoulders clearly tensing - as though to prepare herself for something. 

Kaz nodded at Jesper to help her and he had stepped forwards a little awkwardly, asking if he could move her hair out of the way to see it. He was expecting to find a clasp, either an awkward shape or just out of Jeluna’s reach, but what he saw instead turned his stomach. The choker had clearly been attacked by a Fabrikator or a Corporalnik - or maybe both - and all along the back of Jeluna’s neck the metal was buried beneath her very flesh. Small ridges, like those that should have shown her spine but running horizontally and far more clearly pronounced, bulged beneath her skin. Where the collar met her neck and slipped beneath, her flesh was red and raw. 

“Saints,” he breathed, “ Oh, Saints, Jeluna - doesn’t that hurt?”

“Tante Kaatje lets me have medicines for it, if it gets infected,” came the soft reply, “She’s very kind to me,”

“Kaatje did this to you,” Jesper bit, feeling the anger shaking in his voice, “She-”

“Jesper,”

Kaz shot him a warning glance, but Jesper could only shake his head. 

“Look at this,” 

Kaz’s expression was grim as he peered over the back of Jeluna’s neck, but after a long pause all he said was:

“Can you remove it?”

“I don’t- you mean…?”

Kaz nodded. Something clenched deep inside Jesper’s stomach. Kaz was the only person in Ketterdam who knew that Jesper was Grisha, and for as long as was humanly possible he intended to keep it that way. But not at this girl’s expense; if he could do anything he should. He gritted his teeth, surveying her with caution. 

“Not without hurting her,” he said, eventually, “Maybe Nina can,”

It was a short minute later that Nina returned with another glass of water. Jeluna sat drinking it, eating slowly, with her thick sheath of hair brushed over one shoulder whilst Nina stood behind and stared aghast at the mess of her neck. 

“Well?” asked Kaz, watching her. 

“It might take me a while,” she said, hesitantly, “it might be painful. I think I can get it out, but it looks like it’s still in a full circle - if that’s the case she’ll need a Fabrikator to actually take it off,”

“Fine,” Kaz nodded, “Get started. Heal her knee as well - Jeluna, do you have any other injuries?”

She’d only shaken her head. 

For the past few days, Nina had been working on removing the collar from Jeluna’s neck in any few minutes she could spare between clients - it hadn’t been a quick job, and it hadn’t been a painless one either. And a tiny part of Jesper had still, awfully, been hoping it would take a little longer. But Nina had finished her job, and now it was his turn. 

He crept to the door and knocked gently, waiting for a long moment in silence. 

“She won’t tell you to come in,” said Kaz, following behind him. 

And it would seem that he was right, but Jesper paused for a moment longer anyway before he opened the door for both of them to enter. Jeluna was sitting on the floor again, her legs stretched out in front of her so the bare soles of her feet were facing them. They were covered in scars. 

“You remember Jesper,” said Kaz, pushing the door shut behind them. 

She nodded.

 “Is it alright if he removes your necklace?”

There was a very brief pause before she nodded again, then stood up and crossed to a wooden chair that someone had left sitting towards the centre of the room. She’d taken the braids out of her hair and brushed out most of the bad knots, but as she sat down and pulled it all over her shoulder Jespr could still see a heavy mat underneath that was probably going to need cutting out. 

The back of the choker was rendered in the same fake gold as the rest, the key difference being it was still stained with Jeluna’s blood, but Jesper could see where the pieces met and had been fused together. Theoretically he should just be able to break it, but realistically he didn’t have a good enough idea of what he was doing. A better Fabrikator could probably have done it with a distracted wave of the hand, but they were stuck with Jesper so he would just have to do his best. He placed a tentative hand onto the edge of the metal, closing his eyes as he reached for the feeling of the particles inside it. It took him a few minutes, but eventually the metal warped and pulled until it was thin enough to snap in two and make his work much quicker. The golden willow branches broke in his hands as he pulled them away and discarded them on the card table, pretending he wasn’t studying the skin that Nina had Healed for Jeluna in intense detail. 

“We have a game in here tonight,” said Kaz, quietly, as Jesper stepped back towards him, “Van Reik again; he always requests this room because of the windows, the skiv,”

This was the only game room at the Crow Club that had windows lining the far wall, ruining the aim of letting the players lose track of time. It had long annoyed Kaz, but short of hammering boards across them all there wasn’t really much he could do about it. 

“We need to move her,” 

“Where?”

There was a long pause before Kaz relented: 

“I’m going to speak to Inej,”

Jesper nodded, his eyes drifting back to Jeluna. She was running her hand over her neck over and over again, staring at the broken pieces of the choker on the table, swinging her feet off the edge of the chair so her toes just dragged along the floor.

“Will…” Jeluna looked away, her voice dying on her lips. 

“Go on,” said Kaz, nodding at her. 

“Is she going to be upset with me? For taking it off?”

“No,”

“Will I have to wear a new one?”

“No,”

She watched him for a long moment, then ran a hand over her neck again and looked away. Jesper wondered what she was thinking. 

“Did she tell you what happened?”

“She doesn't remember,” Kaz sighed, “Nina confirmed she wasn’t lying. Whoever took her, they messed with her head. She didn’t even know she’d been missing; she had no memory between her last night at the Willow Switch and Nina finding her in the city,” 

“But you’re… you’re still keeping her here?”

Kaz’s eyes darkened. 

“We just dug a piece of metal out of that girl’s neck, Jes. What the hell else am I going to do with her, drag her back to West Stave and deposit her on Kaatje’s doorstep?” 

Jesper swallowed. 

“I didn’t mean- I don’t know, I just… she’s not okay, is she?” 

“Of course she’s not. Fuck knows if she ever will be,”

*

When Kaz appeared back at his side Jesper supposed the evening must have begun, but by that point he’d lost all sense of time. He’d also lost a good deal of money, and it didn’t help that every time he lost he bought himself another drink. How many hours had it been? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. This, he thought vaguely, and quite randomly, is why the windows upstairs piss Kaz off so much. Though at this point he wasn’t sure that seeing the sun go down as he played would make a difference to him anyway. 

He followed Kaz and Inej upstairs and between them they encouraged Jeluna out of the room. Kaz and Inej would take her to one of the Dregs’ safehouses whilst Jesper helped Layla clear out the room and set everything up for the game tonight, and then he would follow after them with Elodie. That had been Nina’s idea. No-one was entirely convinced that Jeluna would be able to take care of herself alone, and leaving her in a flat that was rented by the fictional Eline Vakkert was a whole new game than leaving her upstairs at the Crow Club, when at least one of them would always be nearby. But the hope was that they’d get her set up and comfortable, that slowly she would start to feel safe, and eventually they’d be able to get her home. Jesper had a feeling it was going to be a very slow process, but Kaz had only shrugged. 

“We aren’t using that apartment for anything else,”

Jesper was really there just to show Elodie the way from the Crow Club to the little apartment building up nearer to Fifth Harbour, and as soon as she was in there with the others he slipped out again. He didn’t need to be there, and the place was already crowded - and Jeluna already looked stressed in the brief second that he saw her. He walked back to the Crow Club, downed another drink, played another hand, and continued the night in a very similar fashion. He thought of the metal choker snapping beneath his fingers, of the flower stems breaking in Wylan’s hand. He bought another drink. He thought of Jeluna sitting upstairs, of Wylan standing outside the library at the university. 

She’s going to be very upset that I’m late. She worries.

I have to get home pretty quickly after class. My father worries.

He thought about putting his fist through something. Repeatedly. But he settled for another hand of cards, and for another drink. 

The next few days rolled by vaguely before Jesper’s eyes, and he barely even felt them passing. He avoided Wylan, he could give him that at least, but other than his usual shifts he had little else to do. For the tiniest moment he thought of university; he hadn’t been in over a month. Not since Wylan. That decision had been made for him, now, and he told himself that he didn’t care. 

It took him by some surprise when, almost a week later, he stepped out of the Slat one morning - late morning, but still - to find Wylan standing right in front of him. Jesper mumbled something so quiet and vague that even he wasn’t sure what he’d said, trying to apologetically push straight past Wylan, but Wylan caught his arm to stop him before stepping away. 

“Jesper, I…” 

There was a pause. Wylan fidgeted with the strap of his satchel.

“I haven’t seen you recently,”

Jesper was an idiot, but he also couldn’t help himself. He pursed his lips for a brief moment before saying:

“Just recently?”

And then something magical happened. Wylan laughed. 

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry, Jes, I shouldn’t have- well, I could have handled the situation better,”

Jesper wasn’t sure what to say. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, a thousand apologise he was supposed to be making. But Wylan was apologising to him, and apparently that was enough to make Jesper’s brain malfunction. He tried to find his voice, but it would seem it had abandoned him. 

“Anyway,” Wylan opened his bag and reached through it slowly, his eyes, eyes that should have been such a piercing blue, still fixed on Jesper. Jesper caught himself staring at Wylan’s scar, at the edge of the next one becoming visible, and forced his gaze away, “I wanted to give you these, I hope that they’re okay. I just chose the ones that smelled the nicest, but the woman at the shop said they were orange and I thought you’d like that,”

Jesper blinked, looking back at Wylan to realise that he was holding out a small posy of pretty, ever so slightly crumpled little flowers. 

“For me?”

“No,” said Wylan, drily, “For the guy standing behind you,”

One day, looking back on all of this, Jesper would still be able to identify that as the exact moment that his heart melted.