#kill o the wisp

[spectraltenkai]

Song: One Fine Morning

Day 8 already! Yes, I was wild enough to draw five familiars from Ni no Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch!

I absolutely adore the creature design and have a few favorites, but these buddies in particular I know are on my main team and I refuse to swap them out even if their synergy with their user doesn't maximize their potential.

I never beat NnK1 but I am ok with that. It's honestly a story I think I'd be sad to finish, if that makes sense-

[dragonfly0808]

Heads Up!

Hey guys, so ummm…. My final project for Molecular Biology is kinda sorta kicking my ass so I don’t think I’ll post until Sunday or Saturday cause- damn my brain is barley functioning anymore

I’ll post Chapter 7 of Tall Trees Fall Hard tmrrow as scheduled/planned but for Crossroads I might not post until the weekened but I’ll keep yall updated on when it will be posted and of course, it’ll be posted a day early on Ko-fi

I fucking hate molecular biology- worst class ever

[luck-of-the-drawings]

VIOLATOR!! DESECRATOR!! TURN AROUND AND MEET THE HATER!!

VEEERRRY HAPPY WITH WILLIAMS LIL SCARY ARC. HORROR MOVIE BOY. LIL ZOMBIE GUY. UNDEAD AND PIIIISSED OFF LIKE CMAAAHHHNNN I HOPE HE KEEPS THAT CHAINSAW FOREVER. IF YOURE UNDEAD CAN YOU STILL GET A NICOTINE ADDICTION? I SURE HOPE SO!

[blujayonthewing]

SUPREMELY frustrating that we found something actually really cool and intriguing and plot relevant in tonight's session but I'm still so constantly preoccupied with whether the DM is going to 100% kill us with sheer poor game design that I barely have enough brainspace left over to even enjoy it

[kempodcast]

Amelia was amazing as the will-o-wisp

[konnorhasapen]

AJSBIDNS finally just started listening to Whispering Wisteria/now Will o' the Wisp Audio and Char has me tripping on the fucking a i r that I. Can't. Seem. To. Get. Into. My. L U N G S -

[laughs-and-crafts]

WIP Telephone

I have participated in the WIP Telephone event for Ninjago! Many wonderful writers also participated in this event, so please check out the links below to find the stories and participants list!

Participants List

ao3 Collection

The stories that I have worked on for this event are listed below! Click the titles for the ao3 links, as these will be cross-posted on Tumblr soon! The author links lead to their Tumblr profiles, you can find their ao3 profiles connected to the ao3 story!

Who Killed the Green Ninja? by Myself, Percy and Legonerd on Tumblr

"The Green Ninja died. With lies and inconsistencies apparent in the reporting, Nelson and Antonia are on the case to uncover the truth behind his death."

Midnight Shenanigans by Myself, Dead_little_birdie and Thoriffix on Tumblr

"All the Ninja hated the night shift. Jay was no exception. Fortunately for him, he has a friend willing to make the night much more fun."

Will o' Wisps by Myself and Legonerd on Tumblr, and OshawottWarrior on ao3

"People are found dead lying in puddles of ink around Ninjago, and the Ninja have to figure out why, whether they like it or not."

I hope you guys enjoy reading these as much as I have enjoyed participating in writing them!

[lil-mr-slipstream]

-Voices-

A collection of portraits depicting the voices from Slay the Princess, taking inspiration from the style of the video game Disco Elysium! The Voice of the Hero, a knight, an iconic silhouette against a luminant halo. A color palette of black, blue, and teal.

The Voice of the Hunted, a beast trying to protect its heart from danger, represented here as a crosshair.

The Voice of the Smitten, the knife wound letting loose lovely streams of swirling bodily juices into the air.

The Voice of the Cold, dark, and angular. Something completely unafraid to kill.

The Voice of the Skeptic, attempting to fly, tearing himself away from chains and what looks like his own body.

The Voice of the Paranoid, Frantic and multi-eyed, clutching at a wound.

The Voice of the Contrarian, flying in stark contrast to the others, glowing instead of secluded, a mischievous fairy or will o' the wisp, instead of a grotesque figure.

The Voice of the Broken, shattered and leaking. A humanoid figure is no longer recognizable.

The Voice of the Stubborn, Fiery eyes, and big meaty claws. The brushwork is chaotic.

The Voice of the Cheated, smoke leaking from puncture wounds still embedded within him. He's holding a cigar, too; probably where all the smoke is coming from.

The Voice of the Opportunist, carrying multiple masks on his person, and wielding a poorly concealed knife.

And finally (for now) The Long Quiet itself, the night sky, swirling sigils blurred in the dark.

[acecasinova]

So today in dnd my warlock/ranger asked the cleric about the Augury spell he used during the session, and if he could teach him maybe?

But our cleric was unsure because he gets his magic from the Goddess of Hospitality, and wasn't sure where Will's magic came from, as he didn't seem to be familiar w/ the cleric's god. He vaguely said that some of his magic came from nature and that he only knows a few gods, including one of chaotic nature and, uh, the Archdemon of Bloodshed and Famine,,,,,

(Harrumph was NOT thrilled to hear that name, but Will said it in a slightly derogatory tone, so there's that)

Harrumph and Immendil also got to see a bunch of FLIES swarm out of Will's skin because he got a new Invocation and no one has wanted to bring THAT back up lmfao

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 21: Crime and Punishment

Summary: A trip to town to run errands has you questioning everything.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,719

Warnings: Ch 21 Warnings: NSFW, 18+, p in v sex, unprotected sex, rough-ish sex, overstimulation, creampie, language, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, Ghost’s emotional constipation, unresolved sexual tension, angst, and of course fluff.

A/N: I don't think I've ever written the word panties as many times as I did here. Again, not much to say about this one, so I hope you enjoy!!

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

You stare at your face in the mirror. Wisps of hair stick to your forehead from the sweat starting to bead on your skin, your lips slightly parted as you breathe heavily. Your hands grip the edges of the sink, knuckles white from how hard you’re holding on for dear life. 

Your legs are trembling, quickly turning into jello. You lean forward more, resting your hips against the edge of the sink for stability. Your mouth falls open in a moan as it changes the position of the cock pistoning into you just slightly. 

Soft grunts leave Johnny’s lips as he fucks you in your bathroom, his thrusts urgent and desperate. Five minutes, he had groaned against your lips as he pushed your door open and walked you backwards into your room. 

It’s probably been longer than five minutes, but you’re hardly in the state of mind to care. He’s supposed to be halfway across the base by now, but you’re certain he doesn’t care either. It won’t take the others long to figure out what had made him so late, and you can almost guarantee John will make him pay for choosing to play hooky and having a quickie with you in the bathroom instead of going to training like he’s supposed to. 

One of his hands leaves the vice-like grip he’s had around your hips to slide to the front of your body, his fingers frantically rubbing circles over your clit. Your back arches in pleasure as the sensations become too much, your hips pushing back against his. He’s still dressed, his cargo pants pushed down over his ass just enough to free his cock. Your pants are around your ankles, underwear pushed to the side. Your shirt and bra are pushed up over your chest, your breasts out on display for him. His eyes haven’t left them in the mirror and the way they bounce with every rough thrust of his hips. 

“Jesus christ, yer gonnae kill me.” He groans as your pussy clamps tightly around him. 

He presses his chest to your back, his hand gripping the edge of the sink as you writhe in his arms. His fingers don’t let up on your clit as you cum, your legs trying to clamp around his hand. 

“Johnny!” You squeal as the sensation becomes overwhelming. “Too much!” 

“Ye can take it.” He groans in your ear, his voice breathy and hoarse from pleasure. “Just a little more.” 

All you can do is babble incoherently as he continues to slam his hips into your ass, his breaths heavy in your ear. You can feel the pressure building again despite the burning overstimulation of his fingers on your clit. 

“Please, please, please!” You pant, your head pressing back against his shoulder as you arch further against him. 

“Fucking love this sweet little cunt.” He growls into your ear, his thrusts starting to get sloppy. “So fucking good fer me.” 

You’re cumming again, your knees buckling under you. His arm snakes around your waist, finally moving from your clit to hold you up. He lets out a loud, salacious groan as his hips slam into you one last time. You can feel his cock twitching as he cums, emptying his load inside you. 

His forehead presses against your back for a moment as you both attempt to catch your breaths. Your legs are still trembling as he begins to move, pulling his cock from you before he slides your panties back into place. He drags his hand over your covered folds, groaning quietly. 

“Better keep that in there.” He says, tugging your pants back up, doing the button for you and tugging the zipper back up. “Keep your mind on me the whole day.” 

You moan softly at his words, your pussy clenching out of instinct. He groans as he tucks himself back into his pants, staring down at your tits as you turn to face him. He curses, cupping them in his hands for a moment. 

“Fuck, I have tae go. Price is gonna kick my arse for bein’ late.” He leans down to kiss you, tugging your bra and shirt back down. “See ye at lunch, if I survive the wrath waitin’ fer me.” 

He leaves you there so casually, as if he hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes fucking you relentlessly in your bathroom. Your legs are still trembling as you lean against the sink, your teeth sinking into your lip as Johnny’s cum begins to seep out of you. They’ll know, they’ll know exactly why he’s late with one whiff of his scent. He’ll smell like you, smell like the musky scent of sex and sweat. All hope of blaming it on something else is out the window. 

All you can do is pray John goes easy on him. It’s not like you haven’t made John late before, though usually both of you were late for meals because you decided you needed an appetizer, and it felt unfair to make him walk around half hard. You hope he can have a little sympathy for Johnny. If you’d said no, made him be on time to training, he might not have been able to focus at all. 

You still can’t be sure he’ll be able to focus, though. You’ve probably only succeeded in changing the trajectory of his thoughts. Instead of whistfully picturing himself fucking you, he will be thinking about how he fucked you. 

You wonder how John will punish him for being late and distracted. Pushups? Running? Maybe extra rounds running the obstacle course. Or maybe he’ll save the punishment for later. Maybe he’ll force Johnny to sit there and watch him fuck Johnny’s cum out of you, force Johnny to sit still and not touch himself or you. Maybe he’ll fuck you right over Johnny, your tits bouncing in his face just as he likes, but he’ll be restrained, forced to watch but not to touch. He’ll get all whiny, begging for any mercy as his cock gets all red and swollen, throbbing in time with John’s thrusts. 

Your pussy clenches at the thought, more of Johnny’s release seeping out of you. 

Fuck, you are going to be thinking about him all day. 

“Took your time, MacTavish.” John says, crossing his arms as the beta Sergeant saunters into the gym.

“Get your dick caught in a door again?” Simon asks, crossing his arms too. 

“More like he got his dick caught in a saucy little omega.” Kyle says, catching the overwhelming scent of sex and strawberries wafting off his fellow beta. 

Simon’s hands clench, his scent thickening just a little, but none of them seem to pick up on it. 

“Well, since you seemed to have more important things to do than your job this morning, you can go first.” John says, nodding to the mat. “Garrick, you’re up too.” 

Kyle makes his way to the middle of the mat, cracking his knuckles. Johnny saunters to the middle of the mat behind him, still riding the high of his quickie before joining them. Your scent is thick on his clothes, wafting into his nose, bringing back mental images of you bent over before him, tits bouncing in the mirror as he drove his hips into your ass over and over. Those sweet cries of pleasure, the way you shoot in his arms making his blood pump in his veins, the satisfaction making his head spin a bit. 

Kyle moves first, hoping to use Johnny’s seemingly distracted state against him. He aims for Johnny’s middle, but Johnny’s ready for it, blocking Kyle from getting his arms around him. 

Johnny uses the advantage, planting his feet firmly as he flips Kyle onto his back, pinning his fellow beta. Kyle yields, Johnny’s shoulder in his stomach not helping the spasm in his diaphragm from how he hit the mat. 

“Bloody hell.” Kyle gasps out, trying to catch his breath. “The fuck was that?”

“Just me beating you. Again.” Johnny smirks. 

“Yeah? Well I still have you beat on the course.” Kyle says, pushing himself up to stand. “Should work on your speed instead of your biceps once in a while.”

“Alright, you two.” Price says, stopping the argument before it becomes something more. “Garrick, get out of there.” He silently motions for Simon to take Kyle’s place. 

Simon moves onto the mat, staring down his beta. It’s not unfamiliar from the first time they ever sparred together. Simon has size and raw power to his advantage, but Johnny is quick on his feet. Johnny takes a defensive stance, planting his feet on the mat. Simon moves quickly, Johnny just barely managing to dodge his first hit. Simon catches Johnny's own swing aimed for his face, wrapping his arms around the beta to try and sweep him off his feet. 

His mistake is taking in a deep breath so close to Johnny's chest. 

The scent of strawberries flows straight into the back of his brain, igniting a fire in his veins. His blood is boiling, his instincts riding high off the scent of omega wafting off of his beta, creating an alluring cocktail that nearly blinds him. 

Simon rams his shoulder into Johnny’s stomach, the air leaving the beta’s lungs in a pained gasp. He flips Johnny onto his back, the back of his head smacking the mat. 

“Christ, I yield.” Johnny gasps, holding up his hands to stop Simon from continuing his assault. 

Simon’s hands are shaking, his breathing ragged. His mind is still reeling from the scent of omega on his beta. He shouldn’t be reacting this way to the scent of an omega he knows well, an omega he recognizes. He had accepted Johnny would want that kind of relationship with the pack omega early on, so why does he feel jealousy burning in the back of his mind. 

He leaves the training room, slamming the door behind him before heading outside, gulping down lungfuls of damp air free from the scent of omega. You weren’t even in the room and yet it was like you were standing before him, taunting him with your sweet scent. He leans against the outside wall of the gym, letting the air clear his head. Had they been alone and not in the middle of the base, he might have pulled off his mask, let the air touch his skin and dry the sweat that has slowly soaked into the fabric. 

He squeezes his eyes shut as the door opens, the gravel crunching under cautious steps. He can feel eyes on him, the prickling of his skin from the harsh, questioning gaze. It’s not the first time he’s found himself under the scrutinizing stare of his pack alpha. He’s used to it, the attention being on him. He's an officer, he's the one being looked to when things go wrong, when important decisions need to be made. He has to be aware, clear-headed, and focused at all times. 

That's the one thing he can't be right now. 

“It will get easier if you just give in.” Price says, leaning against the wall next to him. “I know you want to.” Price cuts him off before he can offer up any argument. “The longer you try to deny it, the worse things will get for you. I don’t want to have to question your ability to be successful in the field.” 

Simon swallows the lump in his throat, his mind reeling. He knows deep down Price is right. The longer he pushes away those thoughts, fights to keep those urges at bay, the more that tight rein on his emotions will slip. His hands clench into fists at his sides, his chest rising as he takes a deep breath. He’s spent decades now mastering control, keeping things buried when he needs to. Then you come along and fuck everything up for him. 

It’s not fair to blame it on you. It’s not your fault. You don’t even know you’re doing it. You’re not even trying. You just exist around him and he's losing control. 

Price can report that to the stupid initiative program. 

“Is this going to become a problem?” Price asks him, giving him a pointed look. 

Simon sucks in another deep breath. Is it going to become a problem? Is he going to let it become a problem? He releases the breath, shaking his head to try and clear it. “No, sir.” 

“How are you doing?” 

“Better.” You say, stretching your legs out in front of you. “I didn’t have a nightmare last night.” 

“That’s great! Small improvements are still improvements.” Dr. Keller says, writing something down on her notepad. “How are things going with your pack? Have things settled since they returned?” 

You nod. “Yeah. For the most part. There’s still...something lingering.” You chew on your lip nervously. You can’t tell her what it is, the thing that eats you alive daily. She’d have to tell your pack, and then everything would come undone. “I’m worried that any day now they’ll have to leave me again.” 

“You won’t be alone this time, though.” She says, reminding you of what John had done for you. 

“I know, but...what if they don’t come back?” 

“That is an unfortunate reality, a risk you all have to live with. There’s not much that can be changed about that, but I know they’ll do everything in their power to return home to you.” ’ She gives you a soft smile. “They care about you a lot.” 

“But...they're supposed to put their jobs above everything else. That was part of this whole experiment. Their jobs come first, and I come second.” 

“But, Captain Price has already advocated against that by requiring one of them stay behind with you when they get sent out on assignments. That’s not putting their job above you.” 

She’s right. John fighting to make things more comfortable for you was them putting their priority on you and your comfort. Of course, John had told you they had only advocated for it at this point. There was no guarantee those in leadership would approve, that General Shepherd would approve, but he said he’d fight it as hard as he had to. It wasn’t always necessary for all of them to be sent out anyway, so it was more likely there’d be at least one, if not two of them with you most of the time.

“Besides,” Dr. Keller continues. “In my professional opinion, it’s not sustainable to expect them to have an omega in their pack and also expect them to neglect their omega in favor of their jobs. The whole point of the initiative is to see if the assimilation of omegas into military packs will be helpful or a hindrance. There has to be a balance if they want even a chance at this being successful. While their jobs and what they do is important, they can’t expect full dedication to that job while also trying to care for an omega.” 

You’ve never thought about it that way before. They had been so dead set in your briefings about how their jobs were more important than you and how you had to be prepared for anything to happen because their job always comes first. 

“It’s important to keep in mind that you are essentially the trial for this initiative. There’s going to be ups and downs, things they didn’t account for in their planning, if they did any real planning, and things that have to be adjusted as they come up. There’s just some things you can’t properly predict until the trial is taking place.” 

You haven’t really thought about it that way either. You are the first omega involved in this initiative, the trial run, the guinea pig. Is that why General Shepherd came to base and wanted to meet you? Is that why they wanted cameras in your room? To ensure things really were going properly, and everyone was doing what they were supposed to do? That things really are as fine as you, and likely John, have said? 

What if they think things are going badly? What if they think the initiative is a failure? What happens then? What can they really do now that you’ve been claimed and assimilated into the pack? 

“What’s going on in your head?” Dr. Keller asks softly. 

“What if...what’s going to happen if the initiative fails?” You ask. 

Dr. Keller hums, obviously not having expected that question. “Well, I don’t think there’s much they can do. They made it far enough in the planning that they thought it was worth the chance of a live trial with an omega and an established pack. They wouldn’t have taken that risk without the belief that it will be successful.” Dr. Keller crosses her legs, setting her notebook to the side. “If, and it’s a big if, it failed, then there’s not a lot they can do, legally. You’ve been claimed, which legally puts you under Captain Price’s care, and while the military is a grey area when it comes to legality, I doubt they’d run the risk of trying to remove you from the pack at this point.” 

“They’d run the risk of their task force falling apart.” You say, the pieces starting to come together. 

Dr. Keller nods. “Exactly. If your pack is as important as they appear to be, I doubt anyone involved in this would take that risk of losing such valuable soldiers. Forcibly removing you would turn your pack against them in the blink of an eye. All trust they have in their superiors will be turned on its head and destroyed completely. No matter how loyal they are to their jobs, that loyalty will shift very quickly should something happen to you at their hands.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat, your heart rate starting to kick up. So you had made the right choice in keeping General Shepherd’s visit and the cameras a secret. The last thing you want is to ruin their lives over what was probably nothing, over something that would have been inconsequential in the end. Something they possibly know about already. 

That thought lingers constantly in the back of your mind. They know and they’re waiting for you to finally spill and reveal what happened. What happens then? How will they punish you for lying to them, for withholding important information, information that puts not only you, but them at risk as well? Will they ever forgive you for not telling them right away? Could you grovel and plead with excuses of fear and naivety? Could you lie again and claim you were scruffed? John already knows of your nightmares, of your fear. You’d have to think up a reason as to why you lied to him that night too, though. 

Lying will only dig you deeper and deeper into more lies until all their trust in you is broken beyond repair. 

The trust between you will still be broken if you tell them, though. 

“Have you been thinking of this a lot lately?” Dr. Keller asks, pulling you from your thoughts. 

You nod, dropping your gaze to your hands. “I overheard John and Simon talking about it the other night. Simon asked if this was worth it if it failed, and John seemed confident it wouldn’t.” 

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it as many times as I need to.” You lift your gaze to meet Dr. Keller’s. Her face is as serious as her tone. “Your pack isn’t going to let anything happen to you. Pack loyalty to omegas is not something to be tested, especially not a pack as fierce as yours. They’d go to war for you, if they had to. I don’t doubt that one bit.” 

Your brows pull into a frown. “You really think so?” 

She nods. “I know so. You’re very lucky.” 

You are lucky. Things could have been much worse for you. 

“C’mon kitten,” Johnny says, barging into your room. 

You let out a startled shriek, nearly jumping out of your skin as you clutch your towel desperately around your naked, still slightly damp form. You just got out of the shower not too long ago, and had been deciding on what to wear on the warmest day you’ve experienced since your arrival in England when Johnny barged his way into your room. 

Barged may be a strong word for it. Your door wasn’t even closed all the way. 

Your heart is still thudding in your chest, your breaths slightly heavy as he digs through your closet, picking out clothes for you. “What the hell?” You breathe, adjusting your grip on your towel. “Scared the shit out of me.” 

Johnny turns, giving you a grin. “Sorry, kitten.” His eyes drop to where you’re clutching the towel, and you can practically see the idea flash through his mind, the idea to rip the towel off and lick every last droplet of water off of your body before having his way with you. 

“What’s going on?” You ask, trying to refocus his mind on what he was doing. 

His eyes snap back up to yours, his grin widening. “We’re goin’ on an excursion.” 

“Excursion?” You ask, barely managing to catch the clothes he throws at you and keep your towel up at the same time. 

“Got some errands tae run in town, an’ yer comin’ with us.” He looks you over. “So get your claes on and meet us outside.” 

You blink at him as he leaves your room, not bothering to close the door behind him. You stare down at the clothes in your hands, a t-shirt and the skirt that’s been hanging in your closet that you had yet to even try on. Of course he’d pick something like that for you to wear. You’re tempted to go without underwear, but that’s probably exactly what he wanted. If you were staying in the barracks, then you might have done it, but being out in public you don’t want to risk a stray breeze. The last thing you need is some alpha seeing it as an opportunity and trying something stupid. 

You finish getting ready, drying yourself off and getting dressed before pulling on a pair of comfortable shoes. Your hair is still slightly damp as you make your way out of the barracks, a car pulled up outside as you expected. 

“You promise to drive carefully?” John is saying, holding the keys up in front of Johnny. 

“Of course.” Johnny says, looking past him to grin at you. “There’s precious cargo on board.” 

“I’m putting a lot of trust in you.” John says, giving him a look before dropping the keys into Johnny’s hand. John turns to you, staring down at you for a moment before leaning down to press a kiss on your forehead. “Let me know when you get there.” He murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. 

You nod, leaning up to kiss his cheek before getting into the car. 

You’re surprised to see Simon sitting in the passenger seat. You had expected maybe Kyle would be tagging along, or even John, but this is something entirely unexpected. He’s in his beanie and face mask combo again, the same thing he’d been wearing when he and John took you to town before your heat. 

The night he bought the ingredients to make you enchiladas. 

It still brings a warmth to your chest when you think about it, that he did that for you. It had been his idea to do it, his idea to bring you some comfort during the stress and insecurity your approaching heat had brought on. He does care about you, in his own way. He’s been showing it, at least for the most part, looking back on your interactions with him. 

He has to care about you, if he’s willing to do this. 

It wasn’t his decision, you know that. Johnny was likely forcing him to come along, either to appease John’s concerns, or in case of an incident. Not that Johnny’s not fully capable of handling a situation on his own, but having an alpha at your back makes it less likely someone would try something at all. 

The fact John is trusting them with you speaks volumes of his trust in his pack, in his second alpha. You know they won’t let anything happen to you, they’ll protect you just as fiercely as if you were their omega. 

You could be, if he wanted it. 

You push that thought to the back of your mind as Johnny climbs into the driver's seat, the car rumbling to life.

Johnny isn’t a terrible driver. Despite the many stories you’ve heard over the last few weeks, you had been expecting worse. Kyle had been right, of course, he takes the speed limit as more of a suggestion, and weaves around on the road, passing slower cars and farm equipment in ways that are probably not legal. Despite that, you’re not gripping the seat in fear or holding on for dear life. You had been expecting much worse when he climbed into the driver’s seat. 

Though, from what you’ve heard, Johnny is the most preferable of the two in the car when it comes to driving. 

The farmlands fade into civilization as the buildings grow closer and closer together. It’s only your fourth trip into town, but yet you’ve already begun to recognize landmarks, businesses. You could navigate if you had to, something you know they’d be proud of. You wonder if Simon would praise you for that, considering how annoyed he always seems to be about how much time you spend lost in your own thoughts. 

Johnny pulls into a parking spot on the street, and you send a quick text to John to let him know you made it in one piece. Johnny opens your door for you, offering you a hand. You take it, letting him help you out before he laces your fingers together, squeezing your hand gently. 

You’re glad you wore comfortable shoes as you walk around with them, picking up a few items from different shops. Johnny keeps hold of your hand, Simon walking behind the two of you like a protective shadow. The people you pass on the street give you a wide berth, and you know it’s Simon’s doing as their eyes skirt past you and Johnny to the big alpha trailing you. You can imagine the silent threat behind his eyes, daring them to even think of trying anything. 

“The last stop.” Johnny says, pausing in front of a familiar storefront. 

You’ve been here before, the day of your first date with John when he’d taken your virginity. The lingerie shop where you’d gotten those lacy panties the guys seemed to admire so much. Your cheeks warm as Johnny opens the door for you, the stark reminder of who you’re with suddenly snapping into your mind. This trip definitely was Johnny’s doing. Did he even know this was a stop that you were going to make? If he did, he probably wouldn’t have come along and talked Kyle into it instead. 

Or maybe he did know and he did want to come along. 

Or, maybe, Johnny pouted at him and begged until he had no choice but to agree. 

The answer is likely the latter. 

 You wonder if he’ll stay outside, or perhaps even return to the car in favor of stepping into a lingerie store. You can’t imagine him inside, the hulking alpha among the delicate lace and fabrics. A bull in a china shop. 

You’re surprised when he enters behind you, looking about as uncomfortable as you expected him to in a place like this. His shoulders are squared, hands opening and closing into fists at his sides. He’s looking everywhere but at what’s on the racks, his gaze flicking around the store instead, taking stock of everyone inside shopping. 

You let Johnny take the lead, Simon keeping his distance as you peruse the racks. You’re not just there to replenish your quickly dwindling stash of lacy underwear, you realize as Johnny begins flipping through items on the racks. He’s got some other ideas for you as well. You can see the wheels turning in his head, the concentration in his eyes as he looks over his options. 

Your face gets warmer and warmer as he holds things up in front of you, studying you and the lingerie. He’s picturing you in it, most likely in lewd positions. You’re close to combusting out of bashfulness, but also from the fire igniting under your veins. You’re trying to keep it under control, trying to keep things as discreet as possible for the sake of the other shoppers in the store. The last thing you want is to draw any unwanted attention and cause a scene. 

“That’s definitely the one.” He says, holding up a purple mess of lace and straps. You’re not sure how you’re going to get into it, much less what it will look like while you’re wearing it, but he seems to know what he’s looking at, so you’re not going to contradict him. You might just need his help getting into it, which you’re sure he won’t complain about. 

Your skin prickles as you continue to follow Johnny, warning bells going off in the back of your head. 

Someone is staring at you. 

You lift your gaze from the rack Johnny is flipping through, scanning the store to try and find who it is that’s staring at you so intently. It’s not Simon where he’s lingering against the back wall trying to avoid touching anything like it might infect him with some deadly disease, or give him the mental image of you in it. 

The prickling of your skin feels too different from the prickling you usually feel when his gaze is on you. Someone is watching you, yet the shoppers and even the employees in the store are in their own little worlds, going about their business and paying you no mind. You step closer to Johnny, your arm brushing his. It’s not unlike the feeling you get in your room, the idea that there were cameras in there, that there still might be one that you missed. That paranoid tickling down your spine that you might be being watched at any moment. 

“Ye alright, kitten?” Johnny asks, looking up at you as you step even closer to him. 

Warmth presses against your back, making you flinch just slightly in surprise. You nearly panic, until the familiar scent of leather and eucalyptus washes over you. 

“What is it?” Warm breath fans your ear, calloused fingers ghosting down your bare arm. 

“I-I think someone’s watching us.” You say quietly, leaning into both of them. 

Both of them straighten up, and you can imagine their gazes scanning the store, profiling every single customer and worker, picking up things you could only dream of noticing. Simon’s fingers wrap around your arm, not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough to offer a little support as they look for the culprit of your paranoid feelings. 

There’s no tickling at the back of your neck signaling your brain picking up on a change to Simon’s emotions. Neither of them seem to pick up on a possible threat. Perhaps it’s all just in your head, some sort of trauma response after being cooped up on base for so long paired with what happened while they were away. There are cameras in the store. You are being watched. Maybe it’s just trauma fueled paranoia after all. 

Simon lets go of your arm to step up close to Johnny, speaking quietly to him. You’re not listening, your eyes scanning the store again. You slide closer to Simon, the prickling feeling of being watched gone now. Your hand lifts, fingers wrapping around his forearm, his skin warm under your touch. You’ve never been quite this close to him, this physical, that wasn’t out of necessity before. It’s exciting, the prospect of being so open with him. Just the thought that he noticed your discomfort, picked up on your worry like that makes your omega want to roll over and show her belly. 

“Ye alright, kitten?” Johnny asks, his eyes flickering between you and Simon. 

Your gaze snaps back to him, and you nod without even thinking about it. “Yeah.” 

“You two go an’ pick out some new skids, I’m almost done.” He says. They must not have noticed anything worthy of being concerned about, nothing that could lead them to thinking there’s a threat. 

It’s just like what happened that morning when you asked Simon to open the door to your room all over again. 

Suddenly the mood shifts back to what it was at Johnny’s words, Simon shifting uncomfortably next to you. You can feel his muscles flex under your hand as he clenches his fists, letting out a long breath. 

You shake off the paranoia and the worry, putting your trust in them should something happen. You drop your hand from his forearm to his wrist, tugging lightly on his arm. “Come on. They’re just panties. They don’t bite.” You grin teasingly up at him. 

“Bloody hell.” He groans before letting you tug him over to the section of the store with the underwear. 

You find the ones that you had gotten before, grabbing one in every color. Simon stands to the side like a guard dog, arms crossed, trying to look as manly as possible amongst the lace and ribbons. You pick up a couple more in Johnny’s favorite color, the beta approaching you both. 

“Look what I found.” He grins wickedly, holding up a pair of panties.

You nearly choke as you stare at them, Simon shifting just slightly behind you. In Johnny’s hands are a pair of black cheeky panties with lace edges. They wouldn’t be anything special, had it not been for the skull pattern on the fabric. 

Your face warms as you stare at them, the meaning not lost on you. Of course Johnny would find something like that in a store with probably hundreds of pairs of underwear. You can’t help but think he might have been looking for something like that this whole time. 

Johnny steps up to you, turning you around to face Simon. His back brushes your chest as he wraps his arms around you, holding the panties up in front of your chest. 

You wish you could see Simon’s face. All of his face. His jaw is clenched, his eyes burning as he stares at the underwear in Johnny’s hands. His whole body is tense, the tendons and muscles in his forearms bulging from how tightly he’s clenching his muscles. A bead of sweat runs down your back from the intensity of his stare, his gaze shifting from the underwear to your face. They flicker back and forth, almost like he doesn’t quite know which is worse to look at: you or the panties. 

His body tenses even more, his gaze finally settling on the underwear. He’s imagining you in them. You can see it, the way his eyes get darker and darker, his scent thickening. Several thoughts run through your head as you stare at him, your stomach fluttering as you suddenly come to a realization. You lift your hands, taking the underwear from Johnny, continuing to hold it in front of your chest. 

“Fucking hell...” Simon breathes, his hands dropping to his sides, still tightly closed into fists. 

“Would...” You clear your throat, trying to shake the waver from your voice. “Would you like to see me in them?” 

His gaze snaps to yours, and it nearly has you running for cover. He looks like he wants to simultaneously devour you and bend you over the nearest table. The primal urge to run tickles in the back of your brain, to run and let him chase you. 

He looks like he would do it, too. 

Have you been misreading his actions towards you? You never thought he’d feel like that about you. Was his reluctant tolerance, his drive to keep you at arm’s length less because he disliked you, and more because he likes you too much?

His behavior and his actions begin to make sense the more you think about it. He’s not keeping you at arm's distance because he doesn't like you, because he doesn’t think you don’t belong with them. He’s not afraid of the weakness you might cause in the pack, the disruption you’ve brought to their lives. He’s afraid of how you’re making him feel. 

Has he ever been in love? Has he ever held feelings for another before Johnny? Did he even want to have feelings for Johnny in the first place, or did Johnny force his way in until Simon finally accepted he can’t change the way he feels? 

You’re not trying to invoke that kind of response from him. You’ve respected his boundaries, kept him at arm’s distance as much as you could to try and avoid making him hate you, to try and avoid ruining all the work you’ve put into just making him accept you as part of the pack. 

Maybe you had been trying in all the wrong ways. 

All the things he did for you, all the ways he treated you suddenly make sense. His disappointment at your neglecting him on the tarmac should have made it obvious to you. 

Hell, he’d let you spoon him the very next morning like it was nothing. 

Does he want to be your second alpha? Even if he doesn’t, does he want to push past that barrier and open up to that kind of relationship with you? The bond you have with him is hardly even platonic, a weak thread connecting you built out of proximity and interaction. The bond you have with Dr. Keller is stronger, and she’s not even part of your pack. 

Does he want to build that bond with you? 

Looking at him has your body warming, a fire igniting under your skin. You can’t handle it anymore, the intensity of his stare threatening to make you do something indecent in this lingerie shop. 

You turn to face Johnny, certain steam has to be rising off your body at this point. You shove the pile of panties into his hands, including the one with skulls on them. “We’re getting them.” You say, trying to ignore the grin pulling at his lips. 

You take half a second to breathe as the tension in the air is cut off, another shopper passing by, giving the three of you a look. You’re sure you’re projecting your scent, and you can imagine just how much Simon’s scent has taken over the store. 

Johnny carries the armful of lingerie to the checkout and you follow behind him, Simon bending down to whisper something in his ear before heading for the door. You watch him step outside, moving until he’s just visible through the glass from the register. You have half a mind to follow him, half a mind to confront him and ask him for an explanation, ask him why he felt it necessary to hold you at arm’s length when there’s a chance he’s been feeling this way the whole time. 

You don’t, instead sticking close to Johnny’s side as he pays far too much for the lingerie. Your heart is still racing from the exchange with Simon, your hands shaking just a little as Johnny hands you the bag. His hand is warm on your back as he guides you from the store, Simon turning as you approach him. 

“Let’s grab somethin’ to eat, then we’ll go.” Johnny says, leading you back towards the car. 

“We need to talk.” 

You almost turn tail and run as Simon’s gaze snaps up to meet yours. He sits there, frozen for just a moment, before he slowly lowers his phone, sliding it into his sweatshirt pocket. You don’t sit down on the couch next to him, instead you remain standing, wanting to keep the energy in the room in your favor. You know if you sit, your brain will slip into submission to the large alpha. At least looking down on him, you have more of a chance at keeping that illusion of dominance. 

“I want to know how long.” You say, taking half a step closer to him, one foot planted, the other half raised, ready to bolt in case this goes south. “I want to know how long you’ve had feelings for me.” 

His gaze hardens as he stares up at you, and despite your position of dominance, you wish he’d take off his mask just so you could read his face, read his reactions. You can’t back down, though. Not now, not when things have come to a head between you. There’s no going back, there’s no playing pretend anymore. You can’t move on after the events earlier in the lingerie shop.

“I want to know the truth.” You say, not backing down. You won’t submit to him so easily this time. 

“When you punched that asshole Corporal.” He says, looking away from you to stare at the black screen of the television. “Allen. Proved you weren’t just some weak, pathetic omega that was only going to slow us down, make us work twice as hard to keep you alive.” He snorts softly. “That first night with Johnny.” He continues, his voice softer than it had been. “That’s when it changed. He yapped the whole morning about what happened, what you two did, like a bloody slag.” 

Your face warms at the idea of Johnny spilling all the intimate details. It doesn’t upset you as much as it probably should, though it wasn’t like they couldn’t all hear it happening. Simon especially, sharing a wall with him. He probably could have recounted the whole thing himself if he’d wanted to. 

“I wanted to hate you. Fucking tried so hard to, but you make it so bloody hard.” He shakes his head. “I’m not supposed to.” 

A frown pulls at your brows as you listen to him. As an alpha in the pack, he technically could if he wanted to. You’re certain John wouldn’t have a problem with it, in fact he might encourage it, if it gets rid of the stick that’s been up Simon’s ass since your arrival, or maybe even before then. 

“I-I don’t understand.” You say, stepping closer to him. 

“I can’t.” He snaps, wheeling around to face you. You freeze in your approach, your weight shifting back in case you need to run. “I can’t.” He repeats, his voice softer, the tenseness in his shoulders deflating as he diverts his gaze. “It’s too dangerous.” 

Your frown deepens as you stare at him. “What do you mean?” 

“I’ll only hurt you.” He shakes his head. 

You understand it now. Those four words have given you all the explanation you need to understand his hesitation, his predicament, why it’s taken him this long to openly admit his feelings, to accept them. 

You bravely continue your approach until you’re standing right next to him. His gaze is anywhere but on you, seeming very small despite his hulking size. “You’re not going to hurt me.” You say, slowly reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. “I know you won’t. If...if you’re worried about turning out like your father, then that’s enough proof that you won’t. You know, you’re aware, so you can stop it.” He goes to turn away, but you stop him, catching his wrist in your hand. “We don’t have to. If you’re not comfortable enough then that’s okay. I have that need filled plenty.” You plop down on the couch next to him as you lift his hand to your face, pressing his bare palm into your skin. “But I wouldn’t stop you, if you wanted to.” 

His hand is big and warm as it slowly relaxes against your face. His eyes meet yours, staring deep into them. You stare right back, not letting his size or the intensity of his gaze force you to submit. His thumb drags along your cheekbone, his calluses scratching across your skin, but that’s a feeling you’ve become very used to. You press your hand against his, your fingers trembling just slightly from the emotion and the intensity of the moment. 

“It’s not just me that might hurt you. I’ve made enemies, people that would do anything to get back at me.” He says quietly. 

You shrug. “So does everyone in this pack. That was a risk I was made well aware of before I was sent here. That’s why I don’t know jack shit about what any of you do. That’s why I’m basically non-existent and invisible except to a select few. I used to think about it, when I first arrived here. What if something happened to me because of your jobs? What if someone found out about me?” You shrug again, your thumb rubbing the back of his hand. “That’s a risk we all signed up for, right?” 

He stares at you for a while, his hand still pressed against your cheek. You wish you could read his mind, see the thoughts turning those wheels behind his eyes. You wish he was an open book, something you could breeze right through like the ones on the shelves. Instead, he might be the most closed off person you’ve ever met. You’ve never even seen his face 

Slowly he begins leaning forward, his gaze never leaving yours. If it hadn’t been for the mask, you might have thought he was leaning in for a kiss. You might have leaned in for a kiss, had he not been wearing the mask. Instead he leans forward until your foreheads are touching, his gaze finally leaving yours as his eyes flutter closed. You finally relax yourself, melting into him slightly as you sit there, breathing in the quiet moment. Something’s shifting, something’s changing between the two of you. 

You’re not quite sure how it’s going to end, but you can’t deny the bond beginning to form between you and Simon. 

NEXT ->

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @protokosmonaut

@fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai @redwites

@kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos

@konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @smile-child-13

@anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry

@red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @linaangel @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving

@slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @ttsbaby01

@heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10 @cassiecasluciluce @darling006

@sheep-from-rad @ohgodthebogisback @willow-sages @scythemood @daniblogs164

@mirzamsaiph @xlxnq @chickennn-soupp

[chufflepop]

The winners garden

This was inspired by my emerald rogue run (the old one), with my pidgeot whom I have named Victory after the run ended (or caught a pidgey in the safari and pretended it was her)

This'll be long because it affected me that much. I didn't expect to win this run- I thought I was a goner after Wallace. I swear this run felt like a movie sequence because my god it felt so climactic (to me)

Victory was a random pidgey I caught at before the first or second gym, and I was originally going to trade her off but I just felt like I lacked flying types. Eventually, I thought she was actually a really valuable member and kept her in. It also helped alot that the pidgeotite appeared the next time I got into the battle stop store, so it felt right keeping her around-

My team had a latios, thunderus, sylveon (who died but I managed to get him back because of the random lab encounter, thank god it was just a species curse), serperior, dracovish and mega pidgeot. Pidgeot with hurricane spam is so good I kept her around even more

It was a really solid team until I accidentally stumbled into a trainer battle while getting an item, and due to an unlucky crit, my latios goes down

At this point, I got mad because "AH, MY BEST TEAM MEMBER". He had a choice specs on and his job was to spam, but unfortunately, his psychic didn't kill the mega kanghaskan we encountered. It was unfortunate, I didn't level up because I thought I could avoid the trainer, but oh well

Caught a random alolan ninetales that did good aurora veil blizzard (after buying an ability patch) and I thought she'd be fine and for awhile, it was

Until I reached the champion. Wallace killed 3 of my team members, down went my serperior, my newly caught alolan ninetales, and my dracovish. And there was also an unskippable trainer when I moved on to the next route which killed my sylveon, leaving me with only my thunderus and my dear pidgeot

Remember the species clause I said earlier? That thing screwed me over when it only had 3 available pokemon (and worse, it was a water route so the surf point also had staryu, maybe I was just impatient and maybe another mon is in the surf point idk). I caught a starmie, a toxapex and a jellicent in that route. With the species clause active, I was handicapped to fight the REAL champion. I only had 5 pokemon instead of 6

The last poke stop. The trader was there, so I took a gamble with him and traded my starmie. And what came out of it felt right- It was a victini. At this point, I was giggling to myself like "I might win" because of victinis dex entry and such, about how it being with you is basically a guaranteed victory.

After I prepared my team to the best that I could and with some small confidence growing, I pressed on.

At this point, I only remember the pidgeot battle so I'm just trying to remember here and I'm probably wrong in some details

Red was the final champion and my victini took the lead. Victini died first, he was scarfed and spammed bolt strike until he MISSED. But it was still good enough, it was now a fair 4v4. Jellicent didn't have much, but he had will o wisp, which helped alot. He wasn't trained as well as the others so he was frailer than he was supposed to be, but he weakened one pokemon enough for thunderbolt range and died. 3v4 now

Thunderus tbolt, he goes down. Thunderus had a z crystal and it one shotted I forgot who immediately after.

It's now a 2v2

Terrakion. Easy enough for toxapex to take down (and spam recover)

2v1

Final pokemon was a giratina. Shadow force. Didnt want to switch out because tox was in good health and I wanted to knock off, but it critted and tox was lower than anticipated. Knock off did alright damage and I was sure it was a clear 2 hit ko if pidgeot lived. One outrage and tox was down

1v1.

My pidgeot, the pidgeot who's been with me since the start, the pidegot that I was going to trade away, the pidgeot that I doubted. From a little helpless pidgey to now facing Satan head on

She megas and hits her first hurricane but it doesn't kill and an outrage hits her and SHE BARELY LIVED. SHE WAS CLINGING FOR HER LIFE. AND THERE I KNEW, I KNEW I WON. ONE LAST HURRICANE AND DOWN GOES GIRATINA, AND MY SOLE SURVIVOR WON ME EVERYTHING!

IT FELT SO PERFECT. THE SPECIES CLAUSE, THE VICTINI, THE TOXAPEX, THE STRESS I BUILT, THE IMPORTANT POKEMON DYING JUST BEFORE RED, THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP TAKING DOWN POKEMON SATAN, IT DIDN'T LOOK LIKE MUCH VISUALLY AND SOME PEOPLE WOULD PROBABLY THINK IT'S CHILDISH, BUT I IMAGINED MY PIDGEOT ABSOLUTELY LOOKING COOL AND GOING HAM ON THAT FINAL BATTLE. THE FINAL BATTLE WAS COOL IN MY HEAD OKAY

After we won, I caught a female pidgey on the safari zone and named her Victory. It's the same pidgeot now pidgey that in my heart. And that's literally why I made this drawing. And also I significantly love pidgeot more now. I would also make an essay about my thought process when making this, but I think this tumblr blog is long enough (it was so corny ngl). Too bad I can’t bring her over but the newer game is fun too

I'm sorry this was long guys, I enjoyed talking about this way too much ahshsh

[tossawary]

It's funny to think about a scenario in which Luke manages to get Yoda off Dagobah and bring him back to the Rebellion. Maybe Obi-Wan left a message with R2 as a backup plan or something, so Luke got the message much earlier. Yoda is still too old and injured to fight, but he can train Luke while moving around as the Rebellion's new grandpa (and potentially reunite with characters like Ahsoka and Kanan and Cal and so on).

This AU is important to me because how it would look from an Outsider's POV:

"Uhhh, Luke," Han said. "What's that?"

"What's what?" Luke said, turning to look across the hangar bay. "Oh. That's Master Yoda. I went to Dagobah to get him, remember?"

Han studied the small, green, vaguely amphibious creature with long pointy ears and wisps of white hair, crouched underneath Luke's X-Wing and steadily eating its way though a bucket of... what the hell were those things? Eggs?

"That's your great Master Yoda?" Han said dubiously. He couldn't have helped it, so he didn't even try not to sound skeptical. "The one who's going to train you and Her Royal Highness in this... uh... penetrating life field magic?"

Those ragged brown blankets that it seemed to be wearing looked not unlike the dusty robes that Luke's old man had been shuffling around in, before getting killed back on the Death Star. Maybe.

"He's the wisest and most powerful Jedi Master alive," Luke said, like he was determined to be upbeat about it. "He's 900 years old. He said."

Han watched the creature dig around in the bucket some more, nearly sticking the entire upper half of its body inside. Its long ears wilted when it came up empty. It sat back with a loud, high-pitched harrumph and its wrinkled face scrunched up like a fruit rotting all at once.

"Yeah," Han said. "He looks it."

Luke shot him a betrayed look and Han just shrugged. He didn't have a problem with the kid and the princess finding some comfort in some hokey old religion. The kid's family had apparently been killed by troopers the day that Han had met him and Leia had watched her entire planet be destroyed, so whatever touchy-feely nonsense helped them deal with that helped.

But that didn't mean that Han wasn't going to call it like he saw it- "Uh, kid, is that your storage unit he's searching now?"

Luke groaned and put his head in his hands. "I left some ration bars in there, I think. I bet he can smell them."

This great Jedi Master was making a real mess of it. He threw one of Luke's things over his shoulder, where the tool hit R2-D2, and the small droid immediately let out a shocked series of beeps and chirps. The outraged blare when the droid traced the missile back to Yoda was even louder.

Han watched as the droid whirred briskly up to Yoda, then reached out with an extended grabber and yanked at the old Jedi's stick. Yoda shrieked in surprise. A tug-o-war started, which looked like it was going to have one or both of them falling over.

"Oh, no," Luke said.

People around the hangar bay were starting to stare. Han couldn't look away.

The droid released the wooden stick and Yoda let out a cry of triumph. Which turned into a yelp of pain, because R2-D2 had just zapped him with another extended tool, which crackled like a threat that the droid would do it again. Yoda's response was to smack the droid with his stick, repeatedly, grunting with the effort - and the loud clanging caught the attention of everyone who hadn't already been looking.

"You gonna, uh, you gonna do something about that?" Han said to the kid.

Luke sighed heavily, which definitely meant that this wasn't the first time something like this had happened. He stood up and waded into the mess, catching the stick with one hand and physically pushing the droid back with the other, ordering the old astromech and older Jedi Master to knock it off. He sounded just like a parent about to hand out some punishments.

R2-D2 beeped petulantly at Luke.

"I don't care who started it!" Luke said, his exasperation carrying. "This time or last time-! Ow!"

The great Jedi Master had just smacked Luke in the shin with that stick. Luke hopped on one foot for a few seconds, biting down on what probably would have been some nasty Huttese cursing. Yoda harrumphed again and then lurched back over towards his empty egg bucket.

R2-D2 made a sound that Han had, whether he liked it or not, already come to recognize meant: "I told you so."

"Oh, fuck off," Luke snapped.

Han threw back his head and laughed.

[yourplayersaidwhat]

Will o' the Whisps, [whispering creepily]: Why have you come?

Warlock, [clearly bullshitting]: Whatshername, the old lady, asked us to take out the trash.

[Context: The lady of the manor asked us to kill the rest of her family.]

DM: Roll Deception.

[Rolls 12+ Deception +10... 22]

DM: ...The wisps let you pass.

Monk: Shouldn't we like... pretend to be cleaning or something?

DM: Only if you want to.

[valkyrieromanoff]

🕸️MOONLIT RIDE: ANAKIN X YOU (day 3 of 31)

synopsis: you and Anakin go on a speeder ride at night.

warning: fluffy, car accident but no hurt, idiots in love

words: 1.3k

 a/n: Hello there, Anakin is my favorite character, so expect a lot about himI hope you like it💖

ꜱᴜɴ'ꜱ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏᴏ ꜱᴏᴏɴ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴅᴀʏʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴀᴠɪɴɢꜱ 

ᴍɪxᴇᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴɢʀᴇɢᴀᴛɪɴɢ 

ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴜꜱ ɪɴ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇꜱ 

ᴀʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ'ꜱ ᴀɴ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ

“I don’t know if I believe Master Kenobi let you roam the streets of lower Coruscant unsupervised,” you teased, your voice low as you followed Anakin through the poorly lit alleys. The dim glow of flickering lanterns and neon signs cast long shadows across the narrow streets, where dark shapes darted in and out of view. The eerie Halloween decorations strung across the bars and stalls added an almost festive edge to the otherwise foreboding atmosphere.

You clung to the hem of Anakin’s Jedi cloak, the rush of people making it hard to keep pace. The bustling crowd was overwhelming, a constant flow of locals weaving through the streets, each moving with purpose, as if they were eager to disappear into the shadows. Hooded figures brushed past you, their cloaks billowing as they vanished into the maze of Coruscant's lower levels. It felt as though everyone here had something to hide, and perhaps they did. After all, the lower levels of the capital were infamous for harboring the galaxy’s most dangerous criminals—bounty hunters, assassins, and rogue separatists.

“Well, it is Halloween,” you whispered, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. “Maybe your wish to escape the Jedi Temple was granted.”

Anakin glanced back at you with an amused smirk, his eyes twinkling in the dim light. “I don’t need a wish. I’m a Jedi Knight now,” he replied confidently, though there was a hint of defensiveness in his tone, as if your comment about needing Obi-Wan’s approval still lingered.

As you rounded a corner, Anakin’s hand shot out to gently pull you in front of him, shielding you from a group of drunken Rodians stumbling out of a bar, their laughter echoing off the walls. You could hear the low hum of music spilling out of nearby clubs, mixed with the occasional cheer from patrons gathered around tables for late-night gambling.

“Walk like you’ve been here before,” Anakin whispered, his voice close to your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “You’ll stand out otherwise.”

You shot him a sidelong glance but nodded, doing your best to mimic the hurried steps of the locals. Still, you couldn’t help but marvel at the lively chaos around you—the streets were alive with a strange mix of festive energy and danger. Jack-o'-lanterns carved with grotesque, glowing faces adorned the doorways of various establishments, and garlands of fake cobwebs hung from rooftops. Every now and then, a ghostly wisp of fog drifted across the streets, adding a haunting touch to the scene.

“How many times have you been here?” you asked curiously as you watched him toss some credits to a Zabrak at a speeder rental shop. “You seem… comfortable.”

Anakin shrugged, his fingers brushing through his unruly hair as he took his time choosing a speeder. “I’ve chased a criminal or two down here before,” he replied casually, his voice nonchalant, but there was a gleam in his eye. Finally, he settled on a sleek red speeder and gestured for you to climb in beside him.

“Sure,” you scoffed, raising an eyebrow as you settled into the seat. “Like you’re *only* down here for Jedi business.”

Before you could say more, Anakin gunned the engine, and the speeder shot forward with a burst of speed that left your stomach in knots. The night wind whipped through your hair, and the ground blurred beneath you as he weaved effortlessly through the crowded air lanes. Your fingers instinctively tightened around the edge of the seat as he made sharp turns, narrowly avoiding collisions with other speeders.

“You’re going to get us killed driving like this!” you shouted, your voice barely carrying over the roar of the engine. Anakin spun the speeder, flipping it upside down for a brief, stomach-dropping moment before righting it again. You let out a gasp, your heart racing as you clung to the door for dear life.

“Trust me, love,” Anakin teased, glancing at you with that infuriating smirk that made your pulse quicken for reasons that had nothing to do with fear. He barely avoided another speeder and shouted something in Huttese at the other driver, his hands expertly maneuvering the controls.

The smirk was wiped off his face when, in his haste, he lost control of the speeder, sending it careening into the side of a building. The crash was loud, the front of the speeder crumpling as it slammed into the wall with a sickening thud. Smoke billowed from the engine, and the once-sleek body of the vehicle was now a twisted wreck of metal.

“Kriffing, Anakin!” you gasped, your heart pounding in your chest as the smoke began to clear. You turned to find him grinning, completely unfazed by the crash. His amusement was contagious, and despite yourself, you found your fear melting into laughter.

“Look, on the bright side,” Anakin said, chuckling softly as he reached out to squeeze your shoulder. “I didn’t kill us.”

“You’re an idiot,” you murmured, shaking your head but unable to stop the smile from tugging at your lips.

“But you love me,” he retorted with a cheeky grin, his blue eyes sparkling as you playfully pushed his face away. He caught your hand mid-motion, bringing it to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to your palm, then another to your wrist. The tender gesture sent warmth spreading across your cheeks, and your breath hitched as he held your hand just a moment longer.

“What do we do now?” you asked, stepping out of the speeder to assess the damage. More than half of the bodywork was crushed, and the engine continued to sputter and smoke.

Anakin didn’t hesitate. “We run,” he said, grabbing your hand as the distant wail of Republic droid guards grew louder. The sirens were closing in, and you didn’t have time to wait. With his fingers laced through yours, the two of you took off, darting through the crowded streets. You moved in sync, your Jedi training kicking in as you expertly wove through the mass of people, disappearing into the shadows whenever necessary.

When you finally reached the Jedi Temple, both of you were breathless, your backs pressed against the cool stone walls as you tried to catch your breath. The night was quiet now, the bustling streets of lower Coruscant far behind you, though the faint glow of the Halloween decorations still lingered in your mind.

Without realizing it, you had inched closer to each other. Anakin’s arm slid over your shoulder, pinning you gently against the wall, his gaze intense as his deep blue eyes locked with yours. You could feel the heat between you, your chest rising and falling in time with his. His eyes dropped to your lips, and your tongue darted out to wet them, the anticipation palpable.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” Anakin murmured, his voice low and rough as his eyes flicked between your mouth and your eyes.

You smiled softly, your heart swelling at the raw honesty in his words. “Would it be like a Halloween wish?”

Anakin chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “Maybe. We could start our own tradition.”

The idea of a Halloween tradition made just for the two of you felt intimate, secretive in a way that only deepened the connection you already shared. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin as he leaned in.

“Only ours,” he whispered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You nodded, your breath hitching as his lips brushed yours softly at first, testing. But the kiss quickly deepened, his hand tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer, his mouth moving against yours with growing passion. His kiss was a perfect mix of fire and tenderness, making the world around you fade until there was nothing but him—his warmth, his touch, and the way your heart raced in sync with his.

[phyrestartr]

Vampire | Miguel x M!Reader

Vampire!Miguel x Reader W/C: 5.9k

#NSFW, vampires, blood, gore, violence, bottom!reader, top!Miguel, mentions of sex work, mentions of assault, it's kinda cute idk, posessive behaviour, questionable relationship, reader is morally grey, reader is lowkey a criminal though lol, Johnny Blaze = Nic Cage 5ever sorry not sorry

Note: I FINISHED IT! Lost steam with editing so some bits may be kinda weird and word-y, but I really enjoyed writing this honestly :clap: ty guys for voting for me to finish this o(--( I actually finished it so quickly wtf--

--

Vampires. Blood-sucking, man-killing, devil-calling creatures. Many feared them, even now, even after the legends of Dracula faded into obscurity and out of the minds of mortal men. But there were some who kept weary watch on the old castle looming before your meager town: older folks, the ones with bleached scars and haunted voices, with quivering hands and a phobia of the dark. 

You thought they all spun tales, convinced themselves of a time that never happened thanks to whatever their parents hushedly told them come the waning of the sun. “Don't leave the house after dark,” “be wary of the man you know not,” “pray to God for his protection,” is what you figured they'd been told. You couldn't blame them. Not really. Mass hysteria, mass lies told to the young had a penchant for warping their minds, destroying their futures. 

But still, you'd listen. Face alight with a smile, one ear turned their way as you poured drinks for whatever patron came bumbling your way that night. There was one man, one who claimed to have been touched by the devil himself, momentarily transformed into something wicked and unholy, who frequented the establishment. 

“Come on now, Johnny,” you chided with a laugh, “you don't really believe all that rubbish. Touched by the devil? You Americans really are the dramatic sort, aren't you?” 

“You don't need to believe all of it,” Johnny said mildly. “You just need to believe a sliver of it. It'll do you some good. Keep you safe.” 

You smiled to yourself as you busily made a drink for a new customer. “Yeah? Keep me safe from what, exactly?” Your eyes met his, then, and you found your blood stood in place for a moment. 

“You know what.” The devil. He'd said it too many times to count without uttering his name. “Just be smart.”

“I'm always smart,” you said with a phony laugh, the sort you used to lull women and men into some cheap sense of comfort. 

“Smart people do dumb things, too.” He took a swig of his drink before peering down at the amber pooling against crystal. “Like sneaking around old, unhallowed castles.” 

You pursed your lips. “I'm just curious, old man, you don't need to worry. I've not been inside, yeah? Just looked ‘round the outside of the old place.” That's probably filled with loads of goods. 

But Johnny only stared at you, calculating, thinking. It almost unnerved you. 

“Just be careful.” 

And in that moment, a man whose name you didn’t know, but whose body you knew too well, walked into the bar. His shoulders were impossibly broad, his frame unnaturally tall, and from the glimpses you were allowed of his face hidden away under the brim of that hat, you remembered strong lines and proud cheekbones. His eyes, a bizarre colour, always glimmered ruby in the firelight thanks to some strange disease you never quite remembered the name of, and his hair, a dark oaken hue, wisped like tendrils of shadow rolling off his strong neck. 

He didn’t look at you, but you couldn’t look away. Your gaze followed him to where he found a quiet seat off to the side by a small table. He wouldn’t order anything. He never did. He only ever waited for your shift to end. 

“Kid?” Johnny prodded, freeing you from your momentary curse.

You blinked and sputtered, nodding in earnest to whatever Johnny had said. “I–right. Careful. I’m always careful.” 

–

Just be careful.

But that was impossible with this otherworldly spirit around you, waiting for you every other night just for the sake of bedding you, and leaving before morning with nothing but a stack of bills (or sometimes some jewelry, if you were lucky) to remember him by. Your favourite client by far. Your only client, per his request.

Your fists twisted into the bedsheets as you gasped with every brutal crashing of the man’s hips against yours as he took you from behind. He was in a bad mood tonight, it seemed. Normally, he liked to take it slow, he liked to savour his meal, but for some reason–

His hand clasped over your mouth when his teeth tore into your neck again. The cry that left you was hoarse and tired, but not so surprised, no; the man had his kinks, and one just so happened to be biting. He did quite the number on you, too, always breaking skin and leaving scars and scabs in his wake. But it felt good. It felt right to be claimed. The greedy, ugly little part of your heart wanted people to know you were taken and owned by this strange, captivating man.

“Fuck, I–” You buried your face into the mattress as another orgasm hit, striking your dull nerves like hammer on hot iron thrust after thrust. Soon enough, you felt his body stutter against yours just before an uncanny, liquid gold filled your guts and seeped into your core–he was finally done. Finally. Though part of you wished it didn’t have to end. 

His teeth, the pointed, feral things, dislodged from your neck before he ran the flat of his tongue against the weeping wound. Somehow, that always staunched the bleeding. You didn’t quite understand it, but you weren’t exactly well-versed in medicine.

“Tired already?” He mocked in that smokey, American accent. “Thought the young had more than that to offer.” The purr of his voice soothed the pulsing start of a headache as you came down from your high. Yet another strange effect he had on you. 

You took a good handful of moments to catch your breath before you tried to hazard an answer. “I’m–you’re in some kind of mood, darling; can’t blame me for your brutality.” You turned your head to rest your cheek against the scratchy sheets, and the beast took the opportunity to leave nips and kisses along your jaw. 

“Tch. I’m just reminding you who you belong to. Where you belong.” Sharp teeth grazed your skin again, and you shuddered. “No one likes to see theirs fawning over another man.” 

You strained to look back at him. “You–you mean Johnny? He’s not–I wouldn’t let him bed me, are you mad?” A rough push of his hips against yours reprimanded you. “H-He’s a mate, love, that’s all.”

The man twitched. “A mate?” 

“A friend, you bloody idiot.”

He relaxed, but still sought confirmation. “A friend.”

“A friend, indeed. Father-figure, maybe.” With a bit of effort, you managed to wriggle free from the strength of the man pinning you in place, and laid on your back to gaze up at him. “I’m not interested in him, he’s not interested in men, so you needn’t worry a thing.” One of your worn hands reached up and smoothed over the curve of his sharp cheekbone, drawing a pleased hum from the chamber of the beast’s chest. 

“Fine.” He rested his weight on you, and you sighed, content and warmed. But that bony chin digging into your chest was a tad bit fucking irritating. “Then if he’s not trying to fuck you, what makes you listen to him for hours on end, hm?” Hah. Annoyed. Jealous. Quite endearing. 

“He has stories to tell,” you offered. “Words about the devil and the curse of the undead. About Dracula and that old castle.” 

The man’s brows raised in interest. “Oh? And you like ghost stories, is that it? Here I figured I'd be enough to keep your mind entertained,” he said with a taunting smirk, like he thought your suggested belief in those spooky tales was laughable. 

Heat washed over your face. “I–you–shut up, I just like me a good story, is that so wrong? Tch, stupid American.”

He laughed, a sound you adored to hell and back. “I’ll keep it in mind. Might have a few good stories up my sleeve, too.” His head tilted the slightest bit. “Maybe then your eyes won’t wander.”

“Terribly jealous one, aren’t you? I never would’ve guessed it.” You raked your hands through his hair and he sighed, deep and ancient. But your words were true–this man, your mysterious client-turned-lover, he captivated all wherever he traveled. With so many eyes on him, why did he want you to look nowhere else but to him? 

Greedy man. That’s what you decided. He wanted everything and more. 

“Other men don't get to look at what's mine,” he mumbled after a time of you pampering him with pets and scritches. “And you're mine, for the record.” 

“Hm. I quite like the sound of that.” 

“Then marry me.” 

“I'm not sure I can,” you lamented. “I find myself in trouble too often. It puts me on the run, jumping from town to city and back again.” 

“You'd never have to run again if you let me have you.” He picked himself up and loomed over you, brushing his nose against yours as he spoke against your lips. “You'd be safe, cared for, never want for anything. None of those sacks of shit would would lay a finger on you again.” His lips trailed down, brushing against the thick vein in your neck. “I think it's for the best if you agree.” 

You almost argued back, but the large hand engulfing your throat gave you pause. He didn't hurt you, no, but gave you a silent warning. The power that man held over you contradicted his weakness to your wants and desires, and twisted your thoughts into unorganized knots. 

“I'll think on it,” you breathed, not wanting to say yes but unwilling to say no. You didn't want marriage, but commitment was a tantalizing idea. You'd just never thought it'd happen to you. 

His eyes came back to yours again. Your heart fluttered at the glints of carmine shimmering in candle-lit eyes. God, he was beautiful. 

“I better like your answer.” 

–

You left. You hated doing it, you hated running from your problems and whatever seemed to haunt you day to day, but too much happened in too short a time. 

For one, the landlord demanded more and more rent money from you when he noticed your gifted jewelry and newly tailored coat, and then, when you didn't give it to him, he took to trying to get payment another way. You shot him, obviously. 

Which led to your second reason for leaving–you'd shot a man and fled the scene, unknowing if he was alive or not, and uncaring of the outcome, quite frankly. You figured the lowlife would be more pressed about the money than dying, anyway. 

And third, the bar you worked at found out you'd been swindling and stealing on the job, pocketing tips and taking home near-empty bottles to refill with something of your own design to sell on the streets. Admittedly, it was fine work, but you'd long abandoned that method of money-making once that stranger wandered into your life and offered you more cash than you could imagine.

But you liked that bar. You liked those patrons. No strings attached.

And that's why you were back. Not with the intention to stay, no; you were back to scout out the castle after getting confirmation from some university lads about how valuable the old place was. You figured you could find enough in there with the scoundrels you'd come with, and maybe you could pay the old owner back before leaving for good. 

You'd never have to run again if you'd let me have you. 

Maybe you should've just said yes.

– 

The castle stood beautifully, even with the screams of the slaughtered ringing through the halls. It was big, too, eagerly letting you get lost in its enchanting halls and inviting rooms as you tried in vain to remember the way out. 

That's when you crashed into one of the uni snobs you'd come with, Harry. He was a mess, clothes and hair out of place for once, with a spray of sticky blood coating his face and white shirt. Osborn must've seen their tormentor. 

He grabbed your shoulders as you grabbed his arms. “We have to go, we have to go–” he chanted, pulling and pushing you in undecided directions. 

“Osborn, where did you see it? Where–” Another scream gave you a hint. Your eyes snapped down the hallway, staring deep into the torchlit halls and finding nothing but the unknown staring back. 

Then, there were footsteps. Slow, methodical things that rung to a tune hidden in your memories.

“We have to go,” you whispered, like that'd help. “Osborn, we have to–” a splitting pain electrocuted your senses and sent you stumbling backwards. The world spun. Your head ached. Funeral bells shrieked. Worst of all, that dress shirt and that fancy jacket you loved so much were stained suddenly, a foul colour of darkness that reeked of pennies and iron. It took you too long to look back to the student, and to see the smoking pistol held out in his shaky hand. 

“I had to,” Osborn whispered, so, so haunted. “I had to. You understand.” And quite frankly, you did understand; wounding a lamb to leave behind for a wolf to indulge in was a sure way to let a farmer escape. 

Harry took off. You grasped your stomach and leaned hard against the wall, trying to pull yourself together to make some kind of run for it before those languid steps found you and cut your story short. But you felt so tired, so dizzy. The red weeping under your hand and the bewildered pants leaving you left you colder and colder. You wondered if Osborn had shot himself in the foot with this one (hah), killing the sacrificial lamb, rendering it useless to what was believed to be a vampire of all things. They devoured the living, not the dead. 

Clack, clack, clack. The haunting echo of fine shoes on wooden slats passed you by, then vanished all together. You collapsed to your knees and heaved in the burning air just as a deafening screech ricocheted through the halls with the echo of frantic gunfire, and the slosh of viscera. You fought back the burn of bile in your throat when you braved a look; there laid a body on the floor, and a corpse standing above it, illuminated just barely by torchlight. 

His shoulders were impossibly broad, his frame unnaturally tall–

“We could have avoided all of this,” the creature growled. 

–from the glimpses you were allowed of his face hidden in the swath of darkness around him, you remembered strong lines and proud cheekbones–

“But you didn’t listen.”

–his eyes, a bizarre colour, glimmered ruby in the firelight thanks to some strange disease you never quite remembered the name of– 

“Why couldn’t you just listen?”

–and his hair, a dark oaken hue, wisped like tendrils of shadows rolling off his strong neck.

He appeared beside you so suddenly, so soundlessly, you wouldn’t have known he approached if it weren’t for the strength of your fluttering eyelids seeking the truth. You stared hard at the tips of his leather shoes. Perhaps you should’ve known it was him all along. Perhaps you had known. 

He knelt before you and forced your chin up, making your eyes meet his as he stared down through you. Blood marred his face, matching the wine-red hue of his furious, gem-cut eyes; even like this, teeth bared, about to kill you, he was beautiful. 

“Look what you’ve done. This is your fault–”

But that beauty was wasted on such a foul-mouthed monster. 

“My fault?” You spat. “Fuck you.” You tore your chin from his grip, but his hand sought out your throat instead. “Don’t fucking touch me–”

He smiled, bitter but so wholly and infuriatingly amused before he chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll do whatever I want with you.” And before you could lash out, before you could throw a fist at his stupid face, he yanked you in and bit.

A winter breeze rippled through you. Cold. Piercing. And you gradually froze like water dripping from the gutters, no longer able to fight back, too sluggishly slow to do anything about your fate. You breathed hard, feeling the hole in your stomach and ache of your heart weep and worsen with every shattering breath you took. Your hands, gentle in their weakness, pawed at his chest and sought a spot to dig in and hold on to for dear life as the waking world turned its back to you.

But despite the bitterness, and despite words exchanged, he held the side of your face as you faded in and out of consciousness. He called something, and a flurry of orange wisps appeared above you. 

–

You awoke to the echoes of a dream, one you hadn’t had for a while. A cloudless night where you’d been caught in bed by a taken woman’s man and beaten half to death; in return, you shredded through the man's chest with a knife from the kitchen while the wife watched on in silence. You'd been ready to kill her, too, slit her throat in one easy motion, but she never screamed, never looked at the wild animal with fear. 

Tell the police he attacked you, miss. 

Well, it wouldn't be the first time.

You fumbled through the alleys after leaving the scene, but others, foul things that roamed the streets where not even rats lingered, found you, threatened to use up the last of what you had to offer this pitiful world. It seemed as though they disappeared in the time it took you to blink, though, and a man was left, standing in their wake. He looked somewhat disheveled, like he’d just finished some grand task, but he was just so put together, too. You struggled to make sense of it, but you didn’t really care to. 

“Well, isn't that impressive,” you said with a breathless laugh. “Not a shred of blood on you. Are you the ripper the paper’s gone on and on about?”

The being glanced over his shoulder, eyes alight in curious mirth. He turned your way and stepped closer. You saw it then, the slightest bit of dark smears on his face.

“Is that what they're calling me?” He adjusted his cuffs, and rolled his shoulders. “Huh.” 

Adrenaline poured into your heart. “You're quite the dangerous man, aren't you, sir?” you swallowed thickly as you looked him over: fine shoes, expensive coat, luxurious rings. “And, ah, well-off. You wouldn't happen to be interested in spreading the wealth, hm?” 

His hand cupped your jaw, sticky with freezing blood, and he leaned in. The pungent scent of iron curled your gut as he breathed you in, making up his mind with what to do with you. Then, with the dry, warm back of his gloved hand, he caressed the side of your face and watched your eyelids flutter, devouring the simple gesture. 

“Let's see if you can convince me to.”

-

“I know you’re awake,” he mumbled.

Curiosity willed your eyes open, and you gazed down at the hollow tube connecting you to the walking corpse. You fought to ease the jump of your heart, but it became impossible when a dark red raced from the vampire's arm down into yours. 

“Is that going to make me like you?” You whispered, nerves twitching and burning with the bite of restless fire ants. 

Crimson eyes found yours and looked deep. “It won't. You can relax.” But you weren't convinced, and your lover could tell. “You'd have to drink my blood.” 

“Why're you giving me your blood, then?” 

“You'll die without it.” He pumped something, you now noticed, and realized it was what drew the blood from his veins and drained it into yours. 

Curious. “Were you a man of medicine?” 

He scoffed. “Still am.” He threw you a wary look, one brow raised. “How many more questions are you–” 

“Your name?” That was something you'd requested before, but always through a veil of uncertainty. You didn't like to ask much of him. He didn't ask much of you. But you didn't know him, yet he knew you. 

Your vampire frowned, unapproving. “What difference will it make?” 

“You asked me to fucking marry you,” you bit out. “And yet you keep so many secrets from me, still. I've given you more than I have, and you can't even–” 

“Miguel.” You both paused–him to gauge your reaction, and you out of shock. “Miguel O'hara.” 

The cracks in your chest mended, just slightly. Miguel O'hara. What a name that was. Formidable and wholly suiting the beast of a man you'd known and craved for far too many years. 

“Miguel O'hara,” you whispered, staring tiredly at the red thread connecting the two of you. The name felt good on your tongue. 

Nothing more was said, then. He must've still felt the tension in the air, or maybe the coil of apprehension in your body, for he worked on in silence, quietly saving your life for no reason. 

It was when he pulled free the needle that you found the will to break the silence on your own. 

“Why didn't you tell me?” It came out a pathetic whisper, sounding as broken as your mind felt. 

He paused before pulling the needle from his own arm. “Tell you what?” 

It was a good question. You didn't know what to ask him to elaborate on. You didn't know if you wanted him to elaborate on anything, actually, because it'd make it too real, too tangible. 

“Everything.” And when he stayed silent, you narrowed it down to just, “all of…you.” 

Miguel licked his thumb and stroked it soothingly against the pinprick of a wound while his brows furrowed and his lips twisted into something of a frown. “How could I?” You both watched the tiny dot of red cease weeping. “If you'd moved on and you knew, it could put everything at risk.” 

If I'd moved on. It felt wrong. It felt uncomfortable to know he felt that somewhere between his ribs and his heart. And for how long? How long had he not trusted you? Did he even trust you in that moment, knowing what and who he truly was? Or were you now doomed to this castle just as he was? 

“I'll let you rest,” Miguel said as he clasped his medical case shut and stood. “Lyla'll bring you food.” 

Thump, thump, thump, echoed his footsteps, those fine shoes muffled by old carpet; but the sharp clack, clack, clack in the hollow echoes of your memories, just before the truth revealed itself to you, swallowed up your thoughts.

“(Name),” Miguel said, and your eyes opened to find the tall, proud back of his silhouette stood at the door, one hand clutching the knob. “Don’t leave this room.” 

And he left you there, heart aching, mind melting, soul shattering. 

–

Solitude reminded you of what else happened. The lads you'd come here with, nothing more than acquaintances, were missing, or perhaps dead. It ate at your mind. Could you have done something different? Could you have convinced him to let them go?

More importantly, would Miguel let you leave? He claimed he wanted to marry you, but words were just words if not put to use with actions. Staying by his side would mean stomaching the fact he'd consume countless other people, wouldn't it? How were you expected to watch your partner(?), your groom-to-be(?), hold and pierce others the way he promised to you and only you?

But could you let him stay here alone, hunted and hated by believers, laughed at by the average skeptic? If you were not here, how many more would walk in on a dare, and meet a terrible end? They didn’t matter, no, but the legend of a vampire would turn more and more true, summoning devil-hunters to his doorstep, stake and flames in-hand.

The thoughts plagued you, filling your head with the terrible buzzing of bees. You couldn't fathom why you cared so much; most of your life you'd lived for your own sake, doing what needed to be done to get by, to have a better tomorrow. You hated other people. A few of them you'd personally buried six feet under, whether they were dead or lived still, and you never batted an eye. You had no patience for those who'd oppose you. 

You would have killed Osborn yourself if O’hara hadn't. And that was the truth. That'd been the truth the whole time, ever since you saw just how expensively he and the others lived; gold dripped from their tongues, silver ran through their veins, diamonds fell from their eyes. You wanted to claim a bit of that for yourself. 

And Miguel had shared his wealth with you, just in exchange for a bit of blood and your body for the night. Surely you could look past what he did to survive, even if it put your heart into a spiral. 

Lost in thought, you found your way to his chambers, freely disobeying his orders

He lounged in a clawfoot bath. Stuffy heat lulled you into a daze, something like a carefree summer evening wherein the sun took too long to vanish. Though when he noticed you approach, shedding clothes the entire way, the heat grew near unbearable.

Miguel's claws creaked against the enamel in anticipation when you stepped into the water. You watched him with the same delicate intrigue as prey investigating something that could be a threat as you found your place between his spread legs, getting close enough to feel the pounding of his undead heart. You'd only seen his body in dim candlelight or withering rays of the moon, never truly illuminated by the glow of floating chandeliers nor the collection of sconces arching from the wall.

Slowly, your fingertips dragged along muscle, warm and firm under your calloused touch. The scars littering your hands and knuckles shone so stark against his perfect complexion. He really did seem too perfect. It would have sparked jealousy in your gut if he didn't apparently belong to you, and you to him. No one else got to touch. No one else got to see. 

Now, you were built finely yourself, but the man before you was something entirely different. You didn't know if it was thanks to his supernatural existence, but his body was built in a near-animalistic way that screamed power and speed, not similar enough to a human. Though, looking back, you did always think his manners in bed were more beast than man. The growling, the clawing, the marks of claim on the nape of your neck, it all clicked and made sense in the whirlwind of your mind. 

“I think a werewolf would suit you better,” you admitted. “What with the claws and biting and general uncouth behaviour.” 

Miguel huffed. “You must be talking about yourself.” His voice rang low and quiet, too aware he might scare off his prized hare if he put too much into his words. “You're the one acting like a rabid animal.” 

“No, you.” 

“Don't think so.” 

“You're difficult.” 

“You're one to talk.” 

“How long have you been like this?” Your fingers combed through his hair, and his eyes fluttered shut. “A vampire. Or whatever you are.” 

“Lost track,” he said, sounding too honest. “I have records. Notes. From experiments. The dates on those are close to when it happened.” Experiments? Colour you intrigued.

“So you weren't exactly practicing white medicine?” You tilted your head in thought. “You were doing something more–” 

“It wasn't black magic,” Miguel scoffed. “It was science. Genetics. Studying how other organisms function, learning about them.” His expression darkened just the slightest bit. “Trying to…recreate them.” 

Your head spun a little trying to fill in the blanks. It wasn’t too hard, but it was hard to accept as reality. But if anyone were to unlock the damned secrets of immortality, of course it'd be this man. This cocky, genius, charming man. God really did have favourites, though they always did seem to disappoint him.

“I see. So you're telling me you're a genius who rebirthed vampires,” you summed up, letting your hands melt down his body, below the water's surface. “How is it you only get more and more impressive, Mr.O'hara?” 

A smug smirk bloomed across his lips. “It's just in my nature.” His head tilted back with a pleased sigh when your touch finally landed on that annoying thing prodding your thigh. “I have no choice but to succeed.” 

“Tch. Americans are so arrogant.” You hummed and leaned in, ghosting kisses along his vulnerable neck while your hand pleased him slowly, teasingly. His talons screeched against the tub again. “But maybe you have reason to be, hm? Given how accomplished you are.” 

A dark, scarlet haze like the sky of the blood moon illuminated Miguel's eyes in the few moments they slipped open to catch a glimpse of you. You wondered if he needed a reality check. Maybe he thought he was hallucinating, maybe he thought that you weren't really there despite being pressed up against him and murmuring useless quips into his skin. You'd be sure to leave an impression on him; your hand quickened, gripping tighter and pulling the way he directed you to far too many years ago, but his barbed hand caught your wrist. 

“Stop,” he gasped. His chest rose and fell with his light panting as he stared you down. Want radiated off of him like an animal starved. You knew what was rattling around in his mind before he even spoke. 

“You want to fuck me, is that it?” 

Miguel's breath hitched. 

–

You made him ravenous. You were the only thing he wanted to feast on, delicacies and sanguine temptations be damned. 

One of his large hands held your waist in a death grip while his other hand held your head down, forcing your incoherent ramblings into the soft, silken sheets as he rammed you from behind like a beast in heat. You took it well, too, not that you hadn't before–he always held back, appeared to you as human when he fucked you previously. But now that you knew the truth, now that you knew what lay hidden in the dark nooks of his bones’ marrow, he felt complete. And that meant he could completely lay claim to you, too. 

He matched the curve of your back with his chest when he leaned over you, burying his nose into your neck and shoulder to indulge in your scent. Your vampire's desire to breed slowed and steadied into deep, thoughtful rolls of his hips. Perhaps his mind had caught up with him and ushered him to slow down, to abandon some of that reckless excitement. 

Miguel heard the slightest mumble of his name on your lips and leaned down further to touch his own to your cheekbone. One arm looped underneath your throat in a benign chokehold of sorts, while his other hand threaded through your hair–if he wasn't fucking you like an animal before, this makeshift mating lock he had on you sealed the deal. 

“You feel good,” Miguel murmured, voice tickling the shell of your ear. 

“Hah. I, ah, always feel good,” you tried to quip back, but your expression betrayed the fraying threads of whatever self-control you still desperately clung to. “You’re, uh…unhinged, hey?” Miguel scoffed. “Like a…a wild beast.” 

“Oh?” A purr hummed through his chest, piercing your body and rattling through your own lungs in seismic pulses. “A wild beast? Flattering.”

“Really, darling, you don't have to be such a sarcastic asshole when you're–” a hard snap of his hips sent you spiraling for a moment, “--in my ass.” 

“Maybe you should watch your mouth,” he suggested. 

“Maybe you could watch it for me,” you countered. 

The warmth of his laugh sent chills scattering across your skin. He pulled out of you and turned you over, dragging your hips back against him before his powerful body engulfed yours again. Miguel liked this more. He liked the feeling of your hands grabbing and clawing at him, the way your thighs attached to his waist, how you bit your bottom lip while your eyes screwed shut from the overwhelming feeling of your partner destroying you.

And of course, his lips could meet yours like this. The sweet tang of copper and berries, a taste so familiar and so you, was shared between tongues, kept secret in the crevices of teeth. It amazed Miguel how much one little kiss could push him over the edge and make the bed creak and groan with you as he loved on you and made sure to send the message straight to your core. 

Your hands fisted in his hair when you came undone. That lovely voice of yours poured into Miguel's eager mouth, and you tightened, pulling him to the edge and pushing him over with the might of a wild stampede. Claws nipped your skin, fangs pierced deeper, yet his rutting hit deepest, and burned you alive with unbearable, liquid heat.

–

“Why me?” You asked into the stillness of the room. 

Calm silence answered you for a long moment. The sun bloomed beyond the thick curtains, you noticed in your wait, and you wondered if you would ever miss the sight. England never truly had bright, sunny days from what you recalled; stretches of smokey, grey overcast clouded the skies and your memories more often than not. Could your vampire walk amongst the living like this?

Miguel sighed, leaning into the hand carding through his hair. “Figured you’d understand.” 

“I’d understand what?”

“Killing to survive.” 

“How long have you known?” You wondered, unsurprised. 

“Blood tells stories,” he whispered. Long, dark eyelashes fluttered a moment before crimson eyes peered open the slightest bit. “Your story’s long. Complicated. You’re too young for it.” 

A smile twitched onto your face. You adjusted in the bed, getting more comfortable on your side in those pooling, satin sheets. “So you thought I’d be an easy target for sex, then? Desperate and young as I was.”

He found your eyes, his gaze earnest and bleeding. “I–you–fine, at first it was like you said. Maybe. But after enough time, I decided you weren’t like the rest. You’re as supernatural as I am.”

“Supernaturally handsome? I agree.”

“Stop.”

“You didn’t think I’d be afraid of you.”

“I’d hoped as much.” 

“And you still didn’t tell me.” Your fingertips danced along the arch of his cheekbone, leaving pleasant sparks against his skin in their wake, unbeknownst to you. “Were you scared?”

“I’d rather have you as a man for whatever time we had together than to lose you to a beast,” he explained, cryptic as one would expect an old legend to be. “I’ve lost too much already because of…this. Because of me. I didn’t want to lose more.” Miguel’s dark brows furrowed. “If you ended up fearing me to, I–”

You silenced him with a hand over his mouth. “Enough. I understand.” You palm smoothed back up to cup his face. “You needn’t be afraid of me–well, being afraid, I suppose. I’ll stay.” You took a deep breath and leaned in, pressing your forehead to his. “This bed’s too comfortable to give up, after all.”

His breath fanned against your skin as he chuckled, tired and perhaps tinted with disbelief. “Well, you can stay here as long as you want.”

“Brilliant. Would you even let me drink your blood?”

The rumble of a growl, or perhaps a purr, rolled through his chest into yours. You searched his eyes, wondering, hoping, and found mere slices of ruby peeking out from behind eclipsing pupils. 

“We’ll see.”