#original female character x glee

[thisblogisaboutabook]

The Sprite and the Shifter

Tamlin x Original Character/Sprite - Fluff - Smut

After rescuing a sprite from the paws of a predator, Tamlin finds a friend in the most unlikely of fae. The only problem is, he’s a grump and she’s sunshine personified. Well, that and the very big (very little) problem - she’s less than a foot tall - and he might be falling in love with her.

A/n: This is one of my favorite stories I’ve written yet 🥹

Warnings: Contains Crescent City lore that could be spoilery if you think too much on it, Smut, a few little size difference innuendos sprinkled in, language, alcohol, mental health struggles, MDNI.

A tickle brushed against the nape of its neck as the beast prowled through his forest. The hitchhiker he’d begrudgingly picked up marveling at the world around her.

He’d found her under the paw of a bob-tailed forest cat, trying her best to reason with the hungry creature. It was said that sprites could wield power quite larger than their size would suggest, but this tiny, stubborn creature simply crossed her arms with brows drawn and a pointed finger, lecturing it and refusing to harm the cat that surely saw her as its lunch. With a half-hearted growl from the beast, the forest cat ran at the sight of him to which the Sprite tapped her petite foot in irritation, “I could have handled it!”

The beast only gave what appeared to be a roll of its eyes and wandered on, leaving the little fae be.

“Wait!” She squeaked. “My wing!” He glanced back spotting her through the brush, running with all her might on legs barely longer than the height of one his paws.

He thought about leaving the ungrateful female behind but… well, the guilt of leaving the it behind to fend for itself was likely more inconvenient than taking her somewhere to have her bent wing tended to.

“Please! I can’t fly like this!”

An image flashed through his mind of a fae dying on a table, wings cut off by a witch, and an act of kindness in its final moments. Not today. Today his heart wouldn’t dwell on it, but he could offer kindness to the sprite. So he lowered himself on his haunches and waited for her to catch up, giving an irritated flick of his tail as he waited for her to climb on.

The beast was beginning to regret his kindness as he let out a displeasured rumble from his throat when her small, barely perceptible voice sighed in wonder, “Look! Those flowers are almost as tall as you! Can we smell them? Please please please.”

He wanted to ignore her, he really did, but the awe in that voice made him pause. In this court now overrun by thorns and weeds, she still found beauty. It wouldn’t be long before she’d see it for what it was - a wasteland squandered by its own High Lord.

Letting out a huff through flared nostrils the beast hung its head low in reluctant deference to the tiny fae’s command, grimacing as she grabbed fistfuls of his fur, tugging herself on top of his head, an eager wing twitching with excitement brushing along the shell of his ear, with an exclaimed “oops, sorry!” as it twitched at the tickling sensation.

Apparently hauling her body up on top of his head wasn’t enough as he felt weight distributing to the right side of his head as she pulled herself up an antler, and steadied her feet on a tine halfway up. “I can smell it from here! It’s amazing! I’ve never seen one like this.”

The beast thought to itself that she’d said that about the last four flowers they’d had to stop and investigate but kept it to himself.

Hours later they stumbled out of brush into the fields leading to the Spring Court manor. Excitedly she jumped up and down with glee, pushing down on the brow of her savior. He really should have left her somewhere but there was no turning back now.

“Is it safe here? Will you be hunted?” She asked wearily.

The beast finally spoke, “I am not prey.”

Whether she was shocked to realize the beast could speak or not, she didn’t let on. Scurrying down his snout and nearly tumbling as she dropped to her knees, she pulled a corner of his lip up to inspect his sharpened teeth. “With canines like THAT, I suppose not.”

“Do you know if anyone lives there? It looks abandoned.”

The beast only prowled toward the manor the tiny fae nervously grasping onto its fur, little fingers tugging tight clumps into her grasp as if that would protect her from any dangers within.

Prowling next to a velvet lounge the beast dipped low. “Off.”

“But-“ she shrieked.

“You’re safe. Get off.” tone leaving no room for objection.

“O-okay.”

And with that the beast shifted into a rugged, beautiful male. He waited for the realization, the shock, the hate to cross her features but it never came.

No, the pixie jumped up and down shrieking with glee. “Shapeshifter! Eeeeek! I’ve never met one of you before!”

The male almost let a corner of his mouth tug upward. When was the last time he’d smiled? It felt unnatural and he kept his features neutral.

He squatted down, extending a palm. She felt lecherous admiring the muscles of his exposed chest but it was right there before her. “Wow.” she let slip, her eyes blown wide.

And he couldn’t help it, he let out a small sound of amusement. He wasn’t quite sure anyone viewed him as anything less than a male who’d let himself go at this point.

At least he had pants on. She wondered how the magic worked considering he had no clothing as a beast. “Let’s get your wing fixed.”

She took a step into his palm, grasping onto a calloused finger for balance as he carried her to a small infirmary within the manor.

Sitting on a small table back turned toward the male, he assessed the delicate structure of her iridescent wings, up close he noted that they were membranous with pearlescent veins throughout. He couldn’t help but marvel at them, wondering what colors of paint it would take to recreate such a spectrum of color. He wondered if Fey- no, he wouldn’t think of her today. He couldn’t allow himself to spiral, he’d brought the sprite all this way and her wing needed tending to.

It took much longer than anticipated but with guidance from the little faerie and his own knowledge, they were able to set the wing. Unfortunately, it could take a few days to heal. The light filtering through the windows had since become a blend of oranges and reds, night would be upon them soon.

“You may stay the night in a guest room.” his tone impassive in hopes she wouldn’t notice the shame hidden within. The rooms were hardly fit for prisoners, let alone a guest - but it was better than sending her flightless into the darkened forests. There were threats far worse than bobtail cats on the hunt under the cover of night.

“Really?” Her eyes lit up. “Oh, thank you! Thank you!”

He only grumbled in dismissal of the thank you’s. Surely the manor would feel like a prison to her by the time she’d leave. “It’s nothing. Find a place to sleep and it’s yours for the night and- what exactly is it that you eat?”

The male wasn’t exactly prepared to host but surely there was something that could be provided - though he doubted his usual meal of venison would be appetizing to her.

“Do you have sugar and water? Or perhaps honey?”

With a nod, he led her to the kitchen, she sat on a counter, ankles crossed as he let a pot of tea steep, pulling out sugar cubes to melt into it and providing honey in the smallest dish he could find.

She let out a sigh of contentment as she sipped the tea - an herbal blend that would ease the aching of her healing wing and hopefully help her rest. With genuine gratitude, the faerie expressed her thanks. “Oh!” She gasped. “Oh, I’ve been so very rude. What is your name?”

Something pulled at him with the question, she truly didn’t realize who he was. “Tamlin.” he spoke curtly. “And what is your name?”

“Fleur” she smiled.

“Fleur” he repeated - a lovely flower in his palace of thorns and decay.

An oddly adorable yawn spilled from her as she began to drift off. The tea clearly doing its job. He carried her to the least objectionable room in his manor and laid her carefully on a pillow, placing a silken kerchief over her delicate form.

“Goodnight, flower.” He whispered.

————

Tamlin awoke before dawn, sleep evading him as usual, but today he felt a little lighter. Certainly it had nothing to do with actually interacting with another being, with reveling in the way she experienced the world with such joy.

As he wandered through the halls, he found himself pulled toward the room he’d left her in, his heart sinking slightly when the fae was no longer there. No note or sign of her presence aside from the missing kerchief.

Very well. Best to leave before the walls come crashing in on her. Yet Tamlin found his shoulders dropping slightly as he carried himself back to his chamber, the energy to press through the day no longer tangible.

Falling back into bed, he lay quietly as the sun began to peek over the hills, casting rays into his room. A slight shimmer glinting in the dawn. That’s when Tamlin noticed - curled up on a shredded chaise by the long burnt-out fire place lay the little sprite, sound asleep under his kerchief.

The corners of Tamlin’s lips rose slightly as he drifted back to sleep.

Smile be damned as tiny hands pinched his cheeks two hours later. “Hello! Are you alive in there? You’re sleeping the day away!”

Letting out a sigh, Tamlin sat himself up hearing an “oof!” as she tumbled off of his face.

Placing her hands on the curvature of her hips, she scowled at him. “A little warning next time, please!”

“Apologies. Perhaps you could find a gentler way of waking someone. Why are you in here anyway?”

She flushed. “Oh, I- well I got tired of waiting for you and didn’t know my way around the manor so I just came in to wake you up.”

“No you didn’t” he tsk’d.

She flushed, knowing she’d been caught.

“Oh….” She rubbed the back of her neck the rosey tint of embarrassment lingering across her delicate features.

“Well, there was a spider in my room and- well, they’re not all bad but this one was rather insistent that I was intruding in its space.”

Whatever he’d expected her to reply with was not that.

“-and, well, this house is so big and I knew I would be safe with you.”

Safe. She felt safe with him. She’d sought him out and found comfort in his presence. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that, that instinct to protect roiling beneath his surface. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he spoke.

“Show me where it is and I’ll eliminate the problem.”

“No!” She cried. “It wasn’t hurting anyone - it was just displeasured and I was a stranger in its space.”

Tamlin thought. Apparently he’d brought a pacifist into his home - first refusing to use her power on the cat and now, a spider? What an interesting little creature.

“Fine. I’ll ward the house against spiders.”

“But that’s its home! And I’m only a guest.” She retorted.

He dragged a hand across his face. Good grief, this little thing. “This is my home, not a spiders.”

“You don’t need all of this space! I have seen no others here. Surely it can take up space in your residence without putting you out.”

He should have left her in the wood where he found her. Truly. But he admired her kind heart.

“Fine, how about this? I will ward the house with the exception of that room so your spider will not be evicted. I, for one, would prefer not to have my manor overrun by the things.”

He couldn’t hear it but by the way her cheeks puffed and deflated he assumed the sigh she let out was her giving in to his solution for now.

————-

After another breakfast of tea and honey, the pixie sat straight, looking to her wings with an attempt to flutter the damaged one. “I should go and make the most of the daylight.”

A slight pang of disappointment rang through the male. Worry for her? Guilt for sending her away when he had room to spare? Sadness for the lack of her company, regardless of how pesky she was? He wasn’t sure but the words fell from his lips. “Stay.”

She jumped to her feet with glee. “Really? Oh thank you, thank you!” Springing forward, she flung herself against his wrist, hugging him. “I would kiss your cheek but… well, my wings.” Her eyes shone as she stared into his. “Thank you.” She repeated earnestly.

—————-

Tamlin had to admit that he didn’t mind her company. He carried her through his gardens, expecting her to frown at the weed-infested, malnourished state of it but she only smiled. “It’s beautiful!”

How she found beauty in such a place, he was unsure. “You should have seen it in its prime.” He didn’t mean for the words to escape him but they fell off of his lips with sadness.

“I like it now.” She hummed. “Maybe when Calanmai comes, the garden will grow further.”

He stiffened, blinking. “Calanmai has not been celebrated by the High Lord in several years.”

“Oh.. Why not?” She puzzled.

Distrust crossed his features. Was this a scheme? Had someone sent her to coax him into partaking in the Great Rite once again? His heart sunk. “I need to go take care of some things. You can find your way back into the manor.”

“Wait!” She cried but he only pivoted, taking long strides back to the house.

Tamlin sat in his study an hour later, eyes glazed as thoughts of the past spiraled. Would he ever feel better? The urge to rip the study to shreds that once would have clawed its way out of him wasn’t there, just an ache in his chest. Empty. Void.

A shadow flew across his desk overlooking the garden and again moments later, and suddenly a falcon swooped from the sky, straight toward where he’d left Fleur.

Fear ripped through Tamlin, he ran like he’d never run before shifting into his beast form to amplify his pace. He wouldn’t make it to her in time. Oh gods- he’d left her out there just for her to die.

“Fleur!” Tamlin roared as he bound into the garden, tearing through the briars, ignoring how they barbed into the pads of his paws. Exposing his teeth he launched toward the large bird of prey.

Screeching to a stop, nearly taking out the sprite and the falcon as he slowed, falling into a seated position from the velocity of halting.

“Are you okay??” She asked, concern etching her tone.

“Me!?” He asked. “I saw this falcon come swooping out of the sky to grab you.”

Fleur brought a hand to cover her mouth as she snickered. “No, silly! She came to find me. This is Perrey. I live with her and her hatchlings.” The bird clicked its beak affectionately brushing the top of its head against the faerie.

Tamlin’s jaw dropped. “How?”

“That’s a story for another time” she smiled sadly, scratching the feathers of the falcons neck.

“Perrey says she can fly me back to her nest. So I suppose this is goodbye.”

Tamlin looked to the sky, gray in the distance, grasping at straws for a reason to have her stay, regardless of her motives for being in his court. A lonely male, indeed.

With an awkward scratch to the back of his neck, and insecurity in his voice he replied. “It’s going to storm soon. I know it’s safe for Perrey but with your healing wing, it would be best to keep your wings in a dry, temperate controlled environment.”

She looked to the bird and Tamlin could have sworn the bird gave a nod of the head. After a long pause, it extended a wing and all but pushed her toward Tamlin.

With a disgruntled humph and a scowl to her supposed “friend” she looked back to Tamlin. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You are in no way a burden.” He meant it.

“Okay, I think that would be good. Thank you, Tamlin.”

Letting out a high pitched whistle-cry, the falcon looked to him and then back to her and Fleur whirred around looking at the bird. “What!?”

The bird looked to him again with - yes, that was definitely a nod - “Oh gods, Perrey! I’m mortified!” The bird let out a huff and shook her head, leaving the Sprite behind before she could change her mind.

“I’m so sorry.” Fleur blurt out. “I didn’t know! No wonder you left me out here.”

Tamlin cocked his head. “You didn’t tell me you were the High Lord! I would never have asked why you didn’t partake had I known.”

Recognizing this as his opportunity to apologize he bent down to pick her up. “Come, little one. It seems we both have stories to tell.”

———————————

The pair sat by the fire. Tamlin in a large armchair and Fleur cross legged tucked into the crook of his arm. He’d added a small drop of whiskey to her sugar concoction knowing they’d likely both need it if they were to get to know eachother.

“Would you like to go first? Or me?” She asked.

Tamlin’s heartbeat picked up. She would likely hate him after this and if she left - he wasn’t sure he wanted to know her further, to have that much more reason to mourn the loss of her companionship. Now she was a pleasant stranger and knowing her? Well, that would feel a lot like friendship.

With a sigh, he muttered. “I’ll go first.”

To her credit, she only stared starry eyed at him as he spoke, never looking at him with disgust - only empathy and perhaps a bit of sadness.

He told her of love squandered and how he’d come to be the broken High Lord of the Spring Court, how he’d failed his court and mourned the male he had once been, the male he could have become.

When he’d finished she looked to him. “I’m so sorry you went through all of that. I’m sure it was hard. Maybe what happened wasn’t all right, but people can learn and grow. You could even love again if you wished.”

He appreciated her effort in consoling him but mostly that she didn’t flee or reprimand him, when he’d already spent so long berating himself.

In fact, getting it all off of his chest felt good. He felt a slight relief to that ancient ache within his heart.

“Well, your turn little flower. How does a Sprite end up in the care of a falcon? Where do the Sprites hide? Truthfully, I always thought you were a myth.”

She flushed. “I- I don’t remember everything. I remember, I think, or maybe dreamed of a burst of flame, a wave of water, a flash of white light, a mother’s hands picking me up gently, and whispering.” She hugged her arms around her waist. “Her voice was a breath of life, changing and moulding, whispering of growing flowers in the darkest places. It felt like love, like a gift for a sacrifice that I cannot remember.”

She shook her head. “I haven’t told anyone because I know it sounds crazy but it’s all I know. The next thing I remember was being carried in Perrey’s talons, thinking she would kill me only for her to provide me with protection.”

She blinked rapidly looking up into the emerald- eyed male’s gaze, met with only kindness. “Do you believe me?” She whispered, averting her gaze before she could be crushed beneath the weight of judgement.

He lowered his palm. A silent offering. She took a step onto it, standing straight and he raised her with a steady, fluid motion, careful not to let her fall over. “Of course I do. I don’t know your past but I know you have a place here - if you’d like.”

She was right. He did have plenty of room in his manor. And a friend - it would be nice to have one.

——————————

Fleur - A month later

Time flew by as she reveled in warm spring days, basking her now healed wings in the rays of sun filtering down through puffy white clouds. When arriving to the manor, Fleur wasn’t familiar with her own power beyond her ability to fly, but Tamlin had taken to working with her and she discovered she had the ability to revive various flora.

In fact, after the past month of hard-work and practice, the gardens around the manor flourished.

Fleur adored Tamlin and smiled to herself one day as she watched him in the gardens. She thought he was beautiful when she met him but she hadn’t realized how much of a physical toll his grief had taken on him until he started to gain a healthy complexion, his eyes were no longer hallowed out with purple underneath, his hair was lush and shiny - she’d spent countless nights running her hands through it as they chatted.

Today he donned a flower crown she’d begged him to let her weave into his hair. He was patient with her as she did it, and she blushed at the result. She couldn’t ignore the feeling in her chest as she admired her work. This strong, powerful male who didn’t balk from the softness and beauty of the world. The male who allowed the smallest of his denizens to play dress-up with his hair, and donned the crown proudly as they tended the garden.

Perrey - the meddling buzzard - had stopped to check in several times, teasing her for having a crush. She only scoffed at such a suggestion, things would never work between them. Based on his hands and feet his… appendage was likely as tall as she was. She blushed at the thought, pushing it far back into her mind. She’d taken to sleeping on a pillow in his room. She’d continued sleeping on the chaise for a week after her first night spent in the manor, but Tamlin sometimes had bad dreams and she’d use her powers to soothe him with the sweetest scents of spring and gentle breezes, humming soft tunes until he’d settle.

She, too, would have ocasional nightmares, those images of fire, water, and ash. They felt so real, like another life. Another world. But she’d hear a voice on those nights, when the dreams would become whimpers, not the Mother she’d once dreamed of but Tamlin’s voice. “I am here. You are safe. I will protect you.”

One night she’d woken to that voice to find that it truly was Tamlin soothing her through the nightmare. She didn’t want to embarrass him and selfishly, she ached to hear his unfiltered words. He’d told her of his days writing limericks during a war and she didn’t know what to expect - truly she’d never even heard a limerick before - that she could remember anyway. But even if she had, this one would be her favorite.

“Find someone who grows flowers in the darkest parts of you.

Take heed when things get hard and don't you ever turn around.

You'll find someone, someday, somewhere that grows you to the clouds.

Sweetest of the sunflowers, you're the sun to me.”

“Little flower?” Tamlin’s voice drew her from her daydreaming. “Calanmai is coming.”

Her heart lurched. They’d discussed the holiday and the potential of the Spring Court High Lord partaking this year. They’d surveyed the land together and while she thought the Spring Court to be a lovely place, she now understood the whisperings she’d heard from the pollinators during her time in the forest. The flowers were dwindling, the harvests no longer plenty.

She understood his hesitance to partake and would never push him to join if it was not comfortable.

An ugly part of her that she tried to push down deep tugged at her. Jealousy. She would be thrilled for all the creatures, all the residents of the Spring Court, but she would never have the opportunity to partake. As far as she knew, she was the only Sprite within this kingdom and while Tamlin was a shapeshifter, how would one approach the topic? But she was still a being, she still felt urges and desire, and Tamlin, something glowed within her when she thought of the male.

Perhaps he saw her as no more than a pest but, she had a hard time finding that to be true. She had little to no experience in romantic affairs but she had enough sense to realize that people didn’t whisper words like “you’re the sun to me” into the ears of someone they didn’t care for.

Remembering that he likely anticipated her response she forced a smile. “Oh?”

His lips pressed into a firm line. “I’ve been thinking and I have been failing my people. I have been failing my people for quite some time and need to partake for the greater good of my Court.”

An ache filled her, not the bitter ache of jealousy, but that of concern for a friend. “Are you comfortable in doing so?”

He gave a half-smile. “I’ve participated in centuries worth of Calanmai nights. I will be fine.” She looked to her feet shyly before looking back to him. “Just don’t force yourself to participate if you’re not willing. Duties be damned, your consent is important too.”

He gave a nod to her. “I appreciate your concern, little one.”

He sat in silent contemplation, words forming on his lips before pressing them into a line again.

“Fleur.”

Her heart fluttered at her name on his lips. “Yes?”

He hesitated for another moment. “Just- Please be careful on the night of Calanmai. I cannot and will not force you to do anything against your will, but perhaps you should stay here. The magic of the night is wild, primal. And you’re….”

Small. Fragile. Breakable.

She was well aware.

“You’re lovely and I don’t know how I would react if someone hurt you.”

He cares about me.

She closed her eyes, letting the thought float away. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. He could never be hers.

“Oh, okay.” She whispered.

———————————-

Calanmai - Tamlin

His heart raced as he bound away from the manor. He’d reminded Fleur of the dangers. He wouldn’t lock her away or force her to stay in but he prayed that his reasoning was enough for her to do so.

A bitter thought passed through him, he didn’t want whatever maiden the basest version of himself would chose. He wanted Fleur. Fuck- he felt like a degenerate for it too.

She deserved better and they could never truly work anyway, aside from perhaps grinding against his pinky, there was no anatomical way to be with her. He knew she was an adult, that despite her lack of memories, she was mature enough and understood herself enough to know that she was a grown female with desires of her own. Hell, he’d even scented her arousal a time or two. It killed him. Why couldn’t she be his? It was a sick trick of fate to put someone so perfect in his grasp, just for it to never work.

He wanted to know what sweet sounds she would make as she came on his fingers, his tongue, his cock. He ached for it. He could make himself small but- his magic only went so far. He couldn’t constantly be at her size. Was he sick for wondering if there was a way to make it work? He’d never want to push her into a relationship. What they had was too precious.

He had shrunk down to her size one day and she shared with him all the details of her world, the way the sun created prisms off the orbs of dew on blades of grass, the way she could curl up in a larger flower and nap, the pollen feeling silken against exposed skin. And that day, all he wanted to do as he watched her marvel was to take her into his arms - hold her, kiss her, submit himself wholly to her. His heart longed for it.

He knew he couldn’t shift to her size again without taking their friendship to a point of no return. He couldn’t fathom losing her companionship.

The drums rang out and he began his routine. He found the stag with ease. His bare chest covered with swirls of paint heaved as the urge to find the maiden took over. He wandered the crowd, women reached for him, caressing his arms and exposed chest with grabby fingers. He didn’t want them, the magic didn’t want them.

His body began to move on its own accord, the initial sign of setting its target, he wandered again through the crowd, closer and closer to the edge. His legs began sprinting across the field, further and further from the crowd, right toward - the manor.

Gods - no. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He began to sweat, the beast warring within. He was in pain, warring against it. He couldn’t go to her. She deserved so much more than this.

He begged to the mother, anyone who would listen to hold him back. Finally, through much disdain, he found himself in the stables, using any tethers he could find to bind himself to a post. He hoped it was enough to keep him away. He was strong willed but the beast inside was strong. Perhaps his will and the additional measures would be enough to hold him back. The horses chuffed at his intrusion, doing nothing to hide the irritation of his disruption to their rest, one going as far as to let out a loud neigh.

Tamlin fought and fought, sweat now drenching him, letting out pathetic whimpers and pleas. To whom? He didn’t know. The desire within him was so strong. Images of the day he’d shrunk down to her size flashing across his mind. She was everything. Perfect. Anyone who saw her would agree, with beauty and luscious curves that would bring kingdoms to their knees.

“She could be yours.” The beast in his mind roared. “She wants you. Take her. Just shift.”

“No!!!” He cried out, tears brimming his eyes as the lust burned through him.

His pupils blew wide at the sound of a tiny voice, sweeter than any nectar. “Tamlin?”

“Fleur” he heaved. “You can’t be here. You have to go!”

“What’s wrong? Who tied you here?” She flew to him, frantic, concerned.

She cared for him.

“Fleur, please.” Tamlin whimpered. The beast requested. One begging her to leave, the other begging her to relieve him of his lust.

She sniffed the air and he knew it wasn’t the horse shit she was smelling. “Oh, Tamlin. The magic. It chose me, didn’t it?”

“Fleur, I can’t.”

“Look at me.” She placed her delicate hands on his chin. “Do you want this?”

“No! I mean, yes. Fleur, there’s nothing more in this world I want but I can’t.”

She paused, deep in thought. “Why can’t you? And not because of the difference in size, why can’t your heart?”

The silver threatened to spill over his lashes. “Because you’re everything, Fleur. I can’t ruin us, ruin you.”

“Then don’t.” She stated plainly.

He took pause at the response. The simplicity of it.

“Ask me what I want, Tam.” Her eyes searched his, wings now fluttering to hover directly in front of his face.

Through heavy breaths he rasped. “What? What is it you want?”

“I want you, Tamlin. I want your friendship. I want your love, your touch. I want to know the electricity of your fingers tracing down my spine, the feel of your lips against mine, to know your body as well as my own. I want you to feel how much I care for you in every way, not just the emotional, the physical too. I want to know what the connection between our souls feels like when you’re buried inside of me, claiming me as yours. Because that is what I am Tamlin, I am yours - if you want me.”

“You’re all I want.” He growled.

“Then have me.”

—————————-

Fuck, she was beautiful - bare before him, spread on his bed like a delicacy, his to feast upon. And he was going to, and he would take a long time reveling in the sweet nectar currently dripping before him. They’d barely made it to his room, his magic cleaning the dirt of the stables off of him and spiriting away their clothes. He’d broken through his reigns at her command, and before shifting to her size, she begged him to shift her to his size, wanting to experience the world as he does.

He wasn’t prepared for the way the shift amplified her already unattainable beauty. Her hair normally appearing a shade so blonde it was nearly light now refracted under the soft fae lights with pastel shades of aqua, pink, and purple. Her skin practically glowed with radiance and her wings, they laid spread beneath her like a stained glass blown by the finest artisan. Forget the ethereal beauty of the High Fae, she was truly otherworldly, a goddess of spring. And he was hers, prepared to worship at her altar.

Her breasts heaved with anticipation as he admired her. The base instinct in him seemed to settle now, as if even it submitted to her.

He watched her with both predatory intent and awe as her round breasts and pert nipples rose and fell with each desperate breath of anticipation.

Stopping him from his final question of “are you sure?” she raised a hand up, the other falling to the apex of her thighs. “Please.” She whispered. “Tamlin, I need you.”

He lost any semblance of control, halting her as she began bringing those luxurious thighs of silken skin together in an attempt to create friction between them. His muscled grip holding them apart. “I’m going to taste you now.”

And taste her he did, he swiped up her center with a broad, flattened maneuver of his tongue. Her essence coated him and he’d never reveled in anything so delicious. He could die a happy male knowing he’d tasted the nectar of the gods. With expert precision his tongue circled her clit in teasing motions, and the moans that fell from her lips were sinful, a siren’s song of lust and temptation, a sound he would play on repeat long after this night.

A hand flew to his hair, tugging on it, her legs falling over his shoulders as he knelt at the edge of the bed. He ran a finger, collecting her essence to ease the slide into her. He groaned at the tight feel of her as his finger slid in, sending vibrations to her clit.

He worked her open with careful diligence, her moans pulling the strings of his ministrations into her core, whatever pulled those sweet songs from her, he paid rapt attention to. He knew she’d never been with anyone and his heart selfishly swelled at the idea of being her first and last, because that’s what this was. Not a one night stand, not just a “rite”, but a claiming of body and soul.

He puffed up with male pride, reveling at the grip of her sex as he slid another lubricated finger into her, this time curling in a way that elicited louder moans from her plush lips. With the next curl of his fingers, he sucked the swollen bud of her clit, humming with satisfaction at the way her body was responding to him. The hand that wasn’t currently wringing delicious whimpers from the female, gripped onto a supple thigh tensing around his shoulders.

A low growl escaped him, vibrating through her core and she shot up, trying to push away from him. He pulled his head back in worry, “What is it? Are you okay?”

Fleur gave a wicked smile. “Yes! I’ve never been better but, when I come at the touch of another for the first time, when I come for you - I don’t want it to be alone. I want to come together. Can we?

And if he hadn’t already been so riled up by the divine female splayed before him, this would have done him in. His eyes rolled back in bliss at the sentiment, “Gods, you are truly a gift.”

With that he scooped her up in a quick motion, depositing her further back on the silken sheets of his bed. There were so many ways he wanted to take her but this first time it would be gentle, he could leash that inner beast and savor this moment with the reverence it deserved.

Purple irises peered up at him filled with adoration, trust, hope, anticipation, so many emotions swirling in those eyes. She propped up on elbows to watch as he reached down once more, filling her with three fingers, so fucking wet and ready for him.

She let out his name in a gasp when he withdrew his fingers, his arm disappearing from between her legs to cradle her neck. She gaped at where his cock stood erect and throbbing, pre-cum leaking from the slit of it.

Leaning down he kissed her forehead and then taking her chin with his thumb and forefinger, emotion dancing in his eyes. “It’s okay, love. I promise I’ll take care of you. Do you trust me?”

She bit her lower lip, the corners tilting up as her eyes raked over the gorgeous muscled male above her, taking all of him in, committing him to memory. Flashing a soft, genuine smile she nodded her head eagerly. “Always.”

With that he gripped his cock with one hand, sliding the head through her slick, and carefully pushed in.

The combined sounds of pleasure emanating from the two could have shaken the walls of the manor. The stretch of his cock against her tight cunt sending waves of bliss through them.

“Please” she whimpered, offering permission for him to sink deeper into her heat.

“Fuck, Flower. I never dreamed you’d be so tight.”

She quirked an eyebrow, simultaneously letting out a moan as he pushed into her inch by inch. “You thought about this?”

He dropped his head to the crook of her neck, his cock now completely enveloped by her - warm, silken walls gripping fitting him like they were custom fit for eachother.

“Oh, gods!” Fleur cried out. “Tamlin, it’s too, it’s so-“

“Shhh baby. You’re doing so good for me.” He praised with soothing coos. And oh, by the flutter he felt around his cock his baby liked to be praised. He tucked that away mentally for safe keeping.

He held still, fighting the primal urge to fuck into her until she was screaming his name. No, there would be time for that later.

He let out a soft chuckle as she shifted her hips, canting them off the bed in a desperate attempt for friction.

“You ready?” He grinned, canines flashing like a fiend.

“I’ve been ready for this. You’re not the only one with a- ooooh” she let out a moan at a slight buck of his hips.

“What was that?” He mocked.

“Mmm” she hummed. “You’re not the only one with an active imagination.”

“Hmm” he feigned consideration. “Well, let me enlighten you, little flower.”

With that he pulled back and thrust into her gently, groaning as her breasts bounced with the motion. “These-“ He rolled a nipple between his fingers, leaning down to suckle at one, pulling back to release it with a pop “are delectable”

She gasped at the sensation and before she could speak further he began moving in a gentle rhythm, her moans reverberated off the walls, a chorus for his own enjoyment.

“There are so many things I want to do to you, do with you, Fleur.” He whispered and she could read in the expression, the way he took her in with such warmth that he meant more than just sexually.

She could only manage another sweet sigh as he pushed into her, increasing his pace and the weight of his thrusts. The way he stretched her and filled her in ways she never dreamed was sending her so close to the edge. “I’m gonna come.” She cried, lips forming that telltale “O”.

“Cum with me, Fleur.” He whispered into the shell of her ear. She shook her head in a “yes”, creases forming across her brow as her face contorted with pleasure.

Tamlin placed a thumb to her clit adding just the pressure she needed to fall over the edge, causing her to shatter around him in squeezing waves as she climaxed. She looked so fucking beautiful coming on him.

Tamlin came as she fell apart around him, with a deep cry of ecstasy he found his release, the heat of him filling her. Tamlin’s eyes screwed shut at the shock running through him with his orgasm, behind his eyelids golden vines swirled and wound from the once darkened depths of his soul into… he opened his eyes to find hers blown wide, not from the magnitude of their climax but from the snap.

“Mate?” He asked.

“Yes!” She cried out. “Mate.”

Fleur didn’t know a lot about mates but she’d heard whisperings of it, a bond so rare and precious. She refused to ruin the moment by contemplating the logistics of it, they may be able to carry out the act of mating but the actual prospect of carrying a child - which seemed to be a key facet of the bond. No, instead of considering she crashed her lips into his, kissing the mate she was blessed with until he dropped his weight off of her, falling to her side and pulling her onto his chest, her wings fluttering joyously with the motion.

“My little flower.” He beamed, pressing a kiss to the top of her pastel hair. “My perfect mate.”

———————————

Epilogue

The morning after their first coupling, Fleur found herself once again tiny, curled up into the warmth of Tamlin’s neck. They found that it took considerable power to shift her size and he could only shift his for specific periods of time, though it was easier. They accepted the bond right away and never looked back. The year’s harvest was the most fruitful in Spring’s history and Tamlin took time rebuilding his court, with his little mate by his side. He was so proud of her, so enamored by the kind, joyous soul he’d fallen so hopelessly in love with. He never minded their difference in sizes and quite honestly, they had fun exploring the various way they could enjoy each other regardless of size. Everything was wonderful. Until the day Lucien and Elain visited, with the sweetest baby one could dream of in tow.

Fleur doted over the child with such wonder. The joy Tamlin so often remembered filling her eyes as she took in his court, and he also felt longing flowing from her through the bond. Tamlin always wanted children and had accepted that it wouldn’t be feasible for them, the shifting being potentially dangerous to a developing child. He could shift to her size but there was always a small chance that the pregnancy could hurt her given that he wasn’t truly a Sprite. Neither were comfortable risking it.

Fleur hid the longing so well, the slight sadness she carried. He knew the sadness had nothing to do with him and that she was otherwise overjoyed with their life but he could understand the pang of grief. He felt it sometimes too, which led him to his study late one night. He’d felt her grief and refused to let his pride hold them back.

One morning, Tamlin woke Fleur early. “We have company coming today.”

She rubbed her bleary eyes as she propped up from her spot against his neck. “What? Who? Are Lucien and Elain back from the continent?”

He gave a smile. “No love, get ready and meet me in the study in an hour. Does that work? I’ll have tea ready for you.”

She gave a curious second look to him but knew her efforts to pry the information from him would be futile.

So an hour later she found herself sitting in the study with Tamlin; his ex-lover, now High Lady of the Night Court, and her mate. Feyre glanced anxiously around the room, placing a hand on her mate’s thigh and giving a soft smile, he returned it in kind. She looked back to Tamlin and Fleur with a smile, eyes alight with hope. “We think we found it. Helion helped, granting us access to dated tomes regarding shifting and ancient High Lords.”

Tamlin gave a small smile and Fleur could feel a huge wave of hope and nervousness down their bond. “Found what?” She asked, not unkindly.

Tamlin looked to her softly. “You don’t have to say yes, and you have plenty of time to think on this if you wish, but…”

Fleur’s legs bounced with excitement, anticipating the next words to fall from her mate’s lips. “We can shift you permanently to the size of a High Fae.” He looked to her cautiously, “I could try to shift to your size permanently but for the purpose of-“

She interrupted him with a squeal, flying to press a kiss to his cheek and then to Feyre and Rhysand as well. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She cried.

The High Lady and High Lord of the Night Court gave her soft smiles before Rhysand asked, “I assume that’s a yes then?”

“Yes!” She squealed. With that Tamlin used his powers to shift her to her High Fae height. Feyre marveling at her wings, studying them with awe. “You’re lovely.” She spoke with nothing but kindness. “Are you sure you want this?” Tamlin asked. She shook her head eagerly. “Yes! I’m positive!”

With that, Tamlin, Feyre, and Rhysand each dropped a kernel of light onto Fleur.

The moment felt magical but nothing felt different afterward. Tamlin and Feyre looked to eachother. “Now,” Feyre spoke. “Try to shift to your Sprite form. Will it into your mind.”

Fleur fought for a moment. “Take a few breaths, love.” Tamlin whispered. So she did, willing the image into her mind once again. And suddenly, she was small. “Oh…” she frowned. “Does this mean it didn’t work?”

“The opposite!” Feyre spoke with glee. “It worked! Can you shift yourself back?”

Understanding fell upon Fleur and she followed the same process, imagining her larger form and taking breaths. To her absolute joy, she grew large again. “You-“ she spoke through broken sobs. “You gave me the ability to shift! I can be this size all the time and shift back into my Sprite form when I wish?”

“Yes.” Tamlin spoke gently, placing his arms around her waist. “You can be whatever you want, flower.”

“I can’t believe this. Thank you all for this gift. How can I ever repay you?”

Rhysand nodded toward Tamlin. “The debt has already been paid.”

Tamlin gave an unreadable look to the High Lord and then to his former lover. “There was never a debt.”

“Congratulations to you both.” Feyre spoke, Rhysand mirroring the sentiment before winnowing away. Tamlin paused finding a note on the chair that Feyre had vacated.

I am happy. Now, it’s your turn.

Tamlin took his mate’s hand in his, discarding the note into a wastebasket. “Shall we begin?”

He laughed as he caught his footing, barely bracing himself for his mate to jump into his arms. Between kisses, she challenged, “Give me all you’ve got, my love.”

————————

Tag: @tamlinweek for the shapeshifter theme

General ACOTAR tag: @lilah-asteria

[olivialau]

Shadow's Embrace Ch.20

Sukuna x Reader

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fanfiction based on the universe of "Jujutsu Kaisen," created by Gege Akutami. The original manga, anime, and characters belong to their respective owners and creators.

Notes:

This story unfolds in the Jujutsu Kaisen world, set in a slightly altered universe where Sukuna inhabits his own vessel distinct from Itadori Yuji's body, making him a separate entity.

Summary:

Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, becomes fascinated with a female sorcerer rich in potential but lacking control. Initially seizing her for his destructive plans, Sukuna aims to bind her abilities through a contract. Yet, as he tries to dominate her, he finds himself intrigued by her strength and determination. Over time, his interest evolves from strategic advantage to a deeper, personal connection.

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CHAPTER 20 - Balancing Act

Sukuna's hands moved with strange elegance as he continued to trace every single intricate carving on the wooden frame. They depicted battles, massacres, and relentless slaughter—each stroke of the artisan’s blade had carefully immortalized the horrors he once wrought.

And Sukuna recounted it all as if it were a fond memory—his grin widening with each ghastly detail, each torment vividly brought to life.

You should have been horrified, and to some degree, you were. But there was something about the way he spoke, the way his eyes lit up with a strange, excited glee, that kept you rooted to the spot. It made your stomach twist in knots—half from fear, half from something you couldn’t, or perhaps didn’t want to, name.

For an entire hour, Sukuna reveled in his bloody past, dragging you through the carnage with him. You barely absorbed half of what he said, too distracted by the way his face moved, the subtle shifts in his expression.

When he finally seemed to have exhausted his tales, you found a moment to breathe and compose yourself. Seizing that brief clarity, you murmured an excuse and managed to pry yourself from the room, unable to endure the conflicting feelings any longer.

Your legs felt shaky as you walked back to the couch, and the second you were alone, you buried your face in a pillow and screamed into it, careful to ensure the sound was muffled.

Your cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and shame, both from your response to Sukuna's stories and the unsettling flutter in your chest that stubbornly lingered. You cursed yourself for feeling anything but disgust towards him—an evil being who had done nothing but manipulate, torment, and destroy. He was dangerous, vile, and you knew better than to lower your guard.

Desperate to rid yourself of the unwanted emotions, you mentally replayed every cruel thing Sukuna had put you through.

He’d slammed you into walls, floors, and pillars of concrete, forcing you to battle curses just for his amusement. But the worst, the most excruciating, was how he had turned Ayumi’s death into a weapon against you. That memory was a raw, festering wound—his most sadistic, cruel, manipulation yet.

It was the only thing capable of reigniting the fury and disgust you needed to extinguish any lingering feelings toward him.

As your thoughts drifted to Ayumi, a pang of sorrow pierced through the haze of frustration. Without thinking, you reached for your phone and checked the date.

September 27th.

This weekend would mark two years since her death.

The weight of it settled over you like a suffocating blanket. You’d have to return to your hometown for the memorial service. Your parents would be there, as well as Ayumi’s mother and all your old high school friends. It wasn’t just an obligation; it was something you couldn’t afford to miss, no matter how much it tore at you.

You clutched the pillow closer, as if it could somehow anchor you amidst the whirlwind of feelings, until finally, exhaustion claimed you, dragging you into an uneasy sleep.

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The next morning, the alarm on your phone woke you. It was eight, and you blinked in surprise. You'd half expected to be torn from your sleep hours earlier for another grueling training session.

But as you slowly regained your bearings, you realized there was no sign of the King of Curses. For the first time in what felt like ages, you had the luxury of a normal morning routine—showering, brushing your teeth, and preparing for the day ahead.

It was a rare, quiet morning—one where you could almost pretend that your life was normal. Yet, the lingering memory of the previous day's events was undoubtedly present, a persistent shadow over that glimpse of normalcy.

The morning air was crisp, and the streets bustled with energy as you made your way to Jujutsu High. You grabbed a quick breakfast from the convenience store, but it became little more than an afterthought—just something to occupy your hands and distract you from the unease churning in your stomach.

You dreaded facing Gojo again. Those piercing blue eyes seemed to see through your every lie, and over the past week, his suspicions had only grown. His questions became more probing, more persistent. It felt inevitable—just a matter of time before he pieced together your connection to Sukuna.

Would Gojo kill you on the spot if he discovered the truth? The thought gnawed at you, and to be fair, you couldn't really blame him if he did. Despite the fact that you had been coerced into this arrangement, you were still a pawn in Sukuna's game—an enemy to the very people you had come to care about.

Itadori, Megumi, Kugisaki, even the second years—you’d been, essentially, betraying them all this time.

The screech of the metro pulling into the station jolted you from your thoughts for a moment. You stepped off and made your way toward Jujutsu High. The brief walk was a blur as your mind picked up right where it left off, and continued to race with a thousand what-ifs.

That was until a familiar voice cut through your reverie.

“Yo! Good morning!”

You looked up, startled, to see Itadori jogging up to you, his bright smile lighting up his face and the air around him. His presence was like a splash of warmth in the chill morning breeze.

“Onigiri and chocolate milk?” he said, tilting his head as he eyed your breakfast. “That’s a weird combo.”

You glanced down at the rice ball in your hand, feeling a bit self-conscious. “I wasn’t really thinking when I grabbed it,” you admitted with a sheepish smile. “Just picked up whatever was closest.”

Itadori chuckled, “Hey, I’ve had weirder breakfasts. There was this one time I ate leftover pizza with iced coffee. Trust me, it was way worse than your combo.”

His confession drew a genuine laugh from you, and the tension in your shoulders eased ever so slightly. “Pizza and iced coffee? That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Oh, it was,” he grinned, scratching the back of his head. “But I survived! Though... I wouldn’t recommend it.”

The rest of the way, the two of you walked together, falling into an easy rhythm. Itadori rambled on about the latest movies he'd seen, and you were content to simply listen, nodding occasionally as you finally savored your breakfast.

As you both reached the entrance, your conversation was abruptly cut short by Gojo striding toward you, his long steps making him appear to glide effortlessly across the courtyard. Without so much as a greeting, he grabbed your shoulder—firm but not rough.

“Morning! I need to borrow you for a couple of hours,” Gojo said cheerfully, as though he hadn’t just pulled you away mid-conversation.

Itadori's confusion mirrored your own, his brows knitting together as he protested, “Huh? But we have classes now.”

Gojo brushed aside Itadori's concern with a casual wave of his hand. “Classes can wait. What could be more valuable than a private session with the greatest sorcerer alive, huh?” He flashed a mischievous grin, his eyes glinting with the promise of an intriguing, if not unsettling, opportunity.

Oh, so that’s what this was about. Gojo had already mentioned the idea of one-on-one training, but you knew it was just a cover. He had his suspicions about you and the kidnapping, and now you were cornered, unable to avoid what seemed like an inevitable confrontation.

With little choice but to comply, your best bet was to keep playing along, hoping you could stall his suspicions a little longer. So you forced an excited smile and nodded.

“Sure! I’ll go.”

Gojo led you away from the school grounds, taking you to a secluded dojo building on the far side of the campus. The further you walked, the more tense you grew. The path was unusually quiet, devoid of the usual student chatter. The dojo itself was tucked away behind trees and dense foliage, almost too secluded.

A chill ran down your spine. Was he really planning on killing you? You tried to keep your expression neutral, but by the time you entered the building, your heart was hammering in your chest.

The dojo was almost entirely empty, the vast wooden floor bare, with no training equipment or mats in sight. At the center of the room, two pillows faced each other, arranged as if for a formal meeting.

You moved toward one of the pillows, intending to sit, but Gojo lifted a hand to stop you. “Ah, ah, ah,” he said playfully, “we’ll talk after the training.”

More waiting. Wonderful.

If a confrontation was his aim, why drag it out? The anticipation was unbearable, each second of uncertainty gnawing relentlessly at your nerves.

Gojo, in contrast, seemed perfectly relaxed. He stood across from you, his expression still lighthearted, though his aura had shifted—a subtle seriousness to it. “Now that you’ve gotten a taste of your cursed technique," he said, "I want you to try something. Touch me and show me what happens.”

Touch him? Reluctantly, you nodded. It felt awkward and uncomfortable to touch someone so powerful—and your teacher at that. You hesitated for a moment before stepping closer and extending your hand.

Gojo was exceptionally tall, requiring you to stretch to reach his shoulder. As your hand made contact, you braced yourself for the usual surge of energy or the faintness that accompanied touching someone with such high levels of cursed energy.

But nothing happened.

You blinked in confusion. No surge, no draw of energy. It was like touching any ordinary person.

Gojo tilted his head, just as perplexed. Then, a realization dawned on his face. “Oh! Wait a second—I didn’t turn off my Infinity.” He chuckled at his own mistake.

"My bad.”

He deactivated his Infinity, and the moment he did, everything changed.

The cursed energy between you both began to fluctuate wildly, his powerful aura suddenly overwhelming yours. You felt it immediately—his energy surged while yours tried to absorb it, swelling as if trying to keep up.

It felt like your cursed technique was pulling at the vast reservoir of his power, and for a moment, it worked. Your own energy grew, but only slightly, while his immense reserves seemed to shrink, just a fraction.

But the drawback hit hard. After about two minutes, your knees began to wobble under the strain.

Realizing things were about to spiral, you quickly pulled your hand away. The abrupt halt in energy flow left you gasping for breath, a rush of lightheadedness sweeping over you as you fought to stay on your feet.

Gojo looked at you, fascinated. His usual playful smile returned. “Haha, interesting. So it works exactly how I expected.”

He began to pace the room, thoughtfully tapping his chin. “I had a theory about your cursed technique,” he began,

“ever since I watched you train with the cursed corpse. Remember how you had to keep pouring a stable amount of energy into it to prevent it from attacking you?”

You nodded, still trying to steady your breathing.

“Well,” Gojo continued, “I think the problem wasn’t with the amount of energy you were putting in. You were probably pouring in the right amount, but your cursed technique was absorbing the energy right after you poured it in. That disbalance caused the instability.”

You made a conscious effort to play the part of someone still figuring out their technique. Despite Sukuna having already taught you the fundamentals, it was crucial to come across as a little... ignorant.

“So… my technique absorbs energy even when I’m not aware of it?” you asked.

“Exactly!” Gojo’s grin widened. “And with someone like me, who has massive amounts of cursed energy, the effect is more noticeable. You’re not just absorbing a little—you’re taking in as much as your body can handle. But here’s the catch; your body’s not quite ready for that much, not yet anyway.”

Gojo paused, seemingly considering something, as he studied you. “Before we dive into expanding your cursed energy capacity, it might be wiser to focus on controlling how much you absorb first. If you can manage that, you won’t wear yourself out as quickly.”

The idea made sense. If you couldn’t regulate your intake, trying to increase your reserves would be like adding more weight to a fragile scale—it would just break under the pressure.

Despite their contrasting philosophies, Sukuna and Gojo revealed a surprising similarity in their approach to teaching you. Mastering energy control was exactly what Sukuna had planned for your next session.

To your own annoyance, you felt a surprising thrill at the thought that Gojo's training might help you impress Sukuna. The idea of earning recognition from the King of Curses was unexpectedly appealing. Yet, the rational part of your mind recoiled. Why should impressing him stir any kind of excitement? You really needed to get your shit together.

You took a deep breath, pushing the disturbing feelings aside for the moment, and looked up at Gojo. “Please,”  you said earnestly. “Teach me how to control it.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow beneath his blindfold, clearly amused by your sudden enthusiasm. “Well, that’s the spirit,” he said with a chuckle.

“Though, I’m not sure I’m the best person for you to practice on. I’ve got a bit too much cursed energy, and if you keep absorbing from me, you’ll end up overloading yourself and doing more harm than good.”

He tilted his head, as if deep in thought, before his face suddenly brightened with a spark of inspiration. "Wait here," he said, turning on his heel and exiting the dojo, leaving you in a state of puzzled anticipation

The space fell into an eerie silence, and your nerves began to fray as you worried over the 'talk' Gojo had promised after the training session. It felt like an eternity—though it was probably only ten minutes—before the door slid open once more.

Gojo re-entered the dojo, dragging a visibly disgruntled Megumi by the collar.

Megumi squirmed against Gojo’s grip, his face a picture of irritation. “Seriously, Gojo-sensei? I was right in the middle of a lesson. What’s so urgent that you had to pull me out like this?”

Gojo dismissed his complaints with a casual wave. “Oh, come on, Megumi. Don’t be such a grouch. It’s important! You’ll thank me later.”

Megumi shot Gojo a sharp, daring glare before noticing you standing awkwardly in the center of the room. His expression softened slightly as he gave you a brief nod. You responded with a tentative wave, unsure of how to proceed.

Gojo’s hands came together with a sharp clap, shattering the tension in the room.

“Alright, Megumi, here’s the deal,” Gojo said, adopting an exaggeratedly businesslike tone. “I need you to help our friend here practice controlling her cursed technique.”

Megumi’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Wait...what? Why me?” he asked.

Gojo wagged a playful finger at him. “Because you’re my favorite student, of course! And besides, you’re already here. No sense in making a fuss,” he replied with a grin.

Megumi let out a resigned sigh, clearly recognizing the futility of arguing further. He turned to you, his expression softening once more. “Alright, fine,” he said, in a way that was begrudging but not unkind. “What exactly do you need me to do?”

Gojo stepped back, giving you and Megumi some space. “Simple,” he explained.

“You’re going to let her touch you, and she needs to try and control how much of your cursed energy she absorb. Her cursed technique is Cursed Energy Assimilation, quite impressive, isn't it?” he added with a note of awe in his voice, disclosing the nature of your ability.

Megumi's initial surprise at the revelation of your technique was apparent, but it was quickly overtaken by a hint of embarrassment as he extended his hand toward you. The faint color on his cheeks betrayed that the gesture felt intimate to him, despite its innocence.

You reached out, your fingers just above Megumi's arm, as Gojo continued. 

"Here's what we're going to do. Megumi here has a more stable flow of cursed energy. You're going to place your hand on his arm and try to absorb it, but this time, instead of taking it all at once, I want you to slow it down, and only take in what you can handle. I'll guide you through it."

Megumi gave you a final, almost imperceptible nod—a gesture that conveyed both his trust and his approval for you to touch him.

As you made contact, you felt the familiar surge—the steady hum of cursed energy—as it flowed through you. Unlike Gojo’s, Megumi’s energy was more contained; it wasn’t as overwhelming, but it was still incredibly strong in its own right.

“Good,” Gojo said. “Now, focus. Take a deep breath and feel the flow of energy. Don’t think about absorbing it yet—just pay attention to the way it moves, like a current in a river.”

You closed your eyes and did as instructed. It flowed rhythmically in time with Megumi’s breathing. You hadn’t noticed that before, the way his cursed energy seemed to be synced with his body’s natural rhythm. For a moment, you simply let yourself sense it without trying to suppress the intake.

“Alright,” Gojo said, calm and guiding. “Now, I want you to imagine turning a faucet. Let the cursed energy trickle in—just a small amount at a time. Don’t force it, and don’t rush. If you feel yourself losing control, stop and breathe.”

You took another deep breath and slowly began to absorb Megumi’s cursed energy.

This time, you followed Gojo’s advice, picturing a faucet slowly being turned, the flow of energy coming in small, controlled amounts. It was still difficult, but with Gojo’s guidance, you managed to lower the intake.

“Good, good,” Gojo praised, stepping closer to observe. “That’s it. Keep it at that level. Feel how your body is reacting—if it’s too much, slow down even more.”

You practiced this way for another hour, steadily improving as you adjusted the intake to a sustainable level. When you finally mastered the delicate balancing act, Gojo’s voice broke your concentration, announcing the end of this session.

“Let’s stop here for today,” he instructed.

Following his words, you slowly withdrew your hand from Megumi’s arm. The stability you felt was surprising; though your legs wobbled slightly, you were nowhere near the point of collapse. It was a small victory, but one that filled you with a deep sense of accomplishment.

Even Megumi offered you a rare sign of acknowledgment with a small nod. “Not bad,” he said, which was high praise coming from him.

Gojo, more generous with his approval, clapped his hands together, the sound echoing through the dojo. “Great job! You’re really making strides. Keep at it—control will only get easier with practice. Eventually, it’ll become second nature.”

It was satisfying to receive recognition for your efforts, a welcome change from the sessions with Sukuna, where progress was driven by harsh taunts and relentless pressure rather than positive encouragement.

By now, Megumi, who was visibly exhausted despite his efforts to mask it, was heading toward the door. Before he could leave, you felt a strong urge to express your gratitude. "Thank you, Megumi. I really appreciate your help," you said with sincerity.

He responded with a low grumble, "It’s nothing," though the slight flush on his cheeks suggested otherwise. With a wave, he slid the door shut behind him, and the atmosphere in the room shifted dramatically.

The knot in your stomach, which had briefly loosened during the training, tightened once more. You knew what was coming—the dreaded conversation with Gojo.

Gojo walked over to one of the floor pillows, settling himself down comfortably. He patted the space across from him, signaling for you to join him. Though the gesture was casual, the tension beneath it was unmistakable.

You hesitated, weighed down by the anticipation of what was to come, before finally taking a seat on the opposite pillow.

The silence between you was thick and stifling, stretching on as both of you opened your mouths simultaneously, only to stop short.

"You go first," you blurted out, with a tight voice that undoubtedly betrayed your anxiety to the perceptive Gojo.

Gojo's blindfold obscured his eyes but not the probing intensity of his posture as he leaned forward slightly. He gave a faint, reassuring smile that softened his presence without diminishing its impact.

"Alright then," he said in a steady voice.

"Let’s talk about Sukuna."

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

Thank you for reading!! Really appreciate the support, likes and comments <3

If you want to be added to the taglist, so you don't miss any updates, please let me know in the comments or with a private message. Thankyou!

Taglist: @sukunasthightattoos , @tomiokasecretlover , @6demonize6me6 , @blindbabycadder , @domainofmarie , @marcoschuitmaker , @geniejunn , @chanaaaannel

[afreakingdork]

Inflorescence

RotTMNT Donatello x Original Female Character One-Shot

The absolutely stunning chapter art was done by @goodforwho

Rated: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Sex, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Creampie, Yearning, Love, Established Relationship, Touch-Starved, Light Bondage, Light BDSM, Plant Bondage, Married Couple, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Penis In Vagina Sex, Gift Fic, One Shot

Synopsis: From a young age, Jun resigned herself to being alone. It's been years since and that hunger has not abated.

This one shot is dedicated to, inspired by, and a gift for @grumpytheunicorn who's OC, Jung-Hwa "Jun" B. Lee, fills me with nothing but glee. I hope you like it.

Also available on Ao3

LAST WARNING FOR THE 🍋 UNDER THE CUT. MINORS DNI!

Intimacy.

It wasn’t something Jun ever thought she would have. It wasn’t just that she convinced herself; it was a patent impossibility. She was untouchable in this world. There was family that evaded that rule when she was younger, but that time was finite. Clinging was something shy children grew out of. They grew into anxious adults that were plagued with loneliness until they did something about it.

What if there was nothing to do?

Starvation was baked into Jun’s skin. It was etched in the very green lines that Donnie was tracing with his tongue. It didn’t matter how much he touched her, it would always be there. It ghosted over every inch of her and only asked for more. This was what came from her lineage. Genetics had laid out designs on her very being. She was a colorful rendition of darted toxicity in amphibian form. For as visible as she was to ward off others, the years of neglect weren’t. Those were palpable, not tangible. It was hers alone to suffer with. 

Did Donnie know?

He acted like it sometimes. He would look both at her and through her to see that wraith draped over her shoulders. He’d tug her close under the guise of possessiveness or slap a hand onto her shoulder to keep the spectre at bay. Late at night when she was sure she would be consumed, he would roll over and wrap around her like a security blanket. He was everything she wanted and more.

It wasn’t enough.

Not when she was built to keep others at bay.

Not when her personality was wretched.

Not with the ilk that invited death painted her skin.

There was more still.

For her hunger, she had teeth.

A row of pretty sharpened fangs lined up in her mouth.

Why?

She was enough of a carnivore. 

Why did she of all things need a secondary defense mechanism?

Why was she the one cursed to be alone?

Donnie grabbed her then.

He moved on from his tasting to gripping and kneading. This, he didn’t know and never would. He couldn’t know that all of this was unnecessary. She loved the gambit of lovemaking and would never tell him that he alone soaked her. Her years of intangible fantasy nearly equaled those where she convinced herself she would be a solitary creature.

The two went hand and hand in what once stabilized of her sanity. If she couldn’t have touch in real life, then she had it in spades in the immaterial world. Through fiction and fantasy she fed and by the time Donatello came along he fit the mold of insertion whether he knew it or not.

Guilt had eaten away at her for fantasizing about her friend all those years ago.

How she yearned to tell her younger self that it would be okay.

That he would be the one.

That he would be holding her now, in vivo, and more.

Her life partner.

Her Nightshade.

The man that was unknowingly wasting his time with foreplay.

She threw her claws in to not be a passive participant. Those she minded less. They were wasted on pricking fingers when even the tap of a tip had enough toxic mucus to kill a lesser being. They were cosmetic in that sense and she fancied them. Her nails were pointed lines that made it easier to pick books or tick up page corners. They weren’t the mark of a prey animal needing to be protected.

Not that Donnie saw her like that.

To him, she was the predator. How, she would never know, but his face said it all. Even when he looked down on her, he was looking up at her might. His eyes shined with that spark of fear and it was in that where she always wondered.

It couldn’t have just been her being.

It had to be more.

He hadn’t been scared off by her fear.

He hadn’t been scared off by her poison.

He hadn’t been scared off by her teeth.

What was left?

He had to know about her hunger. He had to know that she wished to devour him. He had to know that despite their bond, their years, their time, their pledges, their children, and their culmination that she wanted more. That being twisted up around him only furthered the ache. That she wished to splice her genes with him until they were finally one being and she could know the true peace of another.

In that way, she supposed she was a predator.

She stalked and sought and her beloved matched her by wrapping the whole of his hands around her body. It was his might she craved and he gave it by lifting her. Another hand dipped between her legs to find the debased nectar that had been leaking from her since the moment their kiss promised sex.

She was ready.

She was always ready.

She had always been ready.

For him.

She was nothing, but an object to be moved as he lined her up. Sure, he spoke. He asked and she answered, but that wasn’t where she was. She was on a cellular level examining how close their particles could match. Her outer appearance was something that read a green means go, but inside she was wary stoplights. She needed to etch all those feelings before they evaporated as they always did. Coupling was another finite act and she needed to remember.

His scorched tip seared her entrance and marked her like words to a page. His ink would pen legions and be filed away amongst the scripture. It was a stroke, a rub to keep blotches from forming and she counted chapters off with the ridges of his cock. She descended each line of them with shivers and shakes. To the end of one section and onto highlight another, she was the bibliophile. She was a savant and voracious to a fault.

It wasn’t enough.

Not when he bottomed out.

Not when he used her like a frog shaped stroker.

Not when sweat beaded down her body and dropped like acid around them.

Not when he was holding her and she equally had him.

She was too small.

Not for the act, but for the play.

She needed more of him.

She needed once for him to truly know.

No more scientific hypotheses.

Donatello deserved to know.

For all that he had given her.

He was too lost in the throes to see the green mysticism crop up.

It blossomed within her like the color of his skin and she always wondered if it had foretold his arrival. It circled the brown of her eyes in the way he encircled her heart and burst forth with the only might she truly believed she had. Plants blossomed around their martial bed. They crept and snuck the way her mind had. Hidden from view, but breaking ground, they were the ill-fated weeds.

No plant was truly unwanted.

She had long learned that.

They only needed to find their place.

Their life.

Their match.

She pulsed around Donnie’s length and waited for the moment his eyes shut in ecstasy. She had always been a merciless fit for him and clenching his length siphoned more. She struck then, flora reaching out tendrils that only then gave her any form of pause. She had to meter them here. She had to exert control.

As much as she desired, this wasn’t just about her.

To be with another was to know their struggle.

Donatello knew hers, but not its depths.

She knew his the same.

Equal and opposite.

One could never truly be there.

He would never really understand her years of seclusion just as she would never know Krang possession.

She would never make him relive that.

Her plants weren’t hyphae.

She was Belladonna, not fungus.

She wasn’t trying to worm her way under his skin.

She blanketed him.

She coveted him.

She protected him.

More than her tiny fingers could ever reach of his muscles, vines thick with her mystical life blood curled up and over his biceps. He jarred at them and he wasn’t privy to the new bedmate until he realized there wasn’t one. Jun was enveloping him and it only took a flick of his pupil to give his consent.

He was hers to have and to hold. 

It lit further green flames in her eyes and she let loose her consumption.

Plant life licked and swallowed the jade of Donatello’s skin. It ate inward, clinging and growing over the expanse of his huge body. For every bulge, it wrapped and clung until his trellis was adorned. He was a stunning picture of greenery that enhanced his landscape. Pockets of need beaded between growth and caused a slip and slide of the water plants craved. They leeched it away from his skin and sought further until she was the one fucking herself on his cock.

She bounced as he gave way to the many limbs and felt wickedness leak into her expression. He was within her bondage and one snap of her mystical energy drew the ropes. It strung him backwards, pulling his deltoids to peak protuberance and knotted cuffs around his hands. Grips slid up his brain stem to capture the width of his mind and tugged to full attention. He was primed for the Ludovico technique in which he couldn’t look away. This was his rare glimpse at her true depth and he took it with only that fearful awe she never quite understood. It shone bright in his eyes and a wrap of root tucked itself around his throat. For a moment she let herself think about his life in her hands for once and she squeezed.

It cut off his oxygen and she waited with bated breath.

Her dark lips parted plump because she could take in whatever she wanted while he couldn’t.

He mouthed a few times for her until he got his lips in order.

She slammed down his length to take one last jab of his cock before she coaxed him closer to her tympanum.

The restriction of his esophagus caused his irises to swim as a murky bubble leveled with her eye line.

“I love you.” He rasped.

She could have come right then.

Hearts puckered her pupils and she bequeathed him his life back by letting go of his throat. He wheezed stars and she tore into the unrelenting nature of his plastron for a hold. There wasn’t one amongst the nicks and wear, so she made one with her vegetation. Holding the reigns around his body, she fucked him mercilessly. He gave up his power in the dynamic easily in favor of euphoria. 

He’d cum just like this, she decided, and felt the slap of her tits against her torso. It marked the speed at which she was plowing him and, for once, he was the tender field. She would elicit any number of crops from him depending on how she proceeded, but all she wanted was the climax. She wanted to see him give way to her and his winding was imminent by the way his eyes disappeared in a roll.

She could join him.

She decided she would.

As a treat for her little reveal.

She held him steady and, in a swivel of her hips, she caught her favorite pleasure points. Ones deep inside and only accessible and reachable by her Donatello, she struck a dangerous flint to stone. It was her mortal enemy's tinder, her flora’s ever opposite’s flame, and her great undoing that within only a few strokes she was close.

He was closer and it was the pump and pinch of his cum that sent her over.

The seeding a palpable one, she gave wholly over to the sensation and quivered for the sake of it. The blotch painted her insides and leaked out of the tiny space and back down to him, its owner. In a sudden unfurling, the plants tucked backward to blossom and a sea of calla lilies burst forth to signify their union. It was a white on white from her stunted vision and the yellow only came in after as a pistil’s lick of the beared fruit.

“I love you too…” She ushered the end of their session with her response before collapsing into him like sleeping petals who had temporary satiation from the sun.

At least for now, until the appetency came for her once again.

💜💚

(If you'd like to support me or keep up to date on what I'm posting, I've got my Patreon)

An extra special thanks to my betas who still deal with me even when I coldcock them with something like this out of nowhere @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

[shinyasahalo]

Top 100 AO3 Ships (All) May 1, 2024

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[kathrahender]

Hi, again! This ask is just for fun.....

Top 5 (or top 3) Favorite female characters :

Top 5 (or top 3) Favorite male characters :

Top 5 Favorite media :

Media you are currently enjoying :

Media that exceeded all your expectations :

Top 3 unpopular media you really love :

Favorite romance :

Favorite action :

Favorite fantasy :

Favorite sci -fi :

Favorite drama :

Favorite comedy :

Top 3 Favorite movies :

Next in your watch list :

Next in your read list :

Top 3 Favorite antagonists:

Top 5 (or top 3) favorite ships (can be canon or non canon) :

The series, movies or type of media can be anime/manga, books, tv series, cartoons, games, etc....

Hi!!! It would be my pleasure to answer your ask <3

Top 5 (or top 3) Favorite female characters: Lucy Heartfilia, Karai, Alina Starkov, Thea Queen, Kira Yukimura.

Top 5 (or top 3) Favorite male characters: Eza Bridger, Jack Frost, Optimus Prime, Daniel Larusso, David Nolan.

Top 5 Favorite media: Transformers, Cobra Kai, Pacific Rim, Top Gun, Fairy Tail.

Media you are currently enjoying: Transformers Prime & Earthspark.

Media that exceeded all your expectations: Trollhunters.

Top 3 unpopular media you really love: Gakuen Heaven, Dance With Devils, Natsume Yūjin-Chō.

Favorite romance: Gakuen Heaven.

Favorite action: The Maze Runner.

Favorite fantasy: Fairy Tail.

Favorite sci -fi:  Star Trek: Alternate Original Series & Pacific Rim.

Favorite drama: Karate Kid.

Favorite comedy: Glee.

Top 3 Favorite movies: Transformers One, X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies) & Pacific Rim.

Next in your watch list: Transformers 2007.

Next in your read list: All For The Game.

Top 3 Favorite antagonists: Megatron, Voldemort, The Darkling.

Top 5 (or top 3) favorite ships: MegOp, Starbee, Icemav, Eobarry, Captain Charming.

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

Love In Trouble [Part Two]

Fandom: Elvis Presley, American Musician, RPF

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character, Austin Butler x Original Female Character

Characters: Elvis Presley, Original Female Character, Austin Butler,

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3582

Summary: Lori Presley lives the high life. She has a lovely home, a elegant wardrobe and her parties are the most sought after ticket in town. Not to mention her husband is the King of Memphis. But what if she no longer wants to be the Queen?

Tags/Warnings: This is a mafia au with detective austin butler entering the chat, Memphis Mafia, Detective Austin Butler, Adultery, Infidelity, Love, Angst, Unhappy Marriage, Murder, Court Room Drama in the loosest possible way, AU, Set in the 70s

Notes: I have this idea for a while but I’ve been deep in my marauders series so I’ve put it off. Is any of it written? NAH but it’ll be coming

LINK TO ALL PARTS // LINK TO AO3 // LINK TO PINTEREST

It was astounding how someone so young could have their life ripped away so suddenly and yet no one seemed to know how. In fact if Austin hadn't been so frustrated by the whole thing he probably would have found it sad. After collecting what evidence they could from the apartment they had done a sweep of the building, knocking on doors and asking its residents if they had seen anything that may help their investigation. All they had got in return was the same sentiments; Tony was a nice but quiet guy who kept to himself and never caused any trouble. And each and every one of them had given the same answer verbatim that on the night Tony was killed, which the coroner had established to be the thirtieth, they had not seen or heard anything. 

Now this may have been true because the coroner had said that whilst he couldn't be sure the definite time but he guessed sometime in the early morning which could explain why no one saw anything but from the amount of curtain twitching that went on around this town he wasn’t sure how anyone could possibly have missed a gunshot. But if people had heard it and were choosing to ignore a crime of this magnitude it only supported the theory running around the precinct.

He had thought John had been exaggerating when it came to the ‘Memphis Mafia’. Of course he knew that most cities had their mob problems but Memphis wasn’t exactly repping the levels of New York or Chicago. Which was probably why he wasn’t aware of the undercurrent that ran through downtown Memphis hidden behind the façade of music clubs and suave bars. Whilst John had told him about the reputation of Kings Bar and others under the same management his other colleagues had elaborated informing him with a certain amount of glee that this case was unsolvable especially if this had anything to do with the boss, Elvis Presley.

It had been a name Austin had vaguely recalled; a rising star some fifteen years previous who had burned out shortly after joining the draft. Unfortunately his fellow detectives had relished in getting him up to speed. Apparently after leaving the army the singer had found himself at a loss, his allure now dwindled in favour of the music of the swinging sixties. So unable to gain any traction in the mainstream he’d turned his sights on Memphis, buying up a run-down bar and turning into an arena for the music scene of the city. His own name was enough to draw people in and it had quite the reputation on the strip for being a good night out. Yet as business had boomed his notoriety had gained a different sort of traction and his good reputation had become debatable. It didn’t help that he had an egregious partner running half the show, a toad of a man called the Colonel whose own criminal past was just as questionable, or that he chose to staff his establishment with a gang of his cronies. Soon enough they’d gained a name and rap sheets to match with offences like racketeering, intimidation and bribery topping the list. There was also the rumour going around the office that their newest venture was using their many clubs to fence narcotics but the drug squad had yet to have any traction with that notion.

Not that it mattered. As Elvis Presley had gained notoriety he had also gained powerful friends. He knew people local government, the celebrities of Memphis and most importantly members of their fine establishment.

‘You might as well give up now,’ Robert Johnson, a fellow homicide detective had said as he’d appeared at the side of his desk where Austin had been pouring over his files. He didn’t particularly like Robert, even though he was the only one in the department remotely close to his age, because he had this air of smugness about him Austin didn’t gel with. And as he continued to speak Austin could see it glinting there behind his brown eyes.

‘What?’ Austin asked irritably.

‘This case,’ he said, sitting on the piles of photos on the desk.

‘And why is that?’ Austin challenged.

‘Because it’s unsolvable. Ain’t no one gonna speak out now they know it’s one of the Kings guys,’ he snorted. Austin had to clench his jaw, the vein in his neck throbbing in irritation.

‘A man has been murdered,’ he reasoned.

‘Yeah and if it has anything to do with his work friends bet your life no one saw or knew nothing. They run a tight ship you know. They’ve flown under the radar for worse,’ Robert said.

‘Well maybe it’s time they did get caught for something,’ Austin said, pulling his files from under the man’s backside with a grunt. Robert rolled his eyes, ‘and who’s going to prosecute them? The chief of police who gave Presley an honorary badge last year? Or the mayor who held a ceremony in his honour due to contributions to the city namely a fat stack of cash.’

‘They’re not the only people who run Memphis,’ Austin countered.

‘No, Presley and Parker do a pretty good job of that too,’ Robert said.

That was why he was sitting outside the bar yet again. He’d already been there once hoping that the patrons or workers would have some information on what had happened to Tony last Thursday given he had been working that night. But just like it had been with his neighbours it was a fruitless endeavour. His workmates had told him nothing was out of the ordinary that night and Tony had left on time after his shift. They hadn’t even felt under pressure when he’d enquired about him not showing up for work, suspicion weighing heavily in his tone, instead they simply cited that they’d assumed he had left town something that wasn’t out of the ordinary in their line of work, their service jobs apparently resembling that of a revolving door. So he didn’t know what he was hoping for now and as he climbed out of his Ford Mustang shutting the squeaky door he sighed. Kings was an old brick building on an intersecting corner of Beale Street. The outside of it was pretty plain, the blacked-out windows revealing nothing to the passersby but inside was a different story.

Every inch of the place was swathed in dark colours with leathers, silk and dark woods being the favoured choices for decoration. He supposed he could see the appeal should one want to frequent the infamous Beale street. It didn’t look too impressive now but at night, when the sunlight didn’t stream in through the windows and the lights were kept low he could imagine it had an aura to it only enhanced by the low chatter of patrons and the swirling of cigar smoke in the air. Of course at noon that aura wasn’t present and it kind of felt disjointed with the fluorescents, the daylight odd and jarring but it still had a presence to it. A notoriety.

Maybe that just stemmed from the way people took note of him the second he walked through the door, curious glances following him as he walked towards the bar looking around to see if he recognised anyone. There were a couple of older men in a booth in the back and a young guy standing at the far end of the bar. From what he could tell the guy seemed to be the bartender, hinted at by the dish cloth strewn over his shoulder, but he didn’t initiate anything. Even when Austin offered a small smile he didn’t respond, his eyes merely narrowing with suspicion. Unfortunately he wasn’t spared from the scrutiny as a man came out from a back door at that very moment taking him in roughly. He was quite tall, not much older than Austin if he had to guess, though he looked more weathered, his ruddy skin and receding red hair not lending itself the youthful air Austin still had in his thirties. 

Still scrutiny or not Austin put his best foot forward, offering the man an easy-going smile as he said, ‘hello.’

‘Can I help you?’ the man replied gruffly. Austin supposed he should’ve been thankful he wanted to get the chase but that meant he wouldn’t be able to angle the conversation as he wanted.

‘Uh yeah actually,’ Austin said straightening up, ‘I uh I stopped by the other day I had a couple more questions. I was just wondering if anyone else would be free to talk to me.’

‘Questions about?’ the man asked impatiently.

‘Tony Bowen,’ Austin said, ‘your employee.’

‘Oh him,’ the man said, his eyes flitting around the bar. They landed on a woman who was sitting at the other end of the bar but before Austin could follow his gaze he snapped his attention back and said, ‘you’re the detective right.’

‘Yeah, Detective Butler,’ he said, moving his jacket out of the way of the badge on his hip so that it flashed for a second, glinting under the harsh lights as he asked, ‘and you are?’ 

‘Red West,’ the man replied, ‘look, we already told you what we know.’

‘I know I was just wondering if anyone else could share anything. I thought having a couple of days to think might help jog a few memories,’ Austin said simply.

‘Memories like what?’ Red asked.

‘Well Tony worked here nearly eighteen months all told and no one seems to know much about him,’ Austin started, easing into his suspicions gently.

‘He kept to himself,’ Red replied and Austin had to fight to keep his face neutral even though he was wondering if that was the official company slogan at this point.

‘Really?’ he pressed gently, ‘because it kinda seems like a tight knit group here. Hard to imagine him not being friends with someone.’

‘Are you friends with everyone you work with?’ he countered. Austin offered him a tight smile but said nothing, hoping his silence would be enough to bleed something out of this stone of a man, ‘look he was some kid from the sticks of Florida who came here lookin’ for a job. We gave him one.’

‘And what was his job?’ Austin asked. When he’d first asked he’d been told Tony was a busboy or waiter, but before that he’d been questioning regular patrons who’d stated they’d hardly ever seen the boy working out front. He was always coming and going, ‘part of the entourage’ one had told him though he wasn’t sure what that call for.

‘Worked the bar,’ Red replied.

‘And what does that entail?’ Austin asked.

‘Whatever he was needed to do,’ Red replied, his soft jaw clenching in indignation as Austin eyed him dubiously, a scrutiny he was no doubt unaccustomed to these days even if he did relent to elaborate, ‘haulin’ crates and bussin’ tables.’

‘And he always worked inside the bar?’ Austin asked, already knowing that couldn’t be true.

‘That’s his job idn’t it,’ the man replied tersely, ‘look he came. He went. He didn’t cause any trouble. What else do you want me to say?’

‘He obviously caused someone some trouble,’ Austin countered.

‘Yeah well it ain’t nuthin’ to do with us at Kings so take your lil questions elsewhere,’ Red replied. Austin watched as he came towards him, flipping the bar flap over until it crashed unceremoniously in front of the detective before he pushed past him and out into the high sun.

Austin could feel eyes on him now though it was mostly patrons, the bartender having disappeared into the back at some point in their conversation. He half wondered if he had gone to get someone to remove him, back up should Austin cause any trouble. Yet as he sighed and turned to leave he heard a small voice say, ‘excuse me.’

When he turned it was the woman he’d not managed to get a proper look at. She was sitting on a stool at the end of the bar, her legs crossed elegantly over one another as though she was waiting rather than sitting there to be served. She was pretty, extremely so, soft pale skin complimenting rich chocolate coloured hair and dazzling blue eyes. In fact she looked like the epitome of a club patron even at this early hour, a short black dress ghosting along her thighs offset by the outlandishly large fur she was wearing. Given that it was knocking on eighty degrees he almost felt the urge to laugh but then it occurred to him that in here it was quite chilly something he hadn’t noticed it before.

‘Can I help you?’ Austin asked, realising he’d been staring far too long and she was now watching him unsurely.

‘Sorry to pry but I couldn’t help overhear,’ she said apologetically, ‘I just wondered who you were talking about?’

‘Uh, Tony Bowen,’ Austin replied, figuring it couldn’t hurt to cast his net any further seeing as his current capture was barren.

‘What about him?’ she asked quietly.

‘He was murdered Thursday night,’ Austin replied, watching a flicker of sadness come across her face though like everyone else in this place he recovered well offering little more than a, ‘oh that’s just awful.’

‘Did you know him?’ Austin asked.

‘What?’ the woman shifted nervously and then shrugged, ‘oh no, I don’t think so but it’s just such a tragedy isn’t it.’

‘Yeah one I’m not getting far with admittedly,’ Austin said, earning a sad smile.

‘Well I hope you manage to find something,’ she said, slipping from her stool and standing up, smoothing out her fur coat as she grabbed her petite purse from the countertop.

‘Thanks uh,’ Austin said realising he hadn't even gotten her name yet but she didn’t return it, already hurriedly swinging her bag onto her shoulder and moving around the bar as she murmured, ‘would you excuse me.’

Austin watched as she disappeared into the back room. He was inclined to wait for her but when the bartender returned, a scowl on his face he got the impression he’d long outstayed his welcome and headed back out to his car.

But when he got there he didn’t feel like going back to the precinct. Everyone knew where he’d been granted because most of them had told him not to bother, even John who despite being partnered with him on this case seemed to be happy to let the trail run cold in light of the overlap with the dubbed ‘Memphis Mafia’. Austin knew he was probably being foolhardy. That he was stirring a pot he probably shouldn’t get involved with but he wasn’t just going to stand by and bury his head in the sand just because it was risky. Just because of who Tony had been involved with did that not mean he deserved justice? Did his grandma, a woman who had sobbed down the phone to him for half an hour upon receiving the grim news, not deserve to know what happened to her grandson? Did the ‘mafia’ just get a pass because it was too much of an effort to try and get involved? No.

So, with that in mind he decided to do another sweep of Tony’s apartment. Sure, eye witnesses were getting him nowhere but that didn’t mean there wasn’t still other evidence to find. After all, even in an absence of evidence Tony’s home had shared a story. Maybe there was more to it to be found.

The apartment was just as barren as he’d left it though admittedly the smell had improved somewhat. The blood stain had long since dried but he wasn’t sure if it was that or the absence of a body that made it seem smaller somehow. In fact with just him in here now without the foot traffic from the sheriff's office it felt bigger now, lonelier. Just like his apartment did when he sloped in after a gruelling shift, the sound of the TV still not enough to shut out the thoughts whirring around in his brain.

He wondered if Tony had felt lonely in here. The lack of any art or personality on the wall made it feel like it was possible. Then again the absence of people in his life, or at least the absence of those willing to admit to knowing him, made it feel that way too. How could his grandmother be the only one who seemed to know or at least speak to him. How could no one pin down what role he had played in a company for nigh on a year and a half. It begged belief.

Austin moved around the room rifling through drawers but finding nothing out of the ordinary. There was nothing in his medicine cabinet of note, merely a few band aids and a bottle of aspirin which he’d expect to find in any young person’s apartment. His mail, which John had so painstakingly gone through, didn’t hint at any trouble such as aggrieved parties or owed debts. In fact the only thing that took Austin’s interest was the handful of condoms in his nightstand though Tony was young and working at a club so that didn’t exactly scream concrete lead if anything it probably hinted at more than one lead entering Tony’s life for a very short-term basis.

Eventually he turned his attention to the bookcase. There wasn’t much on it but it was where most of Tony’s personal possessions lived. There was a stack of records next to a player which Austin thumbed through finding the boy to be a fan of Sinatra and Dean Martin. There was a shelf full of books, mostly sci-fi novels though they looked in good condition, the spines not even cracked which gave him the impression they were a gift he’d no intention of starting to go through or he was too busy to get around to it, which posed the question of what he was doing instead of reading. Trinkets cluttered the rest of the gaps. Old baseball trophies, a clock, a plant. Nothing out of the ordinary just like the photo frame that was nestled on a top shelf. It wasn’t very big but it was visible from where Austin had perched himself on the arm of the chair so he stood and picked it up looking at the photo encapsulated inside the silver frame. It was of an older woman and a young boy and it looked as though whoever had taken the picture had caught the pair off guard as the woman was sitting in a lawn chair with the boy standing between her legs, nestled into her as if they’d been hugging before he’d had to turn his torso towards the camera. He looked as though he’d been crying, his eyes red and puffy, but his smile was present. Behind him the woman was beaming a smile, her hand on the boy's hip as if to reassure him she was still there.

Tony and his grandmother, Austin reckoned as he smiled. It was nice to put a face to the name, nicer still to think of her like this instead of the sobbing wreck she had been when they’d interacted. And above all it was nice to know this young guy actually had someone in his life who cared for him. 

With a sigh Austin moved to put it back but as he did he felt something flutter past his fingers on the back of the frame. As he placed it on the shelf he noted a piece of paper had fallen to the ground in front of him onto the beige carpet. He bent down and picked it up, turning it to face him.

It was another photo, well a photo strip, and each individual picture showed Tony and a woman. Except this one was not a photo of grandmotherly affection. Each picture showed the pair nestled up in a photobooth, laughing and joking until they were entangled in one another, lips locked for the camera to snap away at. Austin felt excitement run through him at the thought of a lead. Who was she and more importantly where did she fit in with Tony’s life.

The woman with him was young with shoulder length brown hair and a sleek figure clad in a chic satin dress. In one frame she had her eyes closed and her cherry red lips pressed to Tony’s cheek. No one had mentioned a girlfriend before. Of course Tony had been in town eighteen months and this girl could’ve been anything; merely one date or an old girlfriend back in Gainesville. That might explain why it was tucked behind a photo frame, hidden from view but still accessible may the longing to spark a memory come.

Still without a name or hint at who she was, it didn't really help Austin. Though as he stared at the picture he couldn’t help but feel like he did know her. Then again how many women did he see day to day. If he could just place where he’d seen her maybe that’d help. Then all of a sudden it clicked and he slipped the photo into his back pocket, the picture of the woman on Tony’s lap and a sitting elegantly on barstool merging into one.

‘Didn’t know him my ass,’ Austin whispered.

ELVIS TAGS

@girlblogger2002 @sania562 @caitlin1996 @literally-just-elvis-fics @notstefaniepresley @18lkpeters @velvetelvis @jaqueline19997 @elvispresleyxoxo @amydarcimarie @everythingelvispresley @elvispresleywife @lillypink @richardslady121 @louisejoy86 @ccab

@i-r-i-n-a-a @lettersfromvenus @artlesson8892 @presleyenterprise

AUSTIN TAGS

@purejasmine @caitlin1996

[fourraccoonsinacoat]

Head Full of Ghosts

Pairing: Astarion x Dark Urge

Summary: Takes place during the events of Baldur's Gate 3 and explores the romance between Astarion and the Dark Urge, as well as the friendships and relationships she has with her companions. Plus, everyone gives shit to Gale about his cooking. Tags: Slow Burn, Angst, Pining, Humor, Violence, Friends to Lovers, Developing Friendships, Developing Romance, Spoilers for the Dark Urge and BG3 in general, Dark Urge as Original Female Character Rating: Mature (Will eventually be Explicit, just not there yet.) Current Chapter Count: 3/? Read on AO3 (Will post chapters to Tumblr, as well.) Current Word Count: 13,050

Author Notes: Hello, Tumblr! Longtime lurker, first time poster. BG3 has reignited my love for writing fanfic - I think it's legit been over seven years since I've written a fic. The dry spell has now been broken. BG3 has grabbed me by the throat and pulled me back in and damn, if I'm not enjoying the hell out of it. I've got an ongoing fic on AO3, so I figured why not officially join Tumblr and dive headfirst into the fandom? Should anyone read my silly fic, I dearly hope you enjoy it. All these characters currently live in my head rent free.

Chapter 1: Misfits

The toll house burned as Karlach whooped, exacting rage and fury on everything within the abandoned building. Her glee might have been infectious if it hadn’t been so damn dangerous.

Luckily, Eli and her merry band of misfits had gotten clear of the structure before the worst of the fires caught. They now stood in the middle of the dirt cart path that led to the toll house entryway, watching the scene unfold in front of them with the same morbid curiosity with which townsfolk might watch a public hanging.

Wyll rubbed the back of his neck, cringing slightly as the loud and unmistakable crash of something glass-made reverberated from within the inferno.

“Maybe…” he started hesitantly, then cleared his throat. “Maybe someone should stop her?”  

Honestly, Wyll was too pure for their group of maladjusted headcases. Between being forcibly inducted as Emerald Grove’s newest mediator, and trying to figure out just what in the nine hells was going on with the illithid tadpoles in their brains, Eli had not had much time to get to know Wyll. Like her, he was a warlock, though he was being rather cagey about who or what his patron was. She guessed it had something to do with his contract, and it wasn’t as if she had much room to judge.

Eli couldn’t even remember who the hell her patron was. That knowledge was a gaping black hole in her ruptured memory. Sometimes, late at night, in the stifling silence when the chaos of the day had finally died down, she’d try to recall…anything. Anything about her past life beyond the images of blood, death and rot that swirled in her mind. She was never successful, and her attempts usually ended in a roiling headache. The holes in her brain were deep, dark and remained unknown.    

“These days I’m trying to avoid situations that end with me burnt to ash,” Astarion’s snark brought Eli back to the here and now. “But if you’re confident in your ability to be fire retardant, then by all means,” he finished the thought by motioning towards the building with a bit of a flourish.

The building was now practically engulfed in flames so bright that it was difficult to look at. She was pretty sure she could hear the roof caving in. Eli pinched the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes, the light and sound of it all was causing her already throbbing headache to grow and fester behind her eyes.

“Stop trying to suck the joy out of things, Wyll,” Eli said, with a bit more bite than she had intended.

She couldn’t see it, but she heard the eye roll in his response. “Fine. Far be it from me to deny someone their little moments of destructive bliss.”  

Eli huffed in response and felt a presence move up next to her.

“Another headache?” Shadowheart’s voice wasn’t quite concerned, but it did have a hint of guarded interest, and for Shadowheart that was just as good.

“Think I’m going on day three now,” Eli responded with a groan. She let her hand drop from her face and opened her eyes, blinking back against the influx of light.

No one spoke it out loud, but they all knew the significance of that statement. Three days ago, Eli had woke in the middle of the night to discover Alfira, a kind and gentle tiefling bard, brutalized and dead…by Eli’s own hands. The shame, guilt and confusion from that night was still a gaping and painful wound within. Alfira was a constant and haunting presence, a reminder that her mind and body were not her own. She could recall flashes of memory from that night, and she desperately wished that was not the case.

The fear in Alfira’s eyes was emblazoned upon her brain and it followed her into her dreams. She was not sleeping well, if at all. And the terror that she would once again wake up to find she’d torn open another of her companions, one of her friends…it was enough to fill her nights with nauseating dread.      

“Maybe Gale can cook up a sleeping potion for you when we get back to camp,” Shadowheart suggested with more softness in her voice than Eli was used to. “I’m sure your penchant for rummaging through our wares until all hours of the morning isn’t helping things,” she chided a bit more coolly.

Eli gave her a non-committal half smile. She’d taken to perusing their camp’s growing hoard of books during her sleepless nights. Reading kept her mind busy, and off of other darker thoughts that stalked her steps.    

“Given the unholy smells being extruded by Gale’s cookpot the other night, I’m not sure I’d trust him to brew a sleeping potion someone is expected to wake up from,” Astarion said cheerily, stepping up to Eli’s other side opposite Shadowheart. “Besides, there’s nothing wrong with a little extracurricular nighttime activity.”

The suggestive smirk he gave Eli caused the pit of her stomach to tighten.

“Yes, because reading is so titillating,” she deadpanned back at him. Astarion was a shameless flirt, and Eli wasn’t in a mood to deal with him while her head was splitting open from the inside out.

Astarion, however, was not dissuaded.

“Darling, it’s not my fault if you choose a boring activity.” He emphasized the word ‘boring’ and Eli knew exactly where this was going before they even got there.

He leaned in closer and she caught the faint scent of spice and rosemary that always lingered in the space where he’d been. Nine hells, why did she know that?

“You know I’m only a few tents away if you ever want to try a more stimulating activity,” he purred. A small shiver ran up her spine as she felt the breath from his words against her neck.

A derisive snort came from Eli’s other side. “Really, Astarion, were you never taught not to play with your food?” Shadowheart said with the hint of a smirk, which turned into a full grin when Eli shot her a dark glare.

Eli suddenly felt very aware of a certain spot on her neck as she looked back to Astarion, whose red eyes had been lingering there before they flicked back up to her face. She met his gaze and thought she saw something hungry flash across his expression before he looked to Shadowheart.

“Call it an appetizer,” Astarion replied in that smooth and sultry voice that danced so effortlessly from his lips. “Something to get the blood pumping before the main course.”

Eli was starting to feel something akin to what a rabbit may feel when being circled by wolves. Astarion had inched closer to her as he spoke and teased, pushing into her personal space with bravado and squaring up to her like an animal on the prowl. Eli had experienced this behavior from him before, and she hated it. Not because of any issues with personal boundaries - she didn’t even know if she had issues with personal boundaries, considering how full of holes her memory was. No, she hated it because of how her body responded. And she doubted it was the sort of response Astarion was looking for.

All of his bravado, his confidence, how sure of himself he seemed when he pressed near to her, playing his games. It triggered an anger in her she didn’t recognize. A cruel and dominating rage that wanted nothing more than to grab him by the throat and force him to his knees, demanding respect. She was no rabbit fearful of wolves, no plaything for him to tease. She’d flay him sternum to navel for his insolence.

“Stop,” Eli muttered, moreso to herself than to Astarion.

Her head was pounding as she tried to shove those unwanted and vicious thoughts back down into the unknown void of herself. She took a tentative step backwards and nearly collided with Shadowheart, who managed to step quickly out of the way. Eli felt a hand on her shoulder and reflexively flinched away, internally trying to wrest herself from the cloying vile madness that was building in her brain.

“Sorry,” Eli heard Shadowheart say.

Glancing to Shadowheart, Eli saw she had her hands raised in a conciliatory gesture. Likely, Shadowheart had reached out to try and steady Eli. The problem was, Eli didn’t trust herself when her mind went red and hazy.

She didn’t want anyone touching her in those moments. She didn’t want anyone ending up like Alfira…

“That’s enough of that,” Wyll’s strong voice held a very clear note of annoyance in it. “Leave her be and let’s get back to camp. Lest we get lost out here after the sun goes down.”

Eli appreciated the sentiment, but she almost wished Wyll had stayed silent.

“Ah, the dashing Blade of Frontiers here to save the pretty damsel from the dangerous vampire,” Astarion said, with more than a hint of contempt to his words.

Astarion and Wyll did not play nice. They reminded Eli of two dogs posturing and vying for control when they were near one another. And, unfortunately, everyone else got pissed on in the process.  

Astarion continued to bait the hook, voice sickly suggestive. “Hoping she’ll offer you a place to sheath your blade tonight if you play hero?”

Eli wheeled on Astarion with a glare that only succeeded in making the elf smile wider. For all of his pompous confidence, Eli did take note of the fact that Astarion had backed off from her. At least in the physical sense. He seemed more than happy to continue his verbal assault.

“You vulgar bastard!” Wyll barked back, angrily stepping towards Astarion who was grinning like a feral cat. Wyll was taking the bait.

“Lolth’s rotten nickers!” Eli exclaimed, exasperated and over all of this. “If the two of you want to have it out, fine! Just know I’m not asking Withers to bring either of you miserable assholes back if one of you kills the other!”

The blood in her head was pounding again, pulsating painfully behind her eyes. Eli threw up her hands and turned away from the squabbling men, only to see that tiefling barbarian, Karlach, watching all of them with a grin.

“You lot seem fun as hell!” she proclaimed with a laugh as the toll house continued to blaze like an inferno behind her. “Still cool if I tag along?”

“Yeah, sure,” Eli responded. “We all seem to be in the same shithole of a boat, so if you want to grab a paddle I’m not stopping you.”

Eli smirked and Karlach’s face lit up with excitement. “That’s the spirit!”

The next few moments were a blur. Moments in which Eli felt very much like a passenger in her own body. Astarion wasn’t letting up, and from behind her Eli heard his goading voice as he continued to taunt Wyll.

“You know, Wyll, if you’re ever curious about what our dear, sweet Eli tastes like, all you have to do is ask,” Astarion’s sly words were dripping with inuendo.

Eli snapped.

She rounded on Astarion like a displacer beast loosed from hell, stepping into his personal space just as he had done to her earlier. Eli, however, was not playing games. Her head felt like it was exploding from the inside and her vision was beginning to swim. She needed to get out of here. She needed to leave before she lost control. She needed to put this flippant, disrespectful maggot in his place.

“Would you FUCK OFF with your self-aggrandizing bullshit!” she roared.

Eli was up in Astarion’s face now, all venom and rage as she tried to maintain enough control to keep herself from driving a dagger through his eye like the monster inside of her was demanding.

“I’ve let you feed on me ONE time, and that has been the extent of any nightly activities between us,” she growled, locking eyes with the vampire spawn.

Astarion was a few inches taller than her, but in this moment it didn’t matter. They had all seen Eli fight. They’d witnessed the absolute carnage and power that she was capable of, and while most of that ability came from whatever deal she’d made with her patron, they had all sensed something else beyond her skill as a warlock. Something foul and brutal and violent that she seemed desperate to keep restrained.

That thing was leaking out now. Pressing at the barricades in her mind wrestling to break free. It wanted blood and gore and anguish. It wanted out.

“So, keep your pathetic attention-whoring charade in check or I’m going to lock you in a coffin and burry you so fucking deep even the worms won’t be able to find you!” Eli snarled, eyes glittering with a mania that indicated she was far from joking.

Eli didn’t know the chord she’d struck in Astarion – she didn’t even know if he had chords to be struck. She didn’t know how her words wrenched unbidden memories to the surface of his mind, like puss oozing from an infected wound. She didn’t know the torments inflicted upon him. Didn’t know that her words caused his chest to tighten with anxiety as unwanted recollections flashed in his mind. Days, months, years trapped in lonely confinement at the whim of his abuser. Locked away and starved because he said something displeasing or because he begged to be spared the agony of having his scars cut open once again because his master was bored and wanted to play.

Astarion had gone very still in the face of Eli’s wrath. And as the haze of anger in her mind dissipated and the realization of what she’d just said crashed down upon her, her eyes went wide and she took a quick step back. Her head was a mess and she felt like she was coming up out of a dream and seizing control of herself once more.

Shadowheart, Wyll and Karlach stood by, staring with a mix of shock and morbid curiosity. They were not going to get involved, but they damn sure were going to watch this disaster play out.

“I…uh…” Eli stuttered as she pulled herself back from the brink.

Her movements felt lethargic and wrong, as if she were a step removed from the actions her body was taking. But she kept hold of her mental steering wheel and willed herself to maintain control.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Astarion,” she lifted her gaze, wanting to meet his eyes so she could explain and apologize again.

But Astarion wasn’t looking at her. At least, not at her face. His eyes were fixated on the collar of the burgundy undershirt she wore below her chest armor. His expression fluctuated somewhere between grim detachment and smoldering hatred, crimson eyes glassy and distant.

Eli felt an unnerving sensation of being looked through.

“Astarion?” she questioned, voice softer and tinged with an edge of worry.

She took a tentative step forward and raised a hand towards him. Had he been struck with an incantation? A curse? Maybe Shadowheart or Wyll had cast something as a means of intervention?

Eli was about to turn and ask them when Astarion flinched back from her outstretched hand as if she’d struck him. His eyes snapped to hers and burned with a hostility she’d never seen from him, not even during the famously vehement rows he and Gale would get into over Gale’s cooking (the arguments usually ended with Gale shouting, “You aren’t even going to eat any of it, anyway!” and storming off in a dither).

“Don’t,” Astarion snarled through clenched teeth and a tight jaw. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

Icy loathing dripped off his every word and Eli suddenly recognized the defensive posture he’d put himself in, leaning back and away from her with hands ready to go for a weapon or even swing at her should she move closer. He reminded her of an animal trapped in a corner, baring its fangs at something…

At something dangerous. At something intent on hurting them.

Shit. Had her outburst really been that bad? Had he really thought she was going to attack him?

A pang stabbed through her stomach as she realized…of course he had. Because of what she’d done to Alfira. She’d already proven she was capable of brutalizing the people around her, no matter how innocent they were. They thought she was dangerous. Astarion, a godsdamn vampire who’d crept up on her in the middle of the night, thought she was dangerous.

She needed to get herself under control. This wasn’t a sustainable lifestyle. At least not for the people around her…

“Astarion, I’m really fucking sorry,” she backed away from him, giving him space and bringing her hands back to her sides. “I’m not even entirely sure what happened. Things got…hazy. I’m really sorry.”

It was a piss poor excuse, and an even worse apology. She knew. And it seemed he agreed.

“You can choke on your apology,” Astarion snapped as he shoved past her. “If the tadpole turns you tonight, it wouldn’t be too soon.”

The sheer venom of his words stung as painfully as if he’d stabbed her right there on the spot. She opened her mouth to reply, but could think of nothing worthwhile to say. So she snapped it closed and watched him walk off down the path that led back to camp.

Well, some fantastic leader she was turning out to be. She already didn’t understand why anyone thought she, with her magnitude of memory loss and murder happy tendencies, was the ideal candidate for a position of authority. She was awful at this shit!

Eli had spent a lot of time combing through her fractured psyche, trying to piece together any semblance of facts about who she was. In all that self-reflection, she’d concluded there were two things she was really good at. Killing people and drinking.

Fuck, what she wouldn’t give to be doing either one of those things right now instead of this.

She turned a miserable expression on her remaining companions. “Is it too late to go back to the mind flayer ship and just surrender?”

Wyll laughed and sided up to her, clapping a hand on her shoulder and trying to be reassuring.

“I’m sure he’ll get over it,” he said. Then, with a somewhat darker smirk, “And if he doesn’t, we’ll just stake him. Luckily for us, our benevolent illithid captors saw fit to crash us in the middle of a forest. Trees everywhere.”

Wyll grinned while Eli just gave him a deadpan stare. He wasn’t helping. Maybe he wasn’t too pure for their little group, after all. Maybe he was just as much of a dumbass as the rest of them.

Eli looked to Shadowheart, who simply rolled her eyes before glancing after Astarion as he continued to walk further and further from the party.

“I bet he just needs some time to cool down,” Shadowheart mused. “Men can be irrationally dramatic when they put their minds to it.”

The grin on Wyll’s face fell as Shadowheart started to follow Astarion down the path. Eli trailed after her, glancing to Karlach in the hopes of making some sort of conversation to distract herself from all the pain and noise in her head.

“I’m just happy to be here,” Karlach laughed.

[queenbeerps]

hey, hi, hello! i haven't been on this blog in a century, but the writing bug has bitten me. SO, this is me reaching out for some 1x1 partners. i write on discord or here on tumblr. i greatly prefer doubles and mumus and i write m/f and f/f ships. i prefer one to two solid paragraphs for reply length, as well. right now, i'm craving both original plots and some specific fandoms (mostly oc x cc!) : the walking dead, stardew valley, stranger things, glee, and dead by daylight. but i could be persuaded into some modern disney stuff. anyway, i'm putting a bunch of details for what i'm looking for specifically under the cut! so go ahead and like this and i'll reach out or feel free to message me. thanks! ʚ♡ɞ

below i have listed some specific cravings i'm having at the moment. i am happy to double and give you whoever you'd like in return! i have bolded the role i'd like to play. if there are no bolds, i'll play either.

FANDOM WANTS --

♡ THE WALKING DEAD ;

female oc x negan. (BIG HUGE WANT.) female oc x siddiq. female oc x rick. female oc x shane.

♡ STARDEW VALLEY ;

female farmer oc x sam. female farmer oc x sebastian. female farmer oc x alex. female farmer oc x leah.

♡ STRANGER THINGS ;

female oc x billy. female oc x steve. female oc x hopper. chrissy x eddie.

♡ GLEE ;

female oc x sam. female oc x finn. quinn x puck. quinn x finn. mercedes x sam.

♡ DEAD BY DAYLIGHT ;

meg x nea. kate x dwight. sable x mikaela.

ORIGINAL CHARACTER WANTS --

♡ PLOTS ;

crime plots of all types. a plot based on the movie 'sweet home alabama'. plots based on taylor swift songs. big city mumu. apocalypse mumu. anything with a good mix of fluff and angst! (legal) age gap plots.

♡ WANTED OPPOSITES ;

jeffrey dean morgan, dacre montgomery, joe keery, michael b jordan, george mackay, andrew lincoln, m shadows, john boyega, theo james, jon bernthal, bill skarsgard, zacky vengeance, henry cavill, gregg sulkin, avi nash, jack quaid, adam driver.

[hhighkey]

Decode // Chapter Ten, Red Wine

Dracule Mihawk (opla) x OC (female)

Rating: mature

Story Contains: live action characters, related and non-related one piece plots, unspecified religion, OC is a nun on sabbatical, trauma, violence, age gap (40 v 23), insecurities and self doubts, possessive / protective behavior, kidnapping, true loves, eventual smut

Note, meh about this chapter but also tried to flesh out the explanation of what happened of her job over a year ago hope it makes sense

Masterlist

-

When Sabine came to, a cold dread washed over her, chills racing down her spine. With numbing drowsiness still prevalent, she tried to move but she was groggy, her attempt to sit up cut off as a harsh feeling around her wrists burned. Haze. Then a panic jolted inside her, cutting through the heavy fog. She tugged. Nothing. She yanked again with all the might she could muster while her heart hammered against her ribs. But with her hands above her head as she lay on a wooden table, attempts would be futile. 

Craning her head up, neck sore, she glanced around through blurry eyes, a plain room all that met her. Blank walls, dresser in the corner, and a lone window. It was open and a cold draft leaked in, Sabine shivered as she fitfully tried to free herself ignoring each gnawing pang. God everything hurt, she couldn’t pinpoint where it originated, feeling like death all over. Head pounded. Sides tender with sharp pain. And legs throbbing, slow to move as she tried to kick them. 

The rope rubbed excruciatingly against her skin. She gasped trying to make leeway. Trying to get at least one wrist hand. But tears pricked her eyes and high pitched, hoarse whimpers passed her lips as the twine burned as it left her raw, a warmth trickling down her wrists that stung. 

“I wouldn’t do that.”

She blinked furiously, trying to make out the figure amongst the blinding light that closed in on her. Trying to place the voice, its familiarity taunted her. It scratched the back of her head, light and feathery, a kind of pain that traveled down her spine as if paralyzing her from how hard she strained. 

“See, you’ve managed to hurt yourself already.” The voice tsk’d. 

Giorgio. His name splayed red in her vision, the letters etched out, Flashes of him in her mind, from the first time they met to when she saw him out on the street the other week.

A burst of hate bubbled and spewed out her chest, causing her to tug at her binds once again, “Fucking hell.”

“A nun shouldn’t say such things.”

Her eyes widened as cold realization sparked. Another rush of memories, this time of decaying, dead bodies amongst a fitfull of books and research. An onslaught of spinning thoughts that screamed at her to put the pieces of the puzzle together. 

“Wait.”

“Oh I can see it- the answer’s on the tip of your pretty little tongue.” Giorgio spoke with glee, a twisted grin on his lips.

“Are you- behind all this?” 

He moved closer causing her to spasm, yanking at her binds once again with pitiful desperation. The rope burn only increased, only made her wrists inflamed and red. Sensitive. Exposed. Even the air caused them to sting much to her chagrin who found herself in a precarious situation. Stuck. Vulnerable. All with a man she despised who was more than a clown who reveled in harassing others. She thought him truly harmless past that, not a murderer. Not the demon who haunted her dreams!

“I was shocked to see you with the great Dracule Mihawk, yes I know who he is. How’d you get him to come along on your pathetic adventure?” 

“That’s none of your business.” She whimpered. Tears flowed free and she cursed herself for it. 

“But it is. I’m supposed to be having my fun. Yet a Warlord of the Sea prances on in! Do you know who accompanies you?” His stern eyes stared at her with blazing fire. She wished she could shrink into nothingness, “Do you realize how strong he is? What he’s capable of?”

She shook her head as she began to sob between her teeth. She tried to fight it, “N-No.”

“There aren't many in our world that are more powerful than him.” 

Ghastly words. Sent numbing shocks of electricity down her spine, down her nerves from her head to her toes. Blood rushed to her head, feeling beginning to go null in her hands. 

“Then he’ll kill you.”

“Yes. But I’ll have the fun I’m missing out on by killing, with you!”

“Explain the demon. How?” She demanded as if she were in a place to, trying to wrap her head around how his scheme was possible.

“Artistic touch.” Giorgio’s eyes raked over her, a glint in them, “Let's get you up, figured tying you up would send a message. Don’t try to run, girl.” 

As if she could with the lack of feeling in all her extremities. How her vision pulsed from the throbbing behind her temple. Bile churned in her gut. Nausea rose in her throat as he helped her to sit up after undoing the binds. Sabine immediately cradled her wrists trying to shy away from him, trying not to hurl as his hands felt her up. Disgusting fingers prodded at her sides, at her arms, feeling the strands of her hairs.  

“If I’m being honest, I’m terrified. It took days of planning to get it right, to lead him away convincingly it had to be perfect. A man like him sees through weakness. I’m all tired from it. I need rest, my heart hasn’t stopped racing.” 

“Please- let me go.” She begged, already reduced to her fear and her instincts to appeal to him. To at least try and convince him to change his mind. She could only imagine the litany of ideas he had in his head towards her. 

“No no. You know I’m behind the killings.”

“You ate a devil fruit, right?” 

“Mhmm. I’m glad you’re not stupid to believe it was really a demon.” 

“How… it was a nun… it-”

“I can pray upon what people fear, bring it into physical reality. Use it as a puppet. You religious folk are just easy, easy to guess what you fear deep down. Watching you lot fight my puppet with prayers? Oh! I couldn’t help but play along, leading you to think that cheap music box was its source? Brilliant on my part.”

Giorgio pulled her to her feet and as she collapsed he caught her. Steadying her, he held her waist as they began to walk out the room. Legs felt like marshmallows. Like she’d spent months out on the sea finally to come back ashore. Head whirling, she must have hit it when she went unconscious in that bathroom. The memories of how she’d turned to come face to face with the “nun demon” upon turning around, made her cringe. And his touch as they walked down a dark brick hallway was like being thrown under violent waves, only to be held down. The man behind her nightmares. Behind her self doubt. The reason she went on sabbatical- now led her to an unknown location as her wrists continued to bleed. Had kidnapped her! Tied her up!

Sabine’s body goes lax as she became lightheaded, she stumbled and folded in half. Giorgio cackled as she puked, emptying her stomach contents and then bile. Spewed jokes as she coughed up nothing, gagging and face turning red. Eyes bloodshot. Snot running down. 

“You…” She straightened, stumbling as she lasered in on him, “Let us think we helped.”

“Yep.”

“And while you protested against the church during our investigation?”

“Right again. I would have done it again too if you came back with more priests, with that cardinal who works in the archive. Instead you brought a Warlord.”

Her life felt like a lie. Were all her beliefs turning to be false? She didn’t want to be a nun, conformed to survive. She struggled due to what she believed to be a demon. All the while her subconscious told her it wasn’t over. And a man was behind it. A simple, small man who tried to stain the church for fun. The reason behind her sabbatical felt like a lie, one big slap in the face. 

Dizzying, she went to step back, only to be wanked forward. He dragged her by her arm, uncaring for her cries as the raw skin of her wrists burned.

Where was she? Half rotted floorboards. Crumbling walls. Shards of glass below empty windows. Outdated furniture with layers of dust. As if she were transported to an earlier time period, or in the matriarch’s room with her horrid taste in decor. The air was thick with after rain, sweet and earthy and it invaded her senses as she remembered it was raining when he took her.

An open space, a collapsing fireplace that’d seen better years, a centerpiece of the room. An upholstered maroon couch in front of it. A hardwood table far too low to the ground held a litany of alcoholic bottles, from half drunk to empty, to full. It left a sour note in her mouth as he forced her to stumble towards the couch, then waved his arm in a grand gesture as if an open invitation to sit. 

Which she accepted, not as gracefully as she intended, her limbs still stiff as she moved. How her grown tangled up in her legs before she plopped to the couch, eyes refusing to leave Giorgio’s body, just in case. Looking for any sign of movement as her heart was beating steadily in her throat. Was this a trap? 

The silence between them was excruciating. Unknowns swirling violently, as Giorgio padded to the wine as if he were playing ‘the good host.’ Two glasses sit pliant. Purposefully, she knows. 

It took a minute, a gruelingly slow one, for him to uncork a new bottle. The deep red wine poured into the glasses filling them halfway. Taking them up into his hands, he swirled them just so before handing one off to her. Sabine would not drink it. The smell was pungent as it wafted up to her nose, causing her to gag. 

Shrinking into the furthest corner of the couch she was able, she watched him sit on the other end. How he drank the wine, far too fast as half went down with ease. He looked conflicted, she saw it in the midst of the fanatically far away look he held. Ideas bloomed while her body ached, forced to tell herself not to give out. Not to give in to how her wrists felt they’d fall off any second, or how her vision swayed every few seconds. 

A solemn look washed over Giorgio. Morose eyes, staring through the half empty glass as if he was somewhere else. Sabine squirmed as she watched from her chair, studied him then studied her surroundings. Even though he seemed distracted, lost in thought she didn’t want to try anything. There was something peculiar going on, her chest tightening and mouth feeling dryer than usual. Her eyes flitted to the bottle of wine then to the glass beside her. Temptation. She steeled herself; if the Sisterhood had taught her anything was how to refuse such, how to live with nothing even if she wanted everything. 

“Do you know what wine symbolizes?” Giorgio finally broke the pregnant silence in the room that felt it would burst from the building pressure. 

She shook her head as a befuddled guise crossed her face. He talked to hear his own voice or to get a rise out of her, Sabine had to remind herself. And what did such symbolization have to do with this? 

“Red wine is supposed to be the blood of the Father, correct? So it could mean love, wisdom, light? But some believe it to be death, like myself with its bitter taste. I think it fits the deep red color well, like it really is blood. White wine is probably for all that spiritual goodness bullshit, it's easier to get down.” 

How he looked at his glass, eyes glazed as if he were far away, it was haunting. His lips twitched. And for the first time, Sabine knows she’s gazing upon true evil. And she thought she’d been around it before. But this thing in front of her… Made her quake. 

“What… are you trying to say?” Her voice wavered, she tried to keep it steady. Careful. 

“You’re a Sister, no? I’m confessing my thoughts to you.”

“Normally that’d take place in a church.” Sabine didn’t intend for her tone to come across as harsh, but it did. 

“The location shouldn’t matter.” He huffed, “You won’t be able to out smart me, dear, I know what you’re trying to do.”

Dear. The affectionate term off his tongue did not fill her with butterflies like when Mihawk said it. Instead it made her feel dirty, as if coated with thick layers of ash as her stomach churned. 

“I’m not trying anything.” She murmured, focusing back on the wine glass in her hand. Watching the small sloshes of the liquid as she tries to keep her hand stable. It was starting to feel like dozens of pounds, she wanted to be rid of it.

His head fell to one side, “Are you not going to drink any?”

“I’m not.”

“Pity. Hand it over.” He motioned for her, holding his arm out taut as he leaned forward. As if they were two friends sharing a drink and having a chat.

They aren’t hanging out- he had no right to act so casual! Not while she’s teetering on the edge of a full breakdown, of going comatose from the stress picking her apart. 

She watched with disgust as he knocked it back with a long gulp, not bothering to hide her contempt. His teeth stained maroon as he grinned, swirling the remainder of her wine. There was not enough room between them. Sabine wished to disappear into the old couch, let it swallow her up to save her from the discomfort and anxiety that plagued her. 

“Why did you return? I never minded you last year, you were polite, clearly not an idiot like the rest of those church folk we deal with on a daily basis in this city.”

“I’m..” She cleared her throat, her heart feeling as if it skipped a beat. She wasn’t sure what to say or how to go about it. He was a tea kettle sitting over a fire, any moment he could begin his shrieking and boil over, “Here by chance. The crew I was with stopped for supplies, I couldn’t bring myself to go with them.”

“I see, I can fill in the rest. You’re just investigating on your own. But how did you meet the Warlord? I doubt he’s a patron of your church.”

“By chance as well.” 

“By chance.” He made a retching noise, tongue out before continuing, “Boring. I’ve been watching you, because by the Father intrigued me last time you were on this Isle. I couldn’t get you out of my head, wondered if you noticed everyone I started killing resembled you?”

She went rigid, the breath stolen from right out her lungs. 

“I suppose not.” He shrugged, “No matter, I’ll tell you anyway… I dreamed of you like I’m sure my demon I created to taunt the church haunted you. I really jazzed up the dead, unnerving nun shape for it. I promised myself if you ever came back, I’d take you. I hoped you would, you seemed like the type who wouldn’t let things go even with the doctored finish that night with your prayers. I’m glad I was right.”

As if the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees she began to shiver, a frigid breeze wrapped around her. It licked from her exposed ankles up to the skin of her neck. Goosebumps swarmed all over her skin. 

“Take me?” It was barely above a whisper.

“Well I don’t know if I want to kill you or keep you. Never figured that part out.”

“We only met a few times, never savory encounters.” She stammered, words tripping over one another unable to keep up with the speed her brain was processing at. Thinking about every time they’d been in the other’s presence, she could count them on one finger! And never had she taken away something pleasant from those interactions, just a gut feeling that there was something wrong with the man. Unsettling. A troublemaker at least. No wonder she couldn’t sleep at night, convinced danger was still amuck.

“Doesn’t matter. You left your impression on me, much like the strange minx who did a decade ago that I almost ruined myself for. Whole story, I won’t tell. But I’m a man who becomes obsessed, all my boundaries and senses blur as one. I blame the devil fruit, really. A puppet master only knows manipulation, that fucked with my head, who cares if I cannot swim? It’s exhausting to pilot a shell while having to pilot myself.”

Sabine wanted to ask why he was telling her all of that; why he would spill his rambling thoughts that felt like a monologue of sorts. Spilling every idea, all his plans out haphazardly. Whether to disarm her or not. She also wondered if he didn't realize it, that if being in her premise allowed him to lower walls. People trusted nuns- in the sense they’ll tell them their dirtiest secrets. He had to be confessing or using her as an outlet for his guilt, she told herself. 

“Then don’t.”

“Hmm?” 

She reiterated, “You said it’s tiring using your devil fruit ability, so don’t use it.”

His face cracked into glee, a hideous cackle falling from his lips. He laughed from the depths of his belly so hard he fell forward from where he sat, soon wiping at his eyes. 

As he howled in entertainment from her suggestion, frustration grew in her chest. 

This was ridiculous! 

Sabine rose with suddennes. Giorgio immediately stopped his mocking hysterics, how quick his face could morph into an emotion on the opposite end of the spectrum. A vexed look crossed him, a brow raising, watching her. He watched how she brushed off her dress with a huff, stared him dead in the eyes and turned to walk away. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” He stood. 

“I’m not tied up anymore, you’re being punitive, I’m leaving.”

“You’re not my guest! You’re a prisoner.”

“I didn’t realize prisoners got offered wine.” Waking up tied to a table had worn on her in a way she hadn’t realized until now. Her body ached, screamed for proper sleep in a proper bed. She had no patience to spare with this game of his, she wasn’t thinking straight either. If she were she would have known not to test a killer the way she was, ignorant and childish it could have appeared. But all Sabine wanted was to escape his perimeter and this wretched building that felt it was caving in. 

And she ached for Mihawk. But perhaps that ache, that knowledge of him caused her to be reckless. Caused her to try to stand up to leave. Because she knew he’d come for her, it’d be any minute now, especially since she wasn’t sure how long since Giorgio had taken her. Her trust in Mihawk ran so deep that she dared this stunt, when perhaps she would have played along better to observe and plot. Exhaustion was wearing her down like thousands of pounds sat upon her shoulders. 

A shadow moved in one of the doorways, a quick flash, yet Sabine just caught it. 

She seized. Planted in her spot as Giorgio stalked towards her, like she was his prey. A sudden awareness that they were not alone, that another pair of eyes watched her. Darkness she knew all too well. Darkness that followed her since last year, plagued her in the night. Tendrils of pitch black that would choke her, claws that would sink into her, death. 

She watched a figure form from the dust that surrounded them. A small tornado like vortex that imbued a slimy like gook she recognized from the victim’s bodies. It morphed, grotesque like until it mirrored that of a person. 

Her stomach dropped. A strangled cry choked out as she cried out into her hands, pupils large and shaking with distress. 

There it stood; with its black eyes and blood red lips. The monster of her nightmares in front of her, standing lax like the puppet it was. It did not have the same vicious movements as it was void, null and it continued to shatter what she once believed. 

“Remember the broken pews? The broken stained glass? Strong winds? All party tricks I can whip up, creating puppets starts quite the wind storm.” 

“I’m going to be sick.” She gagged, feeling dizzy as she swayed. 

Pain shot up her legs as she sank to the floor, knees scuffing against the hard floor. Pulsating in her head, surroundings were hazed and littered with black dots. 

Footsteps sounded, then appeared in front of her. Sabine didn’t have the will to look up as the floorboards creaked and he crouched down. No will to jerk away as he used his pointer finger to force her chin up. Gazes connected like a lightning rod and it sent jolts down her spine, she swallowed hard to not throw up. 

“I have plans. Be good and stay, huh? Your friend will watch over you for me, so wander all you want but you won’t get to leave leave.” 

Under the watchful stare of what she once thought to be a demon, Sabine stayed in that spot. She stared at her wrists, at the ugly marks that maimed her skin. That still throbbed from layers of the epidermis being removed from the ropes, beads of fresh blood and dried that had trickled down. 

She’d pull herself together, she just needed a minute, a minute with the evil in the room. A minute to wallow and think, then she’d look around. Right? Yeah, it sounded like a good idea. And as her body thumped to the ground, she’d finally get some well needed rest. 

-

posted: august 22 2024

taglist : @zzbloody-animezz @honeybeezgobzzzzz @mythical-goth @iraaiitz @moonmaiden1996

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Endure IV: Fall

Series Synopsis: You and Eren Jaeger have been best friends since the age of two, but the two of you are destined for an inevitable tragedy. The world you have been born into is cruel; it is one where friends are traitors and enemies are allies, one where you find yourself doubting everything you've ever known. In this life, mistakes are fatal, and you must be careful, lest you make one too many.

Chapter Synopsis: You and Eren get into a fight, but you soon come to regret it when everything goes wrong.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Female Reader, Armin Arlert x Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 4.9k

Content Warnings: swearing, canon-typical violence, sexual abuse (non-explicit), major character death, angst, original characters included

“Eren, wake up,” you said, shaking the boy, who had been napping underneath his favorite tree for the past few hours. He blinked sleepily, furrowing his brow at you and reaching out to take a piece of hair in between his fingers.

“Y/N, did you cut your hair again?” he murmured, tugging on the curl and watching it spring up. You gave him a confused look, helping him stand.

“No, I haven’t cut it in a few weeks. Were you asleep for so long that your brain turned to mush?” you said, beginning to walk back towards the town of Shiganshina itself.

“Well, I just had a really long dream...but I can’t seem to remember what it was about,” he said. You turned back and looked at him before cocking your head.

“Why were you crying?” you said, reaching out to wipe the traces of his tears from his cheeks. He seemed as surprised as you were at the fact.

“I...don’t know. I didn’t even realize I was crying,” he said.

“You should ask your dad to look at that. What if you have a problem?” you said in worry as he collected his meager stack of firewood. He snorted in amusement at that.

“I don’t have a problem. It was probably just a sad dream or something,” he said.

“Oh, that’s true, it could be. But there’s nothing to be sad about in real life, so cheer up!” you said.

“Nothing to be sad about? We’re trapped in these walls like cattle in a pen! I’d say that’s something to be sad about!” he said.

“If you choose to look at it that way, sure, but what can you do? We can’t enlist in the military until we’re twelve, and besides, you know Mikasa and our parents will never let us,” you said. The Ackerman girl had latched on quite fiercely to both you and Eren in the year after her rescue, and wherever you went, it was almost certain that either she or Eren himself would be watching over you, like some sort of guardian angels.

“Whatever. And Mikasa can’t tell me what to do! She’s not the boss of me,” he said, “As for you, maybe you shouldn’t become a Scout. It’s dangerous.”

“Eren, wherever you go, I will follow, because we’re friends, and that’s what friends do,” you said, “You can’t convince me otherwise if you try, so don’t even think about it. I’m going to see that damn sea with you, and that’s final.”

“We’ll see. Mr. Hannes, are you drunk again?” Eren shouted as you passed the gates to see the members of the Garrison partying as usual. Mr. Orion was noticeably absent; he had mentioned that his cousin, who was in the Cadet Corps, was visiting him for the week, so he had taken off to spend time with her.

“EREN!” Mr. Hannes said in glee, ruffling the boy’s hair before frowning when he noticed the dried tear tracks still present on his face. The blond man glanced between the two of you rapidly, drawing some conclusion as you stared at him patiently.

“What?” Eren said.

“You were crying? Did Y/N reject you or something?” he said. Eren turned bright red and shook his head vehemently.

“No! I wasn’t crying! It was just raining earlier!” he said.

“I didn’t feel any rain,” Mr. Max, another Garrison captain and a friend of Mr. Orion’s, said.

“I don’t think it rained earlier,” Mr. Hannes agreed.

“It was where we were gathering firewood,” you said smoothly, to save Eren from further embarrassment, “Now come on, Eren. You have to get the wood to your parents, and I need to go babysit my brother.”

“Hold on a second! Why the hell are you guys drunk? You need to be prepared in case of a titan attack!” Eren said, his hands on his hips. You gave Mr. Hannes an apologetic look.

‘Sorry,’ you mouthed, grabbing Eren by the arm and dragging him away. He sputtered in protest, but you ignored him, continuing to gently lead him towards your house.

“What was that for? They deserve to be called out for what they’re doing!” he said, stopping abruptly. You looked up at Eren sadly, and the fire in his eyes dimmed.

“Do you think it does any good to yell at them? It’s probably a good thing they can sit around and be lazy, anyways. That means the world is safe and things are fine,” you said.

“It’s stupid! They’re soldiers, they should be vigilant and ready to fight at all times! I don’t care if the titans haven’t broken through yet, they have to be sober, at least while they’re on duty!” he said.

“Not everyone thinks like you and I, unfortunately. That’s just how the world works, and we have to deal with it. Do you think it’ll be any better when we’re Scouts?” you said.

“Huh? What do you mean?” he said. You were interrupted by the tolling of the bell that signified the Scouts’ return. Eren lit up and raced off to see the returning heroes. You ran after him, doing your best not to lose him in the crowd.

Reaching a stack of crates, Eren clambered up before helping you to stand beside him so that you could see over the crowds of people.

“These are real soldiers,” he whispered as the gates opened and the Scouts began to file in.

If these were real soldiers, then you never wanted to join their ranks. They looked utterly broken and defeated, the weights of their fallen comrades sitting on their shoulders and chaining their feet. Their eyes were hollow with loss, their cheeks gaunt with grief. From beside you, Eren gave them a delighted smile. A man locked eyes with him before looking away, and Eren looked put out at this.

“Can we go, please? I don’t like watching them,” you murmured, reaching for Eren’s hand. He swatted you away.

“Come on, Y/N, two more minutes, it’s almost over. Although, if you don’t like watching them, how will you feel when you have to join them?” he said, a knowing expression on his face. You gaped at him before pouting and shifting your gaze to your feet.

“Yeah, guess so. Okay, we can stay,” you said, though you made sure to keep your eyes firmly on your friend and not the excuses for humans that had returned from the other side of the walls. They were nothing more than shells, now, any semblance of spirit or soul long vanished. They may have survived the titans, but would they survive the guilt and grief that came with watching their friends die?

“Moses! Where is my Moses?” a lady shouted, breaking out of the crowd to kneel in front of the Commander, who seemed shocked at her boldness. You squeezed your eyes shut. You knew what had happened to her Moses. There was only one possibility.

“Open your eyes. This is what you want to follow me into,” Eren said, and you marvelled at his duality. Nothing could dissuade him from the dangers and perils of Scout life, yet he was perfectly willing to try and convince you to stay a civilian. You obeyed his command, though, cracking your eyes open and watching the grieving woman as she begged for her son.

You could not bear it, and so you turned to Eren, admiring his side profile, his sharp nose and long lashes. This was how it was, wasn’t it? The death and destruction were an afterthought. You had no grand and heroic ideas of the outside world. You only saw that it made Eren happy, and didn’t you owe him as much? You watched Eren as he took in the Scouts’ return, watched as that strange light of wonder and borderline madness danced in his jade eyes, and you drank it in, allowing it to sustain you.

Because Eren had never been normal. He was born into this world as something other, something greater than all of you as a whole and yet no more than any of you individually. He was not strong like Mikasa or smart like Armin or kind like you. He was just Eren, and yet he was special in spite of that, or was it because of his averageness that he always pushed forward, determined to prove himself as someone worthy of the attention of the extraordinary people he was surrounded by?

It didn’t matter to you. He was who he was, and whether he was a god or a boy made no difference in the way you saw him. First and foremost, he was Eren Jaeger, the one who played with dolls and had tea parties and killed people for you.

“All that’s left of him was his hand?” Eren muttered, and you were broken out of your reverie to see the woman crumple to the ground, sobbing, as the remains of her son were procured. As Eren had said, the only part they had managed to salvage was his left hand. You winced at the gory sight.

“Eren, please. I don’t wanna stay,” you whispered, tugging at his hand. He scoffed at you, his eyes boring holes into your soul.

“This is why I told you you shouldn’t join the Scouts! Seriously, Y/N, you faint when you see a mouse or a particularly large spider. How do you think you can fight titans?” he said. Your eyes filled with tears as you stared up at him, but for once, he did not soften, continuing to glare at you.

“This is the reality of it all, okay? I’m ready to face it, but obviously you’re not. Just do us all a favor and stay in the walls where you belong,” he said, the words particularly venomous.

“Where I...belong?” you said. He despised the walls. He called the people that lived in and accepted them ‘cattle.’ He was calling you cattle.

“You heard me. Come on, let’s go. It’s too scary, right?” he said, hopping off of the crate and pulling you down with him, heading towards your homes.

“Why aren’t you scared?” you said, following after him like a kicked puppy, your proverbial tail between your legs.

“Because I’m brave, and I know that there needs to be sacrifices made for humanity to leave the walls. You can’t run from death. You have to accept it; only then will you be able to truly be a soldier. But the truth is...I don’t want you to have to do that. I want you to live in the walls with our parents and be at home, waiting for me when I come home from fighting,” he said.

“And what if I end up like poor Moses’s mother? What if all that is left of you one day is your left hand? How would I be able to live with myself, knowing that I might have been able to help you had I been there?” you shot back.

“You helping me? The idea is laughable! I’m always the one saving you, don’t forget!” he said.

“Because you said you would! But if you don’t want to, then fine! I don’t want your help anymore! I don’t want you to ever protect me ever again!” you said, immediately regretting the words, though your fury tided you over, pushing back the guilt you felt.

“Good, because I’m done trying to save you! You’re just stupid anyways, you keep getting in trouble and thinking I’ll always be there to fix things! Surprise, I won’t, alright?” he said.

“Fine!” you said.

“Fine! I’m going to go hang out with Mikasa and Armin!” he said.

“Whatever! I’m going to go hang out with Merry!” you said, storming off.

How could he have said such things to you? True, you were not completely innocent in this, but in the end, he had been the one to push you, the one to insult you, the one to crush every semblance of a dream you had ever had.

“Stupid Eren,” you muttered, slamming the door behind you and angrily wiping away the tears that had stubbornly fallen from your eyes. Merry did not even come to greet you, so you began to look for him, ignoring the way your vision still blurred.

“Y/N! You’re back!” your brother exclaimed in excitement. He was seven now; not nearly as clingy as he was when he was small, but still enough so that he got on your nerves quite severely. You were not at all in the mood to deal with him, and you told him as much.

“Leave me alone, I don’t feel like talking to you. Where’s Merry?” you said. Your brother, who was used to your frequent rejections of his offers to be friends, shrugged.

“Upstairs, probably. Sleeping in your room,” he said.

“Okay,” you said, shoving past him and heading up the stairs.

But Merry was not in his usual spot on the foot of your bed. Determining that he was probably outside, you sighed and left to go find him.

On the way, you ran into Oskar, who was running away from something, though what it was, you could not be sure. When he saw you, he skidded to a stop and ran his hand through his hair.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, attempting to lean on the wall of his house, though he missed and nearly fell. Catching himself and scrambling to his feet, he winked at you.

“What do you want, Oskar?” you sighed. His crush from when you were seven had never really gone away, though he had matured in how he expressed it. Now, instead of teasing and torturing you, he tried to be suave and flirt with you. He was, for the most part, unsuccessful, a fact that Eren never hesitated to point out.

“I was just running from Mikasa...I mean, I was leaving from a fight with Mikasa, Armin, and Eren! Surprised you’re not with them, the four of you are usually inseparable,” he said.

“Eren and I got into an argument. Nothing major, but I don’t really feel like hanging out with him right now. I’m looking for Merry,” you informed him. Oskar grinned.

“Yeah, is that so? Let me help,” he said.

“If you want,” you said. You didn’t really like the blond boy, but a second pair of eyes would be helpful in trying to locate your dog.

To his credit, Oskar was quiet as you scoured all of Shiganshina for your black poodle. If you could look past his merciless bullying of Armin and the cruel way he had treated you when you were younger, he would almost be someone you could have a crush on, but unfortunately for him, those were two fairly major offenses.

“Is that him?” Oskar said, pointing at a black figure in excitement. You squinted at it before shaking your head, disappointed at the false alarm.

“No, that was a random cat. Let’s just go home, he’ll show up for dinner, probably,” you said. You were tired; fighting with Eren earlier had taken a lot out of you, and searching the entire district for your dog had not helped any.

“I had fun hanging out with you. You’re actually pretty cool when you’re not with Eren and the others,” Oskar said as you reached your front door. You gave him an impassive look.

“‘Eren and the others’ are my best friends. You really shouldn’t insult them if you want this to be a regular occurrence,” you said, motioning in between you. Oskar’s eyes widened in surprise before he beamed.

“This could be a regular occurrence?” he said.

“Goodbye, Oskar,” you said, slamming the door shut on his face. There was a warm sensation on your leg, and you looked down to see Merry licking your calf and wagging his tail.

“Merry? You were at home this whole time? Naughty boy, why didn’t you come when I called you?” you said, picking him and admonishing him. He tilted his head in confusion, and you shook your head before kissing him on the nose.

“I feel kind of bad about yelling at Eren, but I was justified...I think,” you confessed to your dog, who did not do anything beyond twist into a more comfortable position in your arms.

“Thanks, buddy, you're a great advice giver. Well, I guess I shouldn’t have expected much more from a dog. It’s like Eren said: I’m just stupid,” you said. Merry licked you on the face before his ears perked up and he let out a loud whine.

“What’s the matter?” you said. He wriggled out of your arms and raced outside, pausing at the front door. You followed after and scooped him up again before looking at what had caught his attention and freezing.

The biggest titan probably in existence, larger than even the walls themselves, peered over the gate to Shiganshina. Its enormous face was skinless, with red muscles and tendons fitting neatly together in an intricate puzzle that matched the drawings of the human muscular system that Dr. Jaeger had shown you when you were younger.

You heard more than saw when the wall was breached. The skinless Colossal Titan must have drawn its leg back before kicking through the stone in one swift blow. And in that moment, all of humanity was reminded of the horror of being at the titans’ mercy as the large, ghastly things began to stream into Shiganshina.

It has been said that there are only two base reactions that humans can have when faced with fear-inducing situations: fight or flight. Eren always chose fight. Armin always chose flight. But Dr. Jaeger had confessed to you that he believed there to be a third reaction: freezing. And freezing was what you did best. As Shiganshina fell around you, you stood, motionless, hugging Merry to your chest and watching as the beasts devoured and destroyed as they pleased.

Your parents came rushing out to meet you, your brother being carried by your father. When they saw you, your mother let out a sob of relief.

“Y/N! Oh, Y/N, you’re okay! We have to get out of here, you understand? Come on, let’s go!” she cried.

“Eren, Mikasa, Armin...will they be okay?” you said in a daze.

“Your friends are probably dead by now. They were out playing when the wall fell, which means they were closer to where the breach is. We can’t worry about them. I’m sorry, I know it feels cruel, but that’s how this world works,” your father said.

Dead. Mikasa would never sit and let you braid her hair for hours again. Armin would never tell you about the sea again. And Eren. Why, why had you let your last conversation ever be a fight? He had most likely died thinking you did not want him around anymore. It seemed that in some horrible way, you had gotten your wish indeed. He would never be able to protect you again. The universe had a sadistic sense of humor.

You did not cry. You stared at your parents, the grief more of an overwhelming fog that blanketed your mind in a comfortable haze than a sharp pain. That would come later.

They were urging you to run as far as you could. They were trying to get you to come, but when you tried to follow, they paused in horror before your mother shoved you aside, behind a building you recognized to have once been the Zimmermans’ house. The entire thing was crushed, and you noted that Oskar’s body was there, destroyed by a rock. It seemed he had not even made it to see the titans entering the district. How funny that only minutes ago, he had been flirting with you and helping you look for Merry.

Caught up in your thoughts about Oskar, you almost missed seeing your family get eaten by titans, but the piercing scream your brother let out was not the type to be missed by anyone. Your father had dropped him as he was raised to a ten meter titan’s mouth, and the small boy had most certainly broken a leg upon impact with the ground. Well, better off a broken leg than in a titan’s mouth, the way your father was now.

You buried your face in Merry’s fur to avoid screaming out loud and drawing the attention of any nearby titans as your father was devoured within seconds.

“Help! Please, anybody, help us!” your mother shrieked before a different titan leaned down and squeezed her in its large, pale fist. Tilting its head back, it tossed her into its mouth almost casually, graceful in a terrible way.

Your brother looked around desperately, searching for some measure of aid. He locked eyes with you, and an expression of shock passed over his face. He reached out in your general direction, but he was too far.

“Y/N —” he began before the titan that was now finished with your father swept him up and smashed his tiny form into a wall, silencing him forever before eating him. You squeaked in terror, knowing that you were next, knowing that there was no way you could hide forever, no way you could outrun the two titans.

“Hey! Uglies!” a girl shouted from the rooftop beside the two titans. She caught your gaze and nodded reassuringly at you, though you had no clue what she planned to do. She seemed to be about fifteen years old, with short, strawberry blonde hair and bright hazel eyes that glimmered with determination as she glared at the two titans, who had turned to regard her hungrily. She had no ODM gear or weapons, but she was fearless in her stance, staring down humanity’s biggest enemies without even flinching.

As they reached towards her, she jumped onto one’s hand and ran up its arm before using a piece of wood to strike it on the nape. It crashed to the ground, stunned by the hit to its sensitive spot, though you doubted it was down forever. The girl leapt in the air and performed the same move to the second titan, with similar results. Pleased with herself, she raced over to you.

“Oh, gosh, I can’t believe I just did that! Are you okay?” she said.

“My family,” you said in horror, “I think they’re dead.”

“You think? So there’s a chance they’re still alive?” she said.

“No,” you said, shaking your head to clear it, “I saw them get eaten. They are dead. Oh, oh, they’re dead, they’re dead.” You began to cry. Everyone you loved was dead. You were all alone now, and most of them had died thinking you didn’t even like them. Why hadn’t you been nicer to your brother? Why hadn’t you told your parents you loved them more? Why had you fought with Eren? Now, you would never even get the chance to make right the wrongs of your past.

“I’m really sorry, but those titans aren’t going to stay knocked out forever. We can deal with your grief later, but for now, we have to get out of here. I’m Petra Ral, by the way. Once I graduate, I’m going to be a Scout, but I’m still a cadet at the moment. I was visiting my cousin Orion, that’s why I’m in Shiganshina, but I’m not a fully trained soldier yet. I doubt I’ll be able to take on any more of those stupid things if they come near,” she said, helping you to your feet. You yelped as there was a sharp tug at your scalp.

“My hair is caught!” you said in alarm as the titans began to stir. Petra gave them a wary glance before scrutinizing your ponytail.

“Here, I got it,” she said, undoing the white ribbon that held your hair in its ponytail. With that, your hair was freed from the wreckage it had gotten tangled in, and as the ribbon fluttered to the ground, Petra picked you up in her arms and began to run towards the evacuation ships.

“You can stay with my family! I have a little sister your age!” she shouted as she sprinted, though her pace was slow, burdened as she was by your weight. Right. You didn’t have a family anymore. You were going to have to rely on the Rals’ hospitality. Tears welled in your eyes again, and you pressed your face against Petra’s shoulder. Everything about her was warm, from the shade of her hair to the temperature of her pale skin to the comforting scent of caramel apples that wafted off of her.

Petra hugged you tightly as you boarded the last ship leaving Shiganshina, Merry sitting on your lap solemnly, as if he recognized the gravity of the situation — and perhaps he did, for he had realized something was wrong when the walls were breached before even you had.

Being on the last boat to leave, you and Petra were given the privilege of seeing a large being that you could only describe as the Armored Titan running through the gate to Wall Maria, destroying it completely. He turned, and for a brief moment, you locked eyes with him. The glowing gold was piercing, and you felt trapped staring at it. Would he come destroy the ship now? You stared at him in fear, but he only turned and ran back the way he came.

He and the Colossal Titan were anomalies, never before seen in the history of humanity, but in one single day, they had completely and utterly changed the future. Wall Maria was gone, deemed uninhabitable as thousands upon thousands of titans streamed into the once-occupied territory. Most people managed to escape into Wall Rose. Other villages were not so lucky, for news did not always travel that fast, and that was where the devastation was the worst.

The Rals were decently wealthy; not enough that they could avoid sending their eldest daughter to war, but enough that they were not impacted by the Culling, as it was so affectionately known. It was during this Culling that 20% of humanity was wiped out; for the resources in Walls Rose and Sina alone were not enough to support the entire population. On King Fritz’s orders, all able-bodied adult refugees were sent out to reclaim Wall Maria’s territory, though from what Petra told you, it was more of a wholesale bloodbath. She had become a Scout, just as she had told you she would, and she was good at what she did, somehow managing to endure the worst of what humanity had had to face and always coming out the victor.

Living with the Rals was nice. Petra’s little sister Tullia was a lovely girl, with dark blonde hair that she kept in two braids and pear green eyes. She was sweet and supportive and she took care of Merry for you when you didn’t feel up to it. You wished you could be her friend the way she deserved, but for the first few months, all you could see when you looked at her was Armin and Eren and Mikasa and how they were dead.

Still, eventually you began to open up in small ways. You let Tullia braid your hair, even though you immediately undid it, preferring to keep it loose nowadays. You listened to Petra gossip about her crush on a man named Levi without complaint, even chiming in with soft-spoken questions about the color of his eyes (the most burningly brilliant shade of mercury) and the way his hair fell (in a neat, perfectly parted dark curtain).

One day, you worked up the courage to ask Petra if she could inquire about the fates of Eren, Mikasa, and Armin. She had frowned and said she would do her best.

That night, when she returned with a biscuit for you, a rare luxury now that Wall Maria had fallen, you knew that the news was nothing good. You had not told her or Tullia about your friends quite yet, for it felt like poking at the edges of a wound, but they could both sense that the trio had been important to you.

So when Petra sat you down and said that there was no sign of a girl named Mikasa or any boys named Eren or Armin, you had been expecting it. Why, then, did it feel like they had died all over again?

The Ral sisters did not push or inquire. They just sat with you, Merry faithfully in Petra’s lap, not moving a muscle. You fell asleep like that, all four of you curled up together on the couch until dawn, when Mr. Ral woke you all up gently for breakfast.

It was on that day that you finally began to heal. Eren, your best friend, was gone forever, but you knew he would not want you to wallow in your misery and sadness. You had to be happy. You had survived, but now you had to live.

As your friend’s beloved moon rose in the velvet night sky, you opened the window and whispered to it a promise.

“The outside world, right? You’ll never get to join the Scouts, so I’ll do it. I’ll find the sea for you...Eren.”

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter V.

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Down on the west coast, we got a saying...

WORD COUNT: 6.1k

RATING: 18+ Mature topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: A sexy performance by our main character, he's absolutely whipped, THEY HUG FOR THE FIRST TIME !!, is it really a slow burn if they don't yearn for one another, an insufferable dad, speaking of dad back on my dbf!Javi bs, other things that I'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized, including the usage of the song(s) that Paloma will perform throughout the story.

A/N: hi friends! hope you all enjoy this chapter, i was completely smitten while writing this since i'm such a needy little thing when it comes to a good slow burn ship lmfao also i love how we've all collectively decided that javi is lana del rey coded like SO true bestie !! like i love me some flirty!Javi okay sue me !! let him flirt with all the women !! anyways feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

Paloma is feeling wildly fervent tonight, a side effect of the eventful days she’s been having. She’s been buzzing with excitement to get up on the stage and exude all the feelings she’s been wrapped up in through music.

Between Javier’s ‘will they won’t they’ repartee and August’s piquant personality; these men have been bending her will to remain strong. It’s a peculiar thing, reminiscent to the stories she reads or movies she watches.

Paloma hasn’t stopped to think about it in a logical sense, where these newfound ‘relationships’ can go, and frankly she doesn’t want to stop and think. She just wants to be… to allow herself to indulge in the pleasantries of their attention.  

She’s at the bar two hours before she’s set to do her gig, cheerfully enjoying the company of her best friend as she drinks her signature root beer and muddled cherry mocktail. She eyes the new karaoke machine that’s just recently been acquired and leans in to get Sloane’s attention.

“Has anyone used it?” She gestures to the machine and Slo shakes her head, wiping down the counter. 

“No, but I think you’d be the perfect person to break it in. Pretty sure I saw some Madonna songs on there…” Sloane tells her in a sing-song tone, causing Paloma’s eyes to light up and she hops off the bar stool to walk up to the stage where it was. It consisted of a large television set and the actual karaoke machine.

She plays around with it for a few, familiarizing herself with the controls before she’s skimming through the dozens of available songs.

The evening crowd has started to file in, she doesn’t even realize since she’s been too busy figuring the machine out. She lets out a delighted sound of glee once she sees that Like a Prayer is one of the available songs and wastes no time in selecting it.

The song begins and she takes her position on the stage, few eyes on her. She doesn’t even need the large teleprompter for the lyrics. Bringing the microphone up to her lips, she begins to sing the intro softly.

Paloma sways her hips when she needs to, keeping up with the song as it’s one of her all time favorites. She’s done a variant of this performance in her bedroom with her hair brush many of times.

As the final notes fade away, Paloma finds herself nearly breathless, her heart still racing from how fun it was. The applause washes over her like a wave, enveloping her in a blanket of appreciation.

With a wide smile adorning her face, she gracefully bows and waves to the audience before delicately placing the microphone back on its stand. As the jukebox resumes its melody, filling the void left by her absence, she makes her way back to her spot at the bar counter, basking in the warmth of the moment.

“You know how to put on a show!” The compliment comes from a redhead sitting in the stool closest to her.

“Thank you.” Her mouth curves into a smile as she eyes her. A bride sash draped horizontally over her torso with the small veil clipped in her hair and she’s dressed in all white. There’s three other woman behind her whom she assumes is the bridal party. “And congratulations.” She raises her glass that had been replenished courtesy of her best friend.

They cheers then engage in some small talk when the bride, Wendy, confirms to Paloma that they are out for her bachelorette celebration. They had some car troubles in the middle of their travels to Austin which led to a rest stop here in Seminary until morning.

It wasn’t how she had planned to celebrate the trip, but there was nothing she could do about it so she’s making the best of the situation.

This has an idea pop into Paloma’s head, empathetic as ever, and she says her goodbyes once the band arrives. The plan is simple enough; perform some of her more sultry songs for the stranded bridal party in hopes to make their night a little more entertaining. It doesn’t take much before she’s got her band on board, tapping on the microphone to get everyone’s attention when she returns to the stage.

Javier did not plan on being at The Whiskey Fox tonight, especially with the lack of sleep he’s endured recently. Not that he hasn’t dealt with it before, but it’s been on an unforgiving incline as of late.

The worst part about his insomnia is how inconsistent it can be. He could go weeks with little to no sleep then suddenly a period where it’s all he does. Hasn’t hit the latter of the cycle just yet, but he can feel it creeping up on him at an agonizing pace.

It’s a complete shit show and infuriatingly lonely. He wouldn’t admit to the latter, however.

Exhausting himself throughout the day with hopes that he’ll be bone-tired by the end of the night, he makes an impromptu stop at the bar where hopefully a glass or two of bourbon will have him easing into sleep the second he makes it home.

It’s a long shot, nothing irregular of what he does on a regular night, but fuck, he really needs to get some rest. He can only function off coffee and nicotine for so long.

The bar is in high spirits the second he steps foot in, and with that comes the reminder that it’s a weekend night which means…

Eyes drift over to the stage and sure enough, she’s front and center, and he fights the urge to gravitate towards her.

Instead, Javier opts to sit at the bar, easily getting Sloane’s attention and ordering his bourbon.

“Y’know… I think this is the first time you’ve in been here while I’ve been on shift. You hidin’ from me, handsome?” She begins with a teasing simper, expertly pouring the drink.

Javier chuckles briefly, giving her a once-over, “Had I known a pretty little thing like you was tendin’ the bar I woulda been in here much more consistently.” Flirtatious as ever, despite his exhaustion, brown eyes meeting her gaze as she diligently sets the glass in front of him with a vivacious grin.

“Oooh, you’re a sweet talker. I like that. Not many darin’ boys ‘round here.” She leans forward, making a point to press her breasts together to show off her cleavage which he shamelessly ogles.

“S’a good thing I’m not a boy, sweetheart.” Bringing the glass up for a sip, their stare isn’t broken and she cocks her head to the side in interest.

“A great thing, even. You’re all man.” Her southern accent drips with sensuality, the suggestion hanging heavy in the air between them. For a fleeting moment, Javier entertains the idea of inviting her back to his place to relieve some tension and get some rest, but before he can act, she’s whisked away by another patron.

Divine intervention, Javi thinks, since his interest for her drops the second he hears Paloma’s voice. Placing some cash on the counter, he moves over to the table he’s accustomed to sitting at, distancing himself from the distraction with great tits behind the bar.

♫

His attention now fully on the woman on stage, her honeyed voice and the movements of her hands as they trail along the length of her body, diligently tracing her curves.

He can’t keep his eyes off her. Clad in a sleek black dress with a sweetheart neckline, its hem teasingly grazes the curve of her thigh. She radiates an effortless sensuality. Her mid-thigh high boots elevate her stature, causing her back to arch ever so subtly, drawing his gaze to her ass.

Her hips sway with a tantalizing rhythm that ignites Javier’s imagination, conjuring images of her poised above him with his cock drilling deep inside of her.

The glass in his hand suddenly feels heavy as his thoughts get dirty, so he takes a long sip, relishing the fiery sweetness that burns down his throat.

Javi finds himself completely entranced, lost in the melody of her voice. As Paloma begins her descent from the stage, weaving her way through the tables scattered around the room, a sense of anticipation stirs within him. With bated breath, he shifts in his seat, eagerly awaiting for her to approach him.

She continues, tastefully interacting the patrons nearby, pocketing bills that are being handed to her. She handles it suavely, tucking the wads of cash in the band of her boot that’s pressed against her thigh.

Javier’s eyes fall to the area as she does this, running his tongue over his teeth and truly contemplating if staying away is worth it all. He digs into his back pocket, fishing out the leather wallet and swiftly pulling out whatever was in it to give her.

It’s then that she approaches him, the spotlight making Paloma look more radiant than any star he’s ever seen. Their eyes meet in an enchanted gaze, his lips tug up into a cocky and expectant smirk in which she matches before slowly rounding behind him, almost singing in his ear.

“Te deseo, cariño, boy, it’s you I desire.” 

Javier’s jaw ticks as her touch runs along the expanse of his broad shoulders, and before she’s able to leave him completely, he slips the bills into her palm and lets it drop from his grasp.

That line was a seductive invitation, crafted for him alone, and he can feel it in the way her lips curve into a smug smile. Was it penned with him in mind, sung in Spanish to tantalize him? The notion ignites a fierce longing within Javier, his skin tingling and body craving her.

Her lyrics, saturated with desire, mirror the very same craving she elicits from him. The hunger in her eyes speaks volumes, a silent plea for the passion they both yearn to share.

She finishes the song, the table of a bridal party praising her drunkenly as the music dies down and everyone begins their applause. Some whistling at her, too.

Javier remains unmoved, reclining effortlessly in the chair, one arm draped casually over its back. His gaze is fixed on her, unwavering, a fresh cigarette dangling from his lips, the tendrils of smoke curling around him lazily. He makes no attempt to conceal his admiration, indifferent to whether she notices his lingering stare. The bold move she just made only serves to fuel him, leaving his infatuation as intense and consuming as ever.

It’s evident that Paloma seeks his pursuit, craving the thrill of the relentless chase until she willingly offers herself completely. Though Javier typically refrains from chasing pussy, he finds himself captivated by the enticing dynamics of their relationship— a tantalizing dance of push and pull.

This experience is vastly different from his usual encounters, where women often yield quickly to his advances. With her, however, the challenge persists, defying his expectations and fueling his intrigue.

For a time, Javier reveled in the thrill of it all— the fleeting encounters with women at brothels, the allure of one-night stands. The fast-paced rhythm of constant attention and swift hook-ups kept him occupied and amused.

Yet now, a shift has happened.

He finds himself drawn to the unhurried pace of whatever undefined connection he shares with Paloma. It’s a departure from the whirlwind of his past experiences, and despite its ambiguity, it holds a newfound interest, captivating him in its gradual unfolding.

It’s building tension, prolonged foreplay to a shared fantasy that’ll only bring them both conflict. Conflict that he doesn’t want to be burdened with…

Yet, she makes it so hard to stay the fuck away.

As she vanishes into the depths of the back area, Javier swiftly drains the last remnants of his drink, feeling more restless than when he came in.

It has been days since her last performance, yet she hasn’t stopped thinking about that night. It was her first time doing anything remotely sensual as she had— and she liked it. It gave her a lot of real confidence and not that of which she pretends she obtains.

She’s already preparing herself for the scrutiny she’ll receive from a certain group of gossips at church for putting on such a scandalous performance.

Whatever, she thinks, people were going to talk shit regardless and she’s never felt more sexier and empowered. The self-assurance she got from people handing her tips and receiving Javier’s undivided attention was exhilarating.

It had been more than enough for her to quickly improvise a specific lyric in her song. For him.

Paloma is at a loss to rationalize her impulsive behavior once she approached him, swept up in a sensation akin to a siren’s call, drawing in a lost sea captain with an irresistible temptation.

He’d been more preoccupied than usual, leaving Paloma to grapple with an unexpected yearning for his presence. Their interactions had become fleeting, confined to brief exchanges in passing or hurried conversations over the phone, often revolving around attempts to reach the sheriff.

So seeing him there that night, very present at her gig, she knew she had to do something big to give him the hint that she is very, very interested in doing something, anything with him. Consequences be damned.

Paloma won’t be the one to take it there, that’s a rookie move. If Javier is as interested as he appears to be, then she fully intends to practice some patience and have him crawling over to her.

Would he actually do that, though? She only knows bits and pieces of his romantic endeavors, and from the little information she’s gathered; he doesn’t seem like the type to chase but she could be wrong.

There is no harm in trying to seduce him, really, and if he rejects her then she’ll take the hint and move on. It’s not like she wants to date the man or have him fall to one knee asking for her hand in marriage.

No, Paloma just really wants to get laid. Too many nights have came and went where all she’s dreamed of is the hot, older deputy sheriff screwing her into oblivion. 

Then at the bar… he actually gave her money, matter of fact, he had been the biggest tipper of the night. She contemplated giving the cash back to him, thinking it was entirely too much, but she talked herself out of the idea solely because she found the transaction incredibly hot.

She’s cautious not to invest her entire focus in him, so she’s also been seeing August.

Their time together brings forth a distinct experience, stirring uncertainty about her romantic attachment to him. It wasn’t until yesterday afternoon, amidst the tranquil shade of a sprawling oak tree, engrossed in shared reading, that an almost kiss cast light on her true sentiments towards him.

Their connection pulsates with an undeniable chemistry, his attention lavishing upon her as if she were the rarest gem. United by their shared interest for literature and idyllic beliefs, he breathes vitality into the stifling surroundings.

While the opportunity for a shared kiss lingered, Paloma’s thoughts persistently drifted toward Javier, rendering the moment bittersweet.

Lost in her own thoughts amidst the task of pulling weeds from the garden, she remains oblivious to the persistent ringing of the landline inside. Only as the sound penetrates her consciousness does she snap out of it.

Hastily removing her gardening gloves and rushing inside, she reaches for the phone just before its final ring.

It’s Lola from the bar letting her know that a letter has just been dropped off— addressed specifically for Paloma.

She is confused yet intrigued at the news, and in no time she’s in town; sitting on top of the counter ripping the poor envelope open and scanning the words on the piece of paper.

Apparently, the bride who was here last weekend contracts acts from all over Texas to perform at the state fair in Dallas. Seems like Paloma was conspicuous enough to warrant an invite.

A much bigger crowd, her first real chance to branch out by doing something she’s genuinely passionate about. 

After freaking out about it with the ladies at the bar, even taking a celebratory tequila shot, Paloma is racing to make it to the station to share the good news with her dad. 

She hurriedly hops off her bike, not even bothering to chain it to the rack as she snatches the letter and saunters up the steps and into the building overly excited.

Clearly, she’s interrupted something as both men’s heads snap in her direction with heavy, worried looks in their eyes when she barges in.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Her father steps towards her, scanning her for any injuries.

“Yes I’m fine daddy,” she tucks her hair behind her ears to contain some of her excitement since she feels some of the leftover apprehensiveness from before she arrived, “I’m just excited to show you this, look! I got invited to preform at the state fair!” She shoves the paper into his chest and he turns it around so he can read it.

Her eyes are bright in anticipation, searching his stoic face for a reaction.

“Sweetheart, this is wonderful...” He trails off and her smile begins to fade at his tone.

“What? What’s wrong?” She questions, eyes flickering over to Javier who stands almost awkwardly behind the sheriff.

“A girl in Fayette has gone missing. We just got the call. About to head over to help ‘em out.” The news has Paloma drawing in a breath, all the enthusiasm in her body evaporating as he hands the paper back to her.

“O-Oh, that’s—”

“This is amazing news, babygirl. We’ll talk about it more when I get home later, alright? We gotta get goin’.” 

The dismissal breaks her, and there’s a second where her demeanor shows it but it’s only temporarily as she nods understandingly then steps aside to allow him to maneuver his way into his office.

“State fair, huh? That’s huge, congrats bella.” Javier’s voice keeps her from scurrying away and she gives him a small smile.

“Thanks, but seems like there’s more important things to focus on.” She won’t be self-centered by taking up any more of their valuable time. A girl is missing and if they want to come out on top, then their focus has to remain on her and not Paloma’s trivial news.

“You’re right but that doesn’t mean we can’t be happy for you.” She lifts her gaze from her shoes up to meet his at the use of ‘we’ and she melts, instantly.

In his captivating brown eyes, there’s a delicate balance of gentleness and resolve, causing her knees to weaken slightly. She discerns the subtle golden flecks that add a compassionate depth to his stare.

“Yeah, I guess. Just hate that all this is still happenin’. I’m assumin’ y’all aren’t any closer to findin’ out who’s doin’ all this, huh?” Since her father doesn’t tell her anything except what he needs to, she isn’t fully aware of the exasperatingly severity or statuses of the cases.

Javier lets out a heavy sigh, thumb dragging across his trimmed mustache then bottom lip and her eyes zero in on the movement, which she shouldn’t find as attractive as she does. “No, but things like this always take time. It’s the most frustrating thing about the job.” 

She nods, having somewhat of an understanding, “Then I’ll get outta y’alls hair. Leave the mystery solvin’ and savin’ the day to the pros.” Her nose crinkles as she lets out a soft laugh in attempts to lighten the mood.

He gives her a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Javier’s magnetism is undeniable, his rugged handsomeness coupled with an air of competence that captivates her completely. She senses something more than mere physical attraction. It’s as if small moments like these are chipping away at the salacious layers of their connection, revealing something deeper and more profound beneath.

“I’ll see you soon, yeah? Got those parts for dear Darla comin’ in any day now. You’ll be cruisin’ around town in no time.” He winks at her and she giggles softly, blood pooling at her cheeks in a deep blush that he notices immediately and it makes his chest tighten.

“I’m lookin’ forward to it.” Paloma replies, a bit more shyly than she’d like but that’s just what happens when you’re affected by Javier Peña’s irresistible charm.

They hold each other’s gaze for a few more seconds, Paloma losing herself in the depths of his warm brown eyes, while Javier savors her presence entirely. Their silent exchange is interrupted as Romeo emerges from his office, oblivious to yet another fleeting moment shared between his daughter and the deputy sheriff, lost in their own world of unspoken emotions.

She is well aware of the copious amount of time she’s been putting in to her performance for the fair, spending all her free time at the bar with the band rehearsing or in her room piecing together her outfit.

This is her moment to showcase her mastery of the craft, and she seizes it with unwavering determination. To an outsider, the prospect of performing at a mediocre state fair, hours away from home, might seem insignificant. But to her— it’s everything. Every chord struck, every lyric sung carries the weight of her dedication.

This performance isn’t just about the venue; it’s about pouring her proving to herself that she’s capable.

At first, her father had been really excited for her… but as the days dragged by and tensions with the missing person case increased, he began to grow more cynical about it.

With the way things were going, he wouldn’t be able to accompany her and that’s when all the unnecessary comments began. Romeo began to bring up the crime rate in Dallas, hypotheticals of what would happen if she were to get stuck on the side of the road on her way there, even insinuating that her band (which consisted of four members from their church) wouldn’t be as reliable as she knows them to be.

It pissed her off every time he opened his mouth to talk on the matter. At first, she just ignored him or said something neutral to appease him, but now that the date was slowly approaching, she found it difficult to keep her rebuttals to herself.

How many times was she going to have to remind him that she’s a grown up? For some reason, he thinks she’s still a meek sixteen year old girl that needs his protection.

This is what led to the current argument. Him reluctant to let her go and Paloma insistent on going with or without his ‘permission’. Before it has the chance to get out of hand, there’s a knock at the front door and she uses it as an excuse to end the conversation.

Sighing heavily, she opens the wooden door to find Javier on the other side and immediately her frown disappears and she smiles sweetly up at him.

Amidst her intense preparation for the forthcoming performance and his deep engagement at the station, their encounters have become even more infrequent, a departure from their usual routine.

Yet, despite the scarcity of interaction, their bodies seem attuned to each other’s presence, responding instinctively to the silent symphony of their unspoken connection.

“Hey cowboy, whatcha doin’ here?” She crosses her arms against her chest, the screen door still separating the two of them.

“I told you I’d have the parts in any day now.” It’s then that she sees a cardboard box in his possession and realization dawns on her.

“Oh my god— no way! Thank fuckin’— Lord almighty, you’re such a saint.” Javier chuckles at her words which has her feeling fucking giddy as she opens the screen door and steps aside to let him in.

“M’not a saint, princesa, but your kind words are appreciated.” They walk side by side, her shoulder softly brushing against his arm, to the kitchen where her father is.

“Daddy, Javier’s here to finish workin’ on sweet Darla.” There’s a tinge of bitterness lacing her words as she addresses her father, their previous argument still fresh on her mind but she would rather throw herself off a bridge than finish said conversation in front of their company.

The two men greet each other, making small talk as Romeo thanks Javier for all he’s doing for both the town and the help he’s been extending to his daughter. Paloma boredly leans against the doorframe, waiting for them to wrap up their exchange and Javi can feel her impatience.

When they finally breakaway, It’s just him and Paloma in the shed, Romeo stuck inside taking an important call. Instead of perching herself on the chair like last time, she’s leaned over the hood of the car with him, close enough to be able to feel the heat radiating from her body.

“I didn’t interrupt something earlier, did I?” Javier asks, picking up on the tension between her and her dad in the kitchen just then.

Paloma doesn’t reply right away, eyes trained on his working hands within the engine.

“You did but it was a good thing. We were havin’ a small argument that was about to turn into a real big fight. He’s being so anal about not lettin’ be go up to Dallas for the fair. He doesn’t seem to understand that I’m goin’ regardless.” She scoffs with a shake of her head, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“He just worries about you… doesn’t necessarily go about it in the best way but he just wants to make sure you’re safe.” He picks his words as carefully as he can, gaze flickering to her face briefly before returning to the task at hand.

“I know, he’s just so stubborn about it.”

“Sounds like someone I know.”

She lets out a genuine laugh, the one that involuntarily brings a small smile to his lips and she elbows him playfully.

“He’ll come around. He sees how passionate you are about your music. Like you said, you’re goin’ to do it with or without him.” Paloma doesn’t say anything, thinking his words over knowing that Javi’s right but he’s underestimating how adamant her father can be.

Finally getting the last piece screwed in tight, he stands to his full height and wipes his hands off on a rag, “Alright, go start her up and see if she’s cooperatin’ finally.” Javier gestures towards the driver’s seat as he slams the hood close and she excitedly leaves his side, flinging the door open and sliding in.

The engine starts with ease and the delighted cheer that comes from Paloma is more rewarding than anything he’s deserving of.

She hops out, throwing her arms around his neck in a hug that takes him back, literally, stumbling over his feet slightly but they’re kept upright as his hands naturally fall to her waist.

Their bodies pressed together ignites a fervent blaze of desire between them.

Her scent— an intoxicating blend of freshly bloomed flowers and ripe fruit— envelops him like a gentle summer breeze, casting a spell he never wants to break.

His fingers brush against the exposed skin from her cropped shirt, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The softness of her curves beneath his touch tempts him to explore further, but he restrains himself.

“Thank you so much, Javi. You have no idea how happy you’ve just made me.” Paloma pulls away first, but not completely, and the position they’re left in is much more intimate than it should be.

His breath fans over her face, which is just inches apart, if he really wanted to; he could lean in and press his lips against hers…

And he really, really wants to but with Romeo just around the corner— he won’t risk getting caught. No matter how enticing and easy it’d be to give in.

“Javi? What happened to officer or cowboy?” He teases, pinching at her hips and she pushes at his chest, finally breaking their embrace.

“Right, forgive me for wantin’ to have a moment of authenticity.” Paloma playfully rolls her eyes, “Thank you so much, officer. You have no idea how…” She trails off suddenly and his brow cocks inquisitively.

“You have no idea how satisfied you’ve left me.”

The sultriness in her voice, gleam in her eyes, and those long lashes batting up at him all innocently does nothing but fuel his craving for her. 

“If this is all it took to leave you satisfied, hermosa, then you’re in worse shape than I thought.”

She bites down on her lower lip, “Thank god I have you here to help me out, hmm?” 

And for a split second it feels like something might happen but ultimately… it doesn’t. 

“Just doin’ what I can, cariño. You get any more car problems just call me and not ese mecánico de mierda (shitty mechanic).”

As she leans forward to retrieve the keys from the ignition, he finds himself entranced by the graceful arc of her back, seemingly inviting his lustful gaze to follow its every contour. The gentle slope of her spine draws his eyes downward, her low rise jeans accentuating her plump ass.

“Well… I can’t call you if I don’t have your personal number… what if I have an emergency and you’re not at the station?” Paloma can feel his gaze on her and it makes her feel satisfied that she’s able to capture his attention so easily, closing the car door with her hip and leaning against it.

“That would just be a downright wretched thing.” As his hand instinctively reaches for the memo book he habitually carries, a silent curse echoes in his mind upon realizing its absence. He does have his pen, though.

With a swift and decisive motion, Javier closes the distance between them. A sharp intake of breath betrays her surprise.

“Don’t have paper on me, but…” Taking her hand gently in his, he turns it and begins to write his home phone number on her palm.

Paloma’s heart quickens its pace, his touch a juxtaposition of rough and gentle against her soft skin. She becomes acutely aware of the stark size difference between their hands, his encompassing hers entirely. A shiver dances down her spine at the sensation, the pressure of arousal building.

With a soft exhale, she finds herself unconsciously pressing her thighs together to relieve some of said pressure. The simple act of hand-holding, so mundane, leaves her wanting more of his touch.

The only thing she can think of is how good his large, thick fingers would feel pressed against her clit while he pleasures her. Or curling inside of her and brushing against that soft spot that makes her come undone.

Focus, Paloma, you’re practically drooling.

“Might wanna write that down somewhere soon. The sweat is gonna mess it all up.” Javier teases, letting go of her hand and stuffing the pen into the front pocket of his shirt. The thin layer of perspiration clearly in response to his gesture.

Her eyes widen at the comment and it has her tripping over her words, “Y-Yeah I’ll, uh, make sure not to lose this. Like I said, it’d be a bummer if I couldn’t get ahold of you in a time of need.”

Her desire continues to simmer and she mentally slaps herself for letting her cool girl facade slip just because he held her damn hand. It doesn’t help that the sight of his exposed collarbones has her fingers itching to trace along his chest and explore beneath the fabric.

She fights the urge to succumb to temptation, her resolve tested by the magnetic pull of his presence.

His smirk never falters, absolutely loving to see his effect on her. It’s only fair, seeing as she’s always the one who riles him up. “Alright cariño, I better get outta here before we get ourselves into trouble.”

The fragile awareness of their shared moment shatters her reverie, grounding her back to reality.

“Of course,” she replies softly, her voice carrying a hint of wistfulness. Her hand remains steady, resisting the urge to wipe away the lingering warmth of his touch as they head back to the house.

All hands are on deck to find Jessica Valdez, the missing girl from Fayette.

Back in Colombia, everyone was too afraid to speak up when something was amiss in fear of having their lives taken by the vicious cartels that ran the streets. Those who did have the bravery to come forward with information only did so in hopes of getting support and protection from a government that wasn’t even theirs.

Consequently, when adversity struck, the flow of valuable intelligence was delayed, impeding the acquisition of pertinent information. This rationale justified Javier’s visits to the brothels, veiled under the pretext of proactive investigation aimed at uncovering critical details essential for combatting the narcos.

The fucking was just a pleasurable addition.

In small communities stateside, however, that’s all people do. Talk. So, when Javier goes out to do some canvassing of his own; he isn’t all surprised by how willingly people are to spill the secrets of their neighbors. By the end of the day, he damn near knows about all the affairs in town, who likes to steal money from who, the mayor’s ‘illegitimate’ child, and decade long family feuds.

Exactly what he expected to find in small Texan towns.

Like he had told Romeo in the beginning, there’s always some truth to a rumor. As he’s collecting information about Seminary and the communities that surround it; he comes to find out about a trio of troublemakers that come from one of the towns where one of the earliest victims had been found and their peculiar interest in all things occult. 

This piqued his interest and upon further investigation; he quickly found the files for Augustus Dixon, Sloane McCarthy and Gabriel Torres.

Immediately, Sloane caught his attention, although her mugshot portrayed her with a more youthful demeanor. The man from Nina’s funeral, Gabriel, also stood out in his memory. He recalls Sloane mentioning him by name that day he was at the Leighton home, too.

However, the third male remained unfamiliar, his appearance suggesting a rebellious disposition, evident from his file and accompanying mugshot.

The trio had been in and out of jail all their adolescence for petty crimes like stealing, vandalism, public intoxication, fighting and other nonsense. Nothing severe. They were just troublemakers and that is not odd to find in rural areas. Kids get bored and do stupid shit.

Javier would know better than anyone, he did similar things at their age.

He’s spread out on his couch, glass of whiskey in one hand and file in the other. He is deep in concentration, reading over different police reports and trying to find out where the occult aspect of it comes into play when the phone begins to ring and he lets out a grunt.

Reaching over to grab the receiver, he tucks it between his shoulder and ear as he answers.

“Peña.”

“Hey cowboy.”

Her voice has him sitting up straight, discarding the folder in his hand on the coffee table, now fully attentive. It’s actually kind of pathetic how fast his demeanor changes when it comes to Paloma.

“Hola hermosa, a little late to be callin’, yeah? You should be getting your beauty sleep for the big day tomorrow.” He hadn’t forgotten about her performance at the fair, making note of the date the second she told him about it.

“I should be but I’ve got nerves like you wouldn’t believe.” She pauses and he can hear her thinking, “Daddy and I just had a fight… well I dunno even know if you’d call it that. It ended with him sayin’ he didn’t give a damn if I went or not… all that fussin’ just so he could say he didn’t care in the end. If I’m actually that insufferable I’m beggin’ you to put me out of my misery.” He chuckles at that and he can imagine her smiling at his reaction.

“Don’t be nervous, corazón. You’re goin’ to do great. You already knock it outta the park at The Whiskey Fox every weekend. This ain’t no different.” It is different and he knows it, but he also knows her and how she tends to overthink to the point of anxiety. “You ridin’ up there all alone?” Not a fan of the idea but he wouldn’t disclose this to her, now when he knows how much it ticks her off. 

“I was gonna hitch a ride with the band, then I remembered I have a car now so I was goin’ to do that but…”

“But?”

“I want you to come with me… if you can.”

The request surprises him, so much so that it prompts him to take a larger drink of his liquor.

“I didn’t scare you off, did I?” She giggles nervously at his prolonged silence.

“No ‘course not. Just figured you’d enjoyed your newfound freedom of being on the road alone.”

“As fun as that sounds, I think it’d ease my daddy’s nerves knowin’ his glorified babysitter was taggin’ along…” Javier feels like there’s more to it than that, especially since she’s always complaining about being under her father’s thumb— only to go on and continue to pacify him. Before he can ask her about it she continues.

“And I’ve never traveled outside of Seminary… well not since I was a little girl. Didn’t really get out much after mom… Just haven’t been outta town in a long, long time.” He can sense her coyness at the admission and it does nothing but persuade him into joining her.

Javi should think it over more, the logistics of him being hours away with Paloma, knowing how ambiguous things are between them. However, he swiftly dismisses his apprehensions, feeling somewhat foolish for blowing what might be a trivial matter, out of proportion.

Especially when she seems so nervous to ask for his company.

Finishing off his drink, Javier leans in deeper to the comfort of his couch and he can hear her soft breaths on the other end of the line, anticipating his response.

“Alright, cariño just tell me what time you need me to be there and I’ll be there.”

[starmieknight]

Sing Me A Story (of the bravest of them all)

Prologue

Pairing: Buggy x Original Female Character

Summary: Josie Harper doesn’t know what her family's connection to the One Piece world is exactly. That's not going to stop her from trying to figure it out and how to use it to get back home.

She just had to survive what it throws at her first. And keep from falling under the allure of the future Pirate King and his crew.

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

Josie gaped at the familiar Jolly Roger in horror, only managing to tear her eyes away when a nearby ‘clink!’ made her startle.

The same clownish Jolly Roger grinned up at her from a small metal ball near her feet.

Contents: Isekai, Freeform Greek Mythology, Reincarnation, Recreational Drug Use, Ghosts, DubCon, Pining, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut

Chapters: Prologue, One, Two, Three

It began, as one might expect, with a goddess of creation — and ended as one might infer, with the god of the dead.

But the space between spanned more than just the course of a life — or lives.

In this particular incident, things carried over generations, from Gaia herself to the many children she had and then their children. You see, a man never truly dies until his story is forgotten and a story can be changed and retold a thousand different ways.

Therefore, let me sing you a new story of Gaia, her children, and Hades — the star of the hour. --------------------------------------------

Throughout her long existence, Gaia had been called many names, in many different tongues. Her favorite, though, had been Mother and then Grandmother when her children’s children came along.

She loved her children and adored her grandkids and would do anything for them. Even if it meant defying her husband, denying the powers of the universe and outright spitting in the face of Fate herself. So maybe she had to hide away for a bit, adopt a new name. She was still the same person.

And when it came to the time when her husband finally found her eldest grandchild, the last in hiding, Gaia showed her hand and slapped him in the face with it.

Literally.

The sounds of her fight with Uranus shook the heavens like thunderclaps and the seas like tidal waves.

And for someone like Josie, who was only a passable swimmer in calm waters, it was nearly a death sentence.

One moment, she was having dinner with her grandma in a cafe by the river. The next thing she knew, there was a strange man trying to snatch her up.

Josie had always known her grandma was a tough woman, never one to take any nonsense or disrespect sitting down, and had always assumed she’d be the kind to fight for her family.

But to see it in person!

Even she had no idea of the elder woman’s power.

The elder woman scuffled with a stranger like it was no strange occurance and didn’t lose any ground for it, taking a licking and coming back kicking every time — and even throwing in a good tongue lashing while she was at it.

So when Josie was tossed into the river with nary a scream, too shocked by the turn of events to even make a sound, it was a bit unexpected

Distantly, she recalled the sight of her grandmother suddenly growing to an outrageous size as she attacked the strange man who interrupted their meal. But the image was quickly lost when Josie found himself resurfacing from the river to stinging saltwater in her eyes and the harsh mid-day sun shining down on her.

Josie began treading water on instinct and gaped at the bright sky in disbelief.

It had just been night!

“Help!” Josie barely managed to squeak out between unfortunate gulps of seawater. She was barely even thrashing, finding she could only continue to grab over her head for a surface that wasn’t there. All her years of swimming in pools and lakes went forgotten as her body began to drown.

But Gaia’s penchant of defying fate wasn’t a singular trait. It was hereditary — and had passed along to Poseidon and his brood.

It was with no small amount of youthful glee that the middle son and his lover, both yet unseen, raised a great swell beneath his still in-the-dark sibling and sent her riding a wave towards the nearest shore.

Josie, still unknowing of her family’s true nature let alone the existence of another world, finally managed a scream as she was suddenly lifted from the sea and tossed onto dry dock.

It was unpleasant to say the least.

But even being slammed into the dock couldn’t compare with the scene that came after.

Pure destruction littered the streets of the unknown town.

Smog and dust filled the air, just barely lit enough for Josie to see the buildings that composed the town.

Or rather, what was left of it.

Some buildings remained standing on bare bones, husks of homes and stores that had been knocked from their foundations, looted of possessions and then had their windows and doors smashed for good measure. The rest of the town was rubble, broken boards and smashed stone, scraps of paper and cloth, abandoned belongings and rotten food.

For one horrible moment, Josie thought she’d been dropped onto the set of the Walking Dead.

The warped reality set in as she managed to pull herself to her feet and recognize the wreckage beneath her feet.

She was standing on some sort of sign, worn with both age and abuse.

Orange Town

A sense of foreboding filled her as she lifted her eyes to the only ship in dock.

Bigger than any boat she had ever seen and undeniably circus-themed, the Big Top towered over her in both sheer height and width.

Josie gaped at the familiar Jolly Roger in horror, only managing to tear her eyes away when a nearby ‘clink!’ made her startle.

The same clownish Jolly Roger grinned up at her from a small metal ball near her feet.

Josie paled.

“Oh, fuck me!” was all she managed to gasp before the ball cracked open in a cloud of noxious fumes.

[olivialau]

Shadow's Embrace Ch.5

Sukuna x Reader

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fanfiction based on the universe of "Jujutsu Kaisen," created by Gege Akutami. The original manga, anime, and characters belong to their respective owners and creators.

Notes:

This story unfolds in the Jujutsu world, set in a slightly altered universe where Sukuna inhabits his own vessel distinct from Itadori Yuji's body, making him a separate entity.

Summary:

Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, becomes fascinated with a female sorcerer rich in potential but lacking control. Initially seizing her for his destructive plans, Sukuna aims to bind her abilities through a contract. Yet, as he tries to dominate her, he finds himself intrigued by her strength and determination. Over time, his interest evolves from strategic advantage to a deeper, personal connection.

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CHAPTER 5 - The King and his Pawns

As you channeled your cursed energy with newfound focus and control, a great shift occurred within you. The aches and pains of your battered body began to recede, and the air around you felt lighter, more responsive to your movements. This realization sent a surge of exhilaration through you, fueling you to push even further. The control and precision that had previously eluded you were now within your grasp.

Guide it, don't push it. Feel it, don't force it, you chanted inwardly, the mantra a steadying rhythm that kept your emotions in check and your energy controlled.

While Sukuna's overwhelming power still loomed, it no longer weighed on you as heavily. Instead, a sense of thrilling discovery took hold as you reveled in the growth and potential you were tapping into.

Sukuna cackled with malevolent glee as he resumed his assault, his attacks as relentless and punishing as ever. You were certain that half your ribs must be broken by now, and half your blood drained in puddles on the floor.

Yet, despite the injuries, you refused to falter. Each time Sukuna's fists or feet connected with your flesh, you pushed past the agony. You danced around, searching for any chance of an opening.

Amidst the flurry of Sukuna's attacks, you managed to land a few well-placed strikes.

Though they were easily deflected, the fact that you could connect with your target was a testament to your progress. No longer were your attacks wild and uncontrolled. Now, they found their way through Sukuna's defenses, if only briefly.

A gleam of fascination sparked in Sukuna's crimson eyes each time you attacked. He delighted in this display of your resilience, reveling in the clash of power and the dance of your growing abilities against his overwhelming might.

You met his gaze, unflinching, your eyes burning with fierce determination. This was no longer a one-sided massacre – it was a battle of wills and resilience.

Slowly but surely, however, the exhilaration of your newfound control and power began to wane, overshadowed by the grave injuries you had endured.

As you were struck down once more, your body refused to obey your commands, unable to push itself back up.

Just as you had resigned yourself to Sukuna's inevitable victory, there was a sudden shift in his focus, no doubt saving you from the final deciding blow. You thanked the gods for it.

The King of Curses nonchalantly crossed his arms, abandoning his defensive stance. His eyes narrowed as he peered over your collapsed form, into the distance.

Before you could turn your head to see what he was peering at, a shift in the atmosphere announced the arrival of two new figures. You felt their strong, malicious presence behind you, accompanied by the echoing sound of approaching footsteps through the open space.

A gleeful, almost childish voice rang out, causing you to turn your head. A slender man with long, disheveled silver hair and mismatched eyes – one dark blue, the other grey – approached you enthusiastically. His pale, stitched and patch-like skin gave him an unsettling, eerie presence.

"Sukuna! Is that her? Can I see?" he exclaimed, his voice brimming with twisted excitement.

Beside him stood a monstrous-looking creature with a single eye, his head shaped like a volcano and his body covered in rocky, molten skin. The creature raised his hand, greeting Sukuna with a respectful, almost deferential gesture.

Sukuna's voice rang out, laced with clear annoyance. "Mahito. Jogo. You're interrupting," he growled, his deep red eyes narrowing dangerously.

You watched the exchange, struggling to make sense of the shifting dynamics. It was clear that these two were not mere sorcerers – they radiated a similar, oppressive presence to Sukuna, leading you to suspect they were cursed spirits, no doubt immensely powerful.

"Ah, sorry," Mahito said, waving his hands dismissively. "Didn't mean to disturb you when you were just having fun. Seems like you messed her up pretty badly," he added, the gleeful tone in his voice contradicting his words.

As the two newcomers approached, Mahito now stood merely a foot away from you, his eyes scanning you with unsettling intensity. "Woah, what an interesting soul, so full of fury," he cackled.

Sukuna, however, seemed visibly bothered by Mahito's proximity to you. He didn't like it when others played with his toys. He shot a warning glance at Mahito, causing him to grin and back away slightly.

Sukuna's crimson eyes narrowed as he fixed his gaze on Mahito and Jogo, his voice laced with irritation. "Speak up. What is it?" he demanded. "It better be worth my precious time."

Jogo, the monstrous figure with the volcanic head, stepped forward, his single eye gleaming with confidence. "I'm sure it will be very well worth your interest, Sukuna," he said, his words measured and respectful.

Jogo proceeded to explain that word had spread of Gojo Satoru and three of his first-year students being deployed to investigate the sudden disappearance of a 22-year-old sorcerer from Jujutsu High.

Sukuna's expression darkened, a clear indication that this news had indeed piqued his interest. Gojo Satoru was a formidable opponent, one that even the King of Curses would have to tread carefully around. Sukuna was confident, but not foolish.

"Hmph, so that man and his brats are on the move," Sukuna mused, "Well, I've already taken the necessary precautions. They won't be interfering with my plans."

His lips curled into a sardonic smile as he addressed Jogo and Mahito. "You've seen the barrier, have you not?" he asked, a hint of smugness in his voice.

He then explained the intricate barrier he had erected around the building – a maze-like structure designed to keep out all jujutsu sorcerers.

While the barrier itself was not particularly strong in terms of raw power, its true strength lay in its ability to conceal the path in, making it nearly impossible to breach for those unfamiliar with the layout.

Jogo and Mahito seemed satisfied with his answer. As cursed spirits, Sukuna had made sure that they were not hindered by the barrier, but they could still appreciate its complexities. "It should at least be enough to grant us the time we need," Jogo agreed whilst nodding.

Then Jogo inquired about Sukuna's progress. "So, have you managed to break the girl yet? Did you close a pact?"

Sukuna cackled deviously, his eyes glinting with twisted amusement. "Turns out she's quite the feisty one..." he mused, his voice taking on a dangerously low and threatening tone. "But don't worry, it won't be long."

The brief respite you had experienced during your power-high in the battle had made you momentarily forget the grim prospect.

The realization that you needed to become strong enough to overpower him, or at least escape, fast, filled you with a renewed sense of urgency. The reality of your situation loomed over you, a stark reminder of the dire stakes at play.

Jogo, who had remained relatively calm up until this moment, suddenly revealed a more sinister side to his nature. A grin stretched across his face, and his volcanic-like head began to emit steam, filling the room with an oppresive heat in an instant.

"You know, I could always lend a hand," Jogo drawled, in his voice a certain eagerness. "I'm confident I can crush her," he added, his hands twitching with the apparent desire to unleash his power upon you.

Mahito, not wanting to be left out, chimed in, pouting slightly. "Me too! Bending and twisting her up, the pain would surely break her," he mused, his eyes glinting with a disturbing excitement.

You watched in disgust as these three powerful entities casually discussed the prospect of torturing you, their callous words sending a shiver of revulsion through your body.

However, Sukuna swiftly intervened, a cunning smile curling his lips. "I'm afraid you two will have to miss out on the fun," he said, with a possessive edge. "This woman is mine to break."

Sukuna approached you in a slow, threatening manner, kneeling down to level himself with your height. "Sorry, little sorcerer," he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "We still have some other business to discuss, so let's get you back to sleep."

Without warning, he pressed his finger against your forehead with a force that felt as if he was intruding into the very center of your mind. The sensation was overwhelming, and as the darkness began to consume you for the third time in just over a day, your body went limp, crumpling to the floor.

Sukuna then turned his attention to Mahito and Jogo, his voice authoritative. "The information I requested? You have it?"

Jogo nodded, a satisfied expression on his face as he handed a scroll to Sukuna.

The King of Curses carefully unrolled the parchment, his eyes scanning the contents. Halfway through, a devious grin spread across his face, and he erupted into a fit of laughter.

"Hah...Ahaha... This is perfect!" Sukuna exclaimed, his voice brimming with malicious glee. "This will break her for sure."

Mahito, seemingly delighted by Sukuna's reaction, joined in on the laughter. "Right?" he chimed, with a twisted excitement.

Meanwhile at Tokyo Jujutsu High

"So! Everyone! Listen up!" Gojo announced with a gleeful tone, his voice carrying a hint of mischief.

Itadori, Nobara, and Megumi stood before him, their expressions ranging from curious to skeptical.

Gojo's trademark blindfold hid his eyes, but his grin was unmistakable. "We've got an interesting case today," he began, his excitement palpable."

"Yesterday, the teachers discovered that our new first-year student has gone missing from her dorm room. The room showed visible signs of a struggle – trashed sheets, large cracks and bloodstains on the walls, and faint traces of cursed energy."

He paused for dramatic effect, allowing the gravity of the situation to sink in. "Upon further investigation, the traces of cursed energy were shockingly revealed to be from Ryomen Sukuna."

Itadori's eyes widened, whilst Nobara frowned, her face hardening in determination. Megumi's expression remained stoic, but his fists clenched subtly at his sides.

"Now," Gojo continued, his voice lightening, "normally, first-year students wouldn't be sent on a mission involving a powerful entity like Sukuna. But since the mission's only purpose is to locate your fellow student and we do not intend to engage in battle, it was permitted as long as I joined. Isn't that amazing?"

A shy-looking assistant with glasses stood behind Gojo, his hand grasping at his arm. He looked down and interjected softly, "Also, we are severely understaffed." He pouted slightly.

"Ijichi! I told you not to say that. You might scare them," Gojo scolded, though his tone was more playful than reprimanding. Nonetheless Ijichi flinched a little, swiftly apologizing.

Nobara stepped forward, her eyes blazing with confidence. "I'm not scared at all. King of Curses, my ass," she declared proudly, her hands on her hips and her chest puffed out.

Itadori scratched his head, a nervous chuckle escaping him. "Uhm, maybe I'm a little scared," he admitted, trying to laugh it off. But he was more determined than anyone to save his fellow classmate.

Megumi shrugged his shoulders, his usual calm demeanor unchanged. "Let's just find her," he said quietly, his eyes reflecting a steely resolve.

Gojo clapped his hands together, his enthusiasm undeterred. "That's the spirit! We'll head out immediately. Remember, the priority is to locate her and avoid any unnecessary confrontations. Ijichi will provide the transportation, and I'll ensure we stay safe."

As they prepared to depart, Gojo's demeanor shifted slightly, as his tone turned serious. "One last thing. If we do encounter Sukuna, do not engage. Just run. Your lives are more important than anything else. Understood?"

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Thanks for reading and see you at the next chapter!

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Taglist: @sukunasthightattoos, @tomiokasecretlover, @6demonize6me6

[scrapsovereign]

That One Time I Got Kidnapped By An Evil Vampire Lord Ch. 9

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57838303/chapters/151278898

Summary:

Mac has an unexpected visitor with an unexpected message. She learns more about Astarion's mysterious past and receives an intriguing offer.

Pairings: past Ascended Astarion x Evil male!Tav, Ascended Astarion x Original Female Character

Trigger warnings/Tags: DnD in-universe racism, Self-gaslighting, Astarion's past trauma (heavily redacted for manipulating his target aka Mackenzie), Possessive Astarion

A blanket of fog covers the peninsula that makes up the neighborhood of West Seattle, the sleepy mist muting the vivid colors of late summer. Mackenzie breathes in and can almost taste the crispness of fall in the air alongside the onshore flow. She makes her way mindlessly through the backstreets that lace around the hem of Beach Drive, finding herself standing in her grandparent’s driveway.

She raises her head to gaze at the eaves of the slate blue 1920s style bungalow house.

Mackenzie knows then she must be dreaming. Developers had torn down her grandparents’ home years ago to make room for a neat row of townhomes. 

Tracing a curious hand over the freshly warmed hood of her grandfather’s forest green 1993 Ford Ranger, she registers a tune floating from the detached garage she hasn’t heard in a very, very long time. 

“Ohhhh~! 

Gja’vok farurm sjolmz 

Heth’fjad vothlag kvinnr 

oz sjolm krenl th’ras vothlagr!

oz sjolm krenl th’ras vothlagr!

oz sjolm krenl th’ras vothlagr! Hei!”

“Gramps?”

The thinning snow and copper hair belonging to her grandfather shoots up from the floor of his hand-restored wooden Chris-Craft boat, grinning from ear to ear.

“Mi aeling! Just in time to help get the daily catch to the greenhouse!”

Mackenzie shudders, his nickname for her doing nothing to soften the blow of his request. Of all the bonding activities her subconscious had chosen, why did it have to be cleaning the fish in the greenhouse sink?

“You could turn over the compost instead,” he lilts with his heavy Scandinavian accent, erupting with a good-natured laugh when Mackenzie visibly gags at the suggestion.

“That obvious, huh?” She wonders, holding her arms up to assist with lowering the cooler containing the mystery seafood.

“I remember you making a similar face the last time we were out on the water together,” he admonishes a crooked and stubby, calloused finger at her. “Glad we went when we did. Your grandmother left us shortly after that, and I couldn’t help but follow.”

Mackenzie’s arms flop to the side as her strength drains away with her color. How many years has it been since they’d passed away, fifteen? Twenty?

“I bet you’re old enough to have a beer with me this time, eh?” He asks with a soft voice and a wry, cheeky wink. “I’d make you a Manhattan, but we don’t have enough time to enjoy one.” 

“Beer really isn’t my thing,” Mackenzie explains, only to be shushed by her grandfather.

“Keep it down, I don’t want your grandmother knowing I’m drinking with you. Here- catch!” he launches a white, gold, and red can into the air with a whistle. It arcs above her and she hops back a couple of paces, just barely catching the ice cold projectile in her hands.

Mackenzie cracks the can open with visible distaste and takes a polite sip while her grandfather rips the aluminum tab open and guzzles it down. He crushes the empty can against his head and tosses it overboard, cheering for himself when it lands in the recycling bin. 

“And that’s how I passed my try-out for the Seattle Supersonics,” he guffaws at himself, his boisterous glee quieting when he doesn’t hear Mackenzie laughing with him.

“Copper for your thoughts, child?” He asks softly as he opens up another can of the bitter, pale beer, taking a noisy sip to punctuate his question.

“I have so many questions, and none of the words to ask them.”

He leans out the side of the boat with an arm made of corded muscle, gazing down at her with amusement. 

“I’ve got some! How’s: I’d like to see the look on that knife-eared prick’s face when he finds out yer heritage after playing 'hide-the-pickaxe' with you?” 

Mackenzie had chosen the wrong time to give the vile drink another go. She coats the ground in front of her with a sputtering spray of beer, shocked by his boldness. Her grandfather chuckles, using the moment to drag the cooler closer to the rudder while she gathers her thoughts. His stocky frame climbs down the metal boat’s ladder and grasps at the cooler’s handles, jerking it towards him with a wheezing grunt.

“Knife-eared? As in pointy ears? They look like mine, Gramps-“

Her grandfather plops the cooler down in front of him, wiping his forehead with the front hem of his grey, ratty Boeing 737 tee shirt. 

“Mi aeling. By the hammer. You saw them this morning, didn’t you?” He crosses his arms, arching a bushy eyebrow as high as she’d ever seen it go.

“Yeah, actually I did…” She mirrors his pose, stroking her chin in sync with how his stubby fingers pet the wiry fibers of his beard. 

“And you saw them out of the corner of your eye…didn’t you?” He prompts her, his eyes gleaming with warmth.

Mac shakes her index finger at him. “Well, now that you mention it…”

He steps over the cooler with an “uff-da”, bending her index finger into a curve with his perma-dirt stained hands.

“There you go. Never want to point directly at someone, lest you be pointed at in return,” he mutters softly. He embraces tightly around her middle, squeezing her with a pressure that pops her back.

“Pay attention to the thin times and places. They reveal what is concealed. Where the elements meet, such as the earth and the sea. Transitions, like the rising and setting of the sun,” he lists somberly in a voice that doesn’t sound like his, pulling away to look up at her with his kind, laughter-etched face. 

“Hmm. You’re taller than I remember,” he grouses, comparing their heights with the flat of his hand. He grunts when his measurement reveals Mac to be a full head higher than him, narrowing his eyes as the gears turn over in his head. “You’ll have to duck when the time comes. It’s the only thing I’ll make you promise.”

Mackenzie is so lost. “Gramps, what on earth are you talking about?”

“Not what, WHOM,” he clarifies for her, scratching at his beard. “Mi aeling, all the gold in Fort Knox couldn’t prepare you for what’s going to happen tonight.”

He tsks, shaking his head. “And could you believe your guardian spirits were going to sit with their thumbs up their incorporeal asses?! Bunch of lazy stiffs, leaving it to ‘ole Torben Eriksson to do their damned jobs for them.”

Mackenzie’s mouth tries out different shapes as she shuffles through her useless brain, searching for the right question to pry him for answers.

“In case you’re wondering, it’s not your new beau,” he sighs, his eyes flickering up to the wooden beams of the garage coated in cobwebs. “I couldn’t tell you to keep your mitts off that prancing, plank-shaped ninny if I tried. I don’t get why you’d want to get tangled up with that in the sheets, and I suppose I don’t have to.”

“After all, you’re a grown woman now!” he reminds her with a grin and a waggle of his eyebrows, “Free to make your own mistakes…”

West Seattle, Washington 

Friday, August 25th

7:15 PM

Mackenzie startles awake with a gasping breath, the sheen of sweat that coats her brow feeling cool in the evening breeze. The world spins around her as she sits up to lean on her elbows, her pulse rattling the bones that cage her pounding heart. She slows her breathing, her dizziness and ringing ears subsiding as she eases back into consciousness.

“Are you quite alright, darling?” 

Mackenzie feels Astarion’s cool hands rubbing reassuring circles on the small of her back. 

“I…think so?” She sits up to face him, her breath almost stolen by how handsome he is, illuminated in shades of gold against the azure blue sky. “I had a dream about my gramps and he was real candid about his feelings towards the end, there.”

Astarion’s brow furrows in concern. “Do you have these…’dreams’ often?”

Mac shakes her head, looking out towards the red ball of light beginning to set over the horizon. “No, they aren’t as vivid or self-aware. Truth be told, I’m a little freaked out by it.”

”I can’t believe it’s already sunset. How long have I been out?” Mac yawns, politely excusing herself for doing so.

“Mmm…a few hours, give or take,” he muses, looking off to the side as he recounts the passage of time on his elegant fingers.

“Oh. Oh my goodness. I’m sorry for falling asleep on you. I didn’t mean to just pass out. I hope you weren’t bored,” she apologizes, feeling a pang of guilt for having left him to his own devices for so long. 

Ari would have expected her to remain awake and ready to serve his needs, no matter how badly her body needed rest. Her therapist would tell her this was called ‘hypervigilance’ and ultimately contributed towards more fatigue later on. Mac always figured that was a problem for her future self. Current Mac had to survive the day, no matter the cost. 

“Hush now, my sweet. I’m not surprised. You’re likely exhausted from how much we’ve exerted ourselves,” Astarion reaches out to Mac, gathering her in his arms. She relaxes against him with a contented sigh, listening to the slow beating of his heart intermingled with the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. 

Astarion brandishes Amanda’s dog-eared copy of A Court of Thorns and Roses in front of them before setting it back down on his lap. “I had plenty of entertainment to occupy my time whilst you slumbered so peacefully.”

Mackenzie’s stomach feels like it might turn inside out from shame. “Oh. Oh no, oh God. You found the faerie smut.”

Astarion’s chuckle rumbles in his chest, his lips pressing a kiss to her temple. “If you’re embarrassed, don’t be. It’s an interesting little read. Not my usual fare, but still amusing nonetheless.”

“If you finished it, don’t spoil it for me. I haven’t gotten very far, I’ve only read the first few chapters. Not because I don’t want to read more. I don’t want to see the story progress,” she opens the re-usable shopping tote she’d used as a beach bag, shoving the novel down to the very bottom.

“And why would that be?” Astarion tilts his head in curiosity, watching Mackenzie busy herself with packing away their things.

Mac stops to consider his question, her eyes meeting his when she finds the words a beat later. “I don’t want my delusions shattered. She goes from barely making ends meet, starving and struggling to care for her family to living a life of luxury. She has no responsibilities aside from showing up for dinner.”

“Does that sort of lifestyle sound appealing to you?” Astarion turns on to his side to face her, leaning on his elbow against a massive driftwood log.

Mac snorts out a noise of agreement, nodding her head enthusiastically. “Oh yeah. I’d love being a fae prince’s consort. Who wouldn’t want to wear pretty dresses and paint all day? But alas, we live in a late capitalist, dystopian hellscape and let’s be real here: nobody in their right mind would want me as a trophy wife.”

Mac holds the moment between them in uncomfortable silence, waiting for Astarion to respond to her self-deprecating humor with anything but staunch disapproval. When she realizes he wouldn’t deign her with a reply, she changes the subject. 

“Anyways. Sorry for passing out super hard when you started petting my hair after we ate lunch. I’ve never felt more relaxed in my life. You make me feel really comfortable, and you’re pretty good at that,” Mac puts her hand on his thigh, feeling the captured heat of the sun on the fine, lightweight woolen fabric. “That being…uhm. It’s like you know exactly how to touch me.”

“It isn’t difficult, if you know what to pay attention to. Gods, I’ve had more than enough practice,” He scoffs with a flourish of his hand.

“You…have? Oh,” Mac stammers, her mouth going dry. She sneaks a sideways look at him, his mention of having had other lovers making her feel uncomfortable in her own skin. He tries to take her hand in his, but she wriggles out of his grasp, perching atop the driftwood log he leans against.

“I suppose that sounds awful without context,” He solicits, holding up an open palm. 

“Context? As in your past?” She narrows her eyes with her inquiry. 

“Precisely. After all, it’s only fair that I show you mine after you’ve entrusted me with yours,” he winks at her after muttering his entendre, joining her on top of her driftwood bench.

Astarion breathes in deeply through his nose, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Shortly after I graduated from law school, I served as a magistrate. One evening, on my return home, a group of vagrants assaulted me. They’d taken issue with a ruling I made, beating me within an inch of my life.”

Mac turns to face him in open-mouthed alarm, noticing the far-away look in his eyes as he begins his tale.

This isn’t at all how she’d expected his explanation to start.

“That’s when…he showed up,” Astarion continues, the muscles of his jaw tensing at the mention of the unnamed man. “I told him I wanted to live, and he saved me. In the years to follow, I would spend every minute wishing he hadn’t.”

“After that fateful night, he enslaved me, along with six others. I would go out into the streets every night at his command to bring him the most beautiful souls I could find, playing the part of the whore, the rake. Lure them into coming back to his estate where I would…’entertain’ them until he appeared,” he sneers, his body going rigid. 

Regretting her jealousy, Mac connects the dots of why he’s so talented at making her feel good as his truth is revealed. She had felt his arm gradually stiffen, recognizing the guarding of his muscles as he recounted his past. She does what she feels would comfort her the most by leaning into his sideways embrace, nestling her head against his shoulder. 

“I attempted to escape only once. It wasn’t successful- shocking, I know. He found me before I could leave, and I…I was locked away by myself for a year. And that’s hardly the worst of it,” Astarion shudders, horrors unspoken replaying behind his haunted eyes.

“How did you get out?” Mackenzie boldly places her hand on his forearm, stroking the rough spun fibers of his shirt with her thumb. 

Astarion smiles at her touch. “I, along with several other individuals selected seemingly at random, were abducted by a cult and transported together. Chaos ensued onboard, and we crash landed hundreds of miles away from proper civilization. Making our way back to where we were taken was a challenge, but when we arrived back in the city, our merry band of weirdos successfully dismantled the cult.”

Mac shuffles closer to Astarion. “Did your abuser try anything when you got back in town?”

“He most certainly did. And oh, he paid dearly for it,” Astarion savors the memory as he drawls out the words slowly.

“What happened to him? He’s not still after you, is he?”

Astarion snorts. “Heavens no, he’s long gone. When they found his will after his death, I had been named to inherit it all. His estate, fortunes, lands, and his title. You could say all’s well that ends…not as bad as it could have.”

Mac stiffens, pulling away to look into his eyes, seeking the truth. “Wait a minute. Did you say lands and title? As in you’re…a lord? Like an actual landed noble?”

“Indeed. I am Lord Astarion Ancunin. Pleased to meet your acquaintance, darling,” He raises Mackenzie’s hand to his lips, peering up at her with eyes that sparkle like rare jewels in the waning light.

“Holy shit,” Mac whispers to herself, a line of red rising up her neck. “Yeah, uh…pretend that I didn’t say what I said earlier. You know, the thing about living a life where a hot fae prince just takes care of me and I wouldn’t want for nothing? Oh, fucking hell…”

“Are you not allowed to daydream? I too used to wish a handsome prince would appear out of nowhere and sweep me off my feet,” he murmurs to her, nudging his head against hers like a cat marking its territory. 

Mackenzie notes how affectionate they’ve been with each other, feeling a catch in her throat when she realizes at this time tomorrow she’ll be alone. Her time together with Astarion has an expiration date. Her ‘handsome prince’ will be gone at the stroke of midnight, continuing on with his life and she’ll go back to the mess that’s become hers. A bittersweet tear escapes that she quickly wipes away, facing the reality that they’ll have to part ways soon. 

“I…I wish you didn’t have to leave. A single day isn’t much of a sample size, but you’ve been so sweet to me. Nobody has ever treated me so well or been so patient and understanding. I’m not going to forget you. I’m grateful for the time we’ve spent together,” Mac steels herself for their eventual parting, preparing to shift away from him. “I’ve never met anyone who’s like you, and I don’t think I ever will.”

Astarion refuses to let her turn away. He rises, impossible to ignore as he looms above her, his index finger alongside the hinge of her jaw.

“Oh, you sweet thing. I’d already decided on what to do regarding your person, but that about settles it.”

Mac feels her core throb and tighten from his tender gesture. “Settles what?”

“Come back to the Gate with me, Mackenzie,” Astarion pleads as he gets down on one knee before her, taking her hand in his. “I couldn’t bear to depart without you.”

The sun nestles itself in between the far-away Olympic mountains, the last of the day’s light illuminating them in a ruby glow. Mac flinches, her field of vision clouded, overtaken by a torrent of mist surrounding Astarion. Crap, are her eyes dry again? She tightly squeezes them shut, hoping it helps to clear her sight. 

All the air in Mackenzie’s lungs evacuates from the dramatic shift in Astarion’s appearance.

She follows the connection between them with trepidation. Her eyes widen at the replacement of his fine linen shirt with an intricately detailed, opulent ensemble befitting a vampire lord. Her lips go numb as she notices how well the red and black jeweled jacket melds around his muscled frame, how perfectly the rich blood-red silk-velvet cloak around his shoulders drapes around him. 

Mac inhales sharply in awe as her sapphire blues meet his, crimson and aglow with dark, forbidden power. An aura of regal authority emanates from him, rolling off him in waves. Her gaze travels along of the outline of his figure, all the way from the sharp obsidian crown and pointy ears nestled in his silver waves to the painstakingly crafted breeches, ending at his kneecaps nestled in the beach's greige sand.  

The sun fully sets in the distance, disappearing beneath the Sound. The wind picks up then, causing a full body shiver to ripple through her. She closes her eyes in reaction to the breeze, her shoulders temporarily squeezed all the way up to her ears. 

When she opens them again, the vision of the wicked prince on bended knee is gone, replaced by the kind and beautiful man she’d spent the last day with. A dull headache sets in as she recalls something vague, a whisper of a thought about sunsets and where the land meets the sea. 

She ignores it, troubled by the possibility she might need to make a quick trip to the psychiatric urgent care in the morning. It wouldn’t surprise her if she’s at the beginnings of a breakdown from the stress. She’s been through more in the last day than some people experience in a lifetime.

“Come with me. Help me make the ridiculous things we’ve vowed to one another in the heat of passion real. I want you to be mine, and mine alone,” Astarion’s expression darkens with his confession, his voice growing husky at the mention of claiming Mac as his.

“You’re serious,” she thinks aloud, still rattled by her hallucination moments ago.

Astarion’s jaw twitches. “Absolutely. I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

Mackenzie idly wonders if Astarion hit his head while she was passed out earlier today. “You really want this. Me? To go with you? Why?”  

“Because I desire it. That reason alone should suffice,” he clips, becoming visibly irritated with her repeated disbelief.

Mac tries to tug herself away from him, rising swiftly to her feet. Astarion holds her steady in his grip, his eyes tracking her as she moves, watching her silently for a few seconds before he speaks.

“My treasure, is your reluctance in part to believing you are unworthy? You shouldn’t believe the things you tell yourself. They couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Mac sighs softly when Astarion kisses the tops of the hands he holds. “All that aside, I am fully aware of how mad it is of me to ask this of you. It’s terribly short notice, and so soon after you’ve ended things with Ari, but I couldn’t care less. I’m quite taken with you, more so than I expected. My affections for you have grown from a single drop of rain to an entire ocean; to part ways with you now would surely be the ruin of me. Return with me Mackenzie, nothing else would make me happier. Please.”

Mackenzie’s eyes brim with moisture, her earlier misgivings dissolving as she takes in his ethereal beauty in the twilight. Astarion was unaware that his request to come away with him is how she wished Ari had proposed to her- on bended knee at sunset at the most special place in the world to her. 

His tepid hands grip hers, his pleading crimson eyes flit back and forth, searching her flushed face for an answer. 

Well…she has the next few days off. What’s the harm in throwing caution to the wind and seeing where fate takes them?

She nods, a shy smile spreading across her face. Twin tears fall in tandem from eyes colored ultramarine in the early dusk, tracing a crystalline path down her flushed cheeks. 

“Yes. Okay. I’ll go with you.”

[shinyasahalo]

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[keepsdeathhiscourt]

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature (18+ Only)

Story Summary: It's been ten years since Lucie LeMarche last set foot in New Orleans. But when she's forced to return to bury the woman who raised her, she finds herself pulled into the midst of rising supernatural tensions in the city. Entangled in a web of intrigue and seeking answers, Lucie must learn to navigate a powder keg of warring factions, family secrets, and old wounds if she hopes to survive.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Language, Death, Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Family Drama, Gore, Depictions of Violence, Death

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

Chapter 10: The Rebekah Mikaelson Home for Wayward Girls

Elijah dreams. An endless loop of images, fabrications of his unconscious mind that meld with a thousand years of memories into a dizzying blend of joy and agony. But he does not wake. The ash-tipped dagger in his chest ensures it.  

It is far from the first time his brother has imposed this particular punishment, and through each daggering he maintains some shred of himself, enough to understand that he’s asleep—most of the time.

He leans against the base of a pale oak. The dense stand of trees at his back shiver in the breeze, their weighted boughs unburdening themselves of fragrant white blossoms as the birds chirp out the songs of new spring. 

The last snow of a hard winter is behind and the entirety of the village is out to banish away the cold and welcome the coming of the warmer months. 

In a sunny patch, Rebekah settles in the grass with a handful of village girls, her coltish legs stretched out in front of her to work on her offering. She hums sweetly, tongue peeking out in focus as she weaves the choicest of her harvested early blooms into a crown of flowers. 

A shout rings out. Elijah follows the sound with his eyes to a point just beyond, hand hovering over his dagger. He eases when he finds the source. Niklaus pins Kol to the ground, the sound of the younger boy’s outrage being what reached him. Just beyond, Henrik’s head shines like gold in the sun as he watches his brothers spar in a mixture of glee and envy. 

Father and Finn are already hard at work erecting the altar alongside the other men. The task of collecting kindling is assigned to the younger boys. His eyes fall to a discarded pile of twigs beyond his wrestling brothers, duty forgotten. 

He should intervene, coax them back on task, lest they risk provoking Father. His anger has always made Elijah nervous, a feeling that only builds with time. With each passing year, it seems his outbursts are more frequent, ramping up in intensity. He lashes out at all of them save perhaps Henrik, who is still too young to enrage him. But the greatest burden of his rages always, always falls on sensitive, gentle Niklaus. For him, the words are sharper and the blows harder in a way that only grows more disproportionate as his brother edges closer to manhood. Though he would never admit it out loud, lest he injure his adolescent pride, he worries for his brother. 

As if sensing his thoughts, Niklaus lifts his head, strands of long hair mussed from his efforts, and diverts his attention from Kol’s thrashing to meet Elijah’s stare. His lips curl into a triumphant grin, the one that shows his dimples. 

Oh, let them have their fun. For a little longer, at least. Besides, Elijah has his own offering to consider. 

He gives his brother a nod, leaving them in the clearing to delve deeper into the woods. 

The light stretches between the branches. Early afternoon eases past midday. Later, under the full moon, the community will gather to celebrate the spring and leave their gifts for Freyr. 

He’s been tracking the stag for an hour now. The bow grip is rough beneath his calloused palms, his steps light as keen eyes follow the soft imprints of hooves in the brush. 

The pigs, grown fat through the winter, will be sacrificed. But Elijah wants something special to give for reasons beyond religious devotion. Though he’s past the infatuations of adolescence, he is not immune to the desire to impress a maid, especially not a fierce, wild beauty such as Tatia. 

His lips still burn with the memory of kisses stolen in quiet moments between chores and duties. These are memories he squirrels away, to revisit like a hoard of treasure. 

He hopes the stag will be enough to assure the young widow of his ability to provide for her and her child. 

A rustle of movement steals him from thoughts of Tatia. He pivots to the left, bow drawn, and freezes.

There, in a slight clearing between the trees, stands the stag and it is beautiful. The column of its elegant neck strains toward, unaware of his presence as it bellows for its mate. 

Slowly, very slowly, he reaches back to his quiver. His fingers brush through the feathered fletching as he draws an arrow and nocks it. 

He inches forward. A twig snaps. The beast reels its great head around to face him, lovely dark eyes wide and nostrils flaring.

Elijah is not sentimental, not in matters of survival. Yet, he finds himself reluctant to snuff out such a life.

He hesitates.

The stag is about to flee. He sees it in the tensed muscles, the trembling limbs. It forces him to make a snap decision. 

The arrow propels from its rest, sailing forward in a straight arc.

There is a thud as it lands, a wail of pain, the rumble of the creature colliding with the earth. 

And then silence. 

The regret is instant. His hands tremble as he approaches his quarry, his bow discarded somewhere behind him. The creature is still alive, barely. Its chest heaves with the strain of its final breaths. Half tangled in the brush, it thrashes feebly to free itself. He approaches it with a cautious reverence, determined to ease its final moments. 

The hide is wiry to the touch as he sets a hand to its ribs, murmuring soothing, senseless sounds. With his other, he untangles its legs. He strokes it a few times in reassurance, avoiding its wide eyes as he unsheathes his dagger. The creature settles beneath his ministrations, movements becoming less frantic. He continues to soothe the beast, careful in his motions lest it catch a glimpse of iron. He steadies himself with a cycle of breaths. The dagger rises, and he thanks the stag for its life and nature for the gift, just as his mother had taught him. 

Elijah exhales. The blade strikes true. Straight to the heart, death is immediate.

But something happens the second he hits his mark. Beneath the dagger, the beast transforms. Hooves and haunches yield to long legs and fur to thick, dark hair matted with blood. 

Desperate and frightened, he turns it over onto its back. He cannot contain the cry of horror, of grief, as he stares into Tatia’s dark, sightless eyes. 

What has he done?

Trapped in the recesses of his mind, there is nothing to do but weep and wait for this dream to end and the next to begin.

____

It’s a fourteen-hour drive from Mystic Falls to New Orleans. When she isn’t flipping through radio stations, Rebekah spends most of the trip trying and failing to stay out of her own head. 

For the first couple of hours, her thoughts are cotton candy sweet. Memories of sunset kisses in Rome and sipping expensive champagne in Paris as she stares into Matt Donovan’s baby blue eyes. She never expected to like him as much as she does, but something about his self-effacing, small-town quarterback charm has allowed him to worm his way into her affections. 

It’s a dangerous place to be if she’s being honest with herself—something she’s been working very hard on lately. Despite all of Niklaus’ jabs, she is well aware of her tendency to dive blindly into love. And it would be so easy to let herself fall in love with Matt Donovan.

She also knows that her love interests tend to end up dead. While Matt has many good qualities, durability is not one of them. 

That’s why, somewhere in Arkansas, she resigns herself to letting him go, to accepting their European tryst as a passing fancy. Painful, but better for them both in the long term.

Beyond an aching heart and an unfortunate confrontation with some vulgar nightwalkers in a backwater dive bar, she reaches the outskirts of New Orleans with relative ease. 

She fiddles with the dial, settling on a classic rock station. Not her favorite, but the only thing coming through without static in this part of the state. In the convertible’s rearview mirror, she dabs a finger to her cheek, determined to clean off the blood before it dries into a disgusting crust. 

Each mile that brings her closer to the city forces her to confront her growing anxiety.

It’s been weeks since she’s heard from Elijah. Some amount of distance between her and her siblings is normal. When tallying time in the centuries, it’s not unheard of to go months without contact. Yet something about this stretch of silence seems off. One day, Elijah has been proselytizing about the baby as a chance at redemption for them all and trying to convince her to join his latest crusade for Niklaus’ soul. Then…nothing. 

If the abrupt drop off in communication is strange, his refusal to answer any of her calls over the last two weeks is damning. 

The headlights catch the trees as she turns onto the unpaved back road, their trunks made skeletal by the beams. 

She sighs. 

Though she would rather die than say it out loud, she’s worried about Nik too. She knows him too well to believe he’s as indifferent to his new situation as he would have her believe—not her mercurial, sensitive brother who lashes out when things get tough and turns to violence instead of dealing with the deep well that is his emotions. All she can hope is that whatever outburst he’d chosen to vent upon Elijah, it’s something they can come back from. 

The tires crunch against the dirt as she urges the car to a stop. The white doric columns frame the mansion, adding to its imposing aura. She’s out in an instant, the red door closing behind her with a slam as she tries to call Elijah one more time.

She gets his voicemail. Again. 

“Elijah, if not answering your phone is part of your clever plan to get me back to this godforsaken city, then well done.” She uses the irritation to propel her towards the door. It makes it easier to forget where she is. “I’m here, and I’m worried. Now pick up before I kick in your bloody door.”

Her heels echo against the front steps. She doesn’t bother with the doorbell. It’s not like she needs to be invited in. 

The foyer is just as she remembers, even at first glance. Her eyes graze over the intricate white panels, the priceless runner, the carved stair railing—

“Who the hell are you?” 

She checks at a woman coming down the stairs. Her dark hair hangs in a curtain just past her shoulders, her brow arched in question over hazel eyes. 

“Oh, you must be the maid. My bags are in the car—get them, will you?”

The woman’s plump, bowed lips curl into a wry smile. Rebekah barely registers the fire iron in her hand until she sets it down. 

“Hello,” she says. “Not the maid.”

Recollection stirs. She’s seen her face before. 

“Right. You’re that werewolf girl my brother, Klaus, knocked up,” she replies, rocking back on her heels. Her eyes rake over the woman’s slim frame, curiosity getting the better of her. “I was expecting to see some kind of supernatural miracle baby bump. Guess you’re not showing yet. It’s Hayley, isn’t it?”

“You have your brother’s manners.”

“And his temper, too, so watch it,” she fires back. Exchanging cuts with the wolf girl is all well and good, but she’s been on the road for a day straight and her patience is wearing thin. “Where’s Elijah?”

She cranes her neck, straining to survey the landing at the top of the stairs, down the long hall in front of her, as if she might glimpse him. 

“Beats me. He’s long gone.”

Rebekah’s focus snaps back to the wolf girl. “What do you mean, ‘long gone’?”

Hayley shrugs. 

“Well, one minute he was here making epic promises about protecting me in this predicament that a bottle of scotch and some bad decisions got me into—he was all poetic about how we’re family—and then Klaus told me he bailed. Guess that’s what I get for trusting a vampire.”

Though it only confirms what she already suspects, dread sinks in all the same. Whatever happened to Elijah, Nik is behind it. 

“Elijah is not just any vampire, and he doesn’t break promises.” Defensiveness creeps into her tone. It’s not Hayley’s fault, not really. There’s no way she could know how wildly out of character his disappearance is, but it feels better to vent her worry somewhere. She exhales, “Which means Niklaus has done something dastardly and Klaus-like. 

Hayley comes down a few more steps, looking perplexed. Rebekah pays her no mind. She has a bone to pick with her brother. 

“KLAUS! Get out here and tell me what you’ve done with our brother, you narcissistic, back-stabbing wanker!”

The doors at the end of the hallway swing open. Somewhere overhead, the floorboards creak. But Rebekah has no time to consider because at that moment the object of her anger steps out into the hall. 

“Enough with all the shouting,” he says reproachfully. Then he stops, seeming to register her presence for the first time. “Little sister, I should have known. I assume the six dead vampires were your doing?”

“They were very rude,” she sniffs. “Trying to victimize a poor, innocent girl just trying to find her way to the Quarter. So sorry, were they friends of yours? Oh, that’s right, you don’t have any friends.”

“I do have friends.” In any other situation, the defensiveness in his voice would have been amusing. Right now, it’s infuriating. “I have Marcel. You remember him, don’t you? Yes, of course you do. He fancies himself the ‘King of the Quarter’ now, and he has these rules about killing vampires. It’ll be fun to see what sort of punishment he comes up with for you.”

“I don’t care about Marcel or his rules,” she snaps and ignores the way her stomach swoops into the floor. “Elijah doesn’t welch on deals. What did you do to him?”

“Perhaps he’s on holiday... or taking a long autumn nap upstairs. Well, go on. Take a look around.” She wants nothing more than to rake her nails across his smug face. She opts for a storm-off instead. “You remember this house as well as I.”

She freezes, turning to face him. Her voice is low and full of venom when she says, “I remember everything.”

The siblings lock eyes, blue on blue, stuck in a silent stand-off. 

The stairs groan. Her head snaps towards the noise, breaking the tension. 

Near the top of the stairs, Rebekah finds another young woman, watching her from the railing. 

“Oh, for the love of — Are we running a boarding house now, Nik?” she cries, throwing her hands up. “Who the bloody hell are you?” 

“Rebekah, meet Lucie,” Niklaus says, with that damned smirk of his. “I’d suggest you play, nice. You never know when you may be in need of her services.”

“'Services?' — Ew!” she cries out, feeling ill. “A prostitute, Nik? Really?”

“Excuse me?” 

She ignores her brother’s restrained delight for the woman at the top of the stairs. 

Her eyes are narrowed, glaring daggers down at her. She’s a little slip of a thing, slight even at this distance. But she doesn’t flinch when Rebekah levels her with a withering look of her own, only tightens her grip on the banister. 

Brave, but stupid. Oh, well. She’ll be easy enough to humble. 

Before the situation can escalate, Niklaus interjects, “Easy now, sister. Lucie is a witch. She’s graciously agreed to assist us.” 

A witch? Rebekah’s nose crinkles in distaste. Lovely.

She looks from the girl to Niklaus and back again, suspicious.

Where in the hell had he found this one?

It takes only a cursory glance to know she’s not Niklaus’ type. Dark-haired, where Nik leans to blondes. Though she supposes that didn’t stop him from knocking around with the wolf girl. Rebekah shudders despite herself and turns her attention back to the witch, eager to move away from the topic of her brother’s sex life.  

Her hair is swept up into a ponytail that falls in a wave of messy curls over her shoulder. Large brown eyes stare at her from a heart-shaped face. Her posture is rigid, but Rebekah senses something softer behind it, an aura that all but screams ‘save me’—

Rebekah rolls her eyes. 

Elijah. 

She should have known. Her older brother is nothing if not predictable. She only wonders how long after meeting the twit he’d waited before charging in to play knight in shining armor. 

She resists the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. Here she is with one brother missing and the other inexplicably in possession of a familiar pregnant werewolf and a less familiar temperamental witch. She has no idea what’s going on. 

It’s all very annoying, but she supposes she should count her blessings. It could be worse; she could be staring down yet another simpering doppelgänger. Rebekah nearly snorts. God knows she’s seen enough of Tatia’s face to last ten more lifetimes. 

“Congrats on the collection of supernatural captives, Nik. You almost have a full set. Now where is Elijah?”

Her brother isn’t listening. She stamps down her impotent fury as he sails past her and towards the door, typing on his phone. 

“Where are you going?”

“It appears the night is not quite over yet,” he explains, not bothering to look as he grabs his keys. “I’m off for another drink with Marcel.”

“Elijah told me about your plan to take apart Marcel’s empire piece by piece. I don’t remember it involving you two drinking New Orleans dry together.”

That gets his attention, she notes with satisfaction. It’s short-lived. The look on his face as he turns to her warns her he’s about to say something rude. 

“I know you don’t have many friends, Rebekah, but what some friends do when they get together is they drink,” he says, dripping with condescension. “And when they drink, they tell secrets. Marcel has somehow found a way to control the entirety of witches in the Quarter, and I aim to uncover the ‘how’ so I might take it for myself. Finding Elijah didn’t make my to-do list today.”

With that, he turns and leaves, the door closing behind him. But not before adding, “Oh, and welcome home, little sister.”

Well, she was right. That was very rude. And she’s no closer to finding Elijah than when she got here.

She sighs, rounding on the two women staring from the stairs. 

“You,” she calls up to the witch, who’s making her way down the stairs. “What did the locator spell tell you?”

She halts her descent. “Locator spell?”

“You mean to tell me you haven’t even tried one yet?”

“I didn’t—I…thought he left.”

Perfect, just perfect.

“Must I do everything by myself?” Rebekah groans. At least the girl has the good sense to look sheepish. “Wolf girl, I’m going to search this house inch by inch until I find what my evil brother has done to my good one. You’re helping. You too, witch. Come on.”

Something in her tone works because the other women fall in line behind as she leads them deeper into the house and towards the winding staircase that leads to the cellar. 

She pauses, hand on the doorknob, and turns to the witch girl as if something had just occurred to her. “You’re not pregnant too, are you?”

It’s a joke—sort of. She fights a smile as she’s rewarded with a look of abject horror. 

____

“This home once belonged to the governor. He had lots of secret rooms. I’ll show you his favorite,” she explains as they arrive in the middle of a dank cellar room. Cobwebs line the walls, only adding to the musty, morbid atmosphere.

She hears a gasp over her shoulder. While she isn’t sure which girl it comes from, she knows what they’ve found.

“Are these…coffins?” Lucie asks, incredulous at the same time Hayley says: “You think Klaus killed him.”

Rebekah sighs, rubbing away the dust tickling her nose as she roots about near the caskets. 

“We can’t be killed, silly girl. That doesn’t stop Klaus from finding ways to torture us. He has a set of mystical silver daggers. One in the heart sends us into a deep slumber. Klaus gets his jollies from keeping us in a box until he decides to pull the dagger out. That must be what he’s done to Elijah.” She pauses in front of a black box near the middle. “This one’s mine.”

In the corner of her eye, she spots Lucie poking around by a few of the other coffins as if she wants to peek in but is simultaneously repulsed by the idea. 

Hayley sidles up to her. “He keeps your coffin on standby?”

“He likes to be prepared for when his family members inevitably disappoint him. Elijah’s isn’t here—he must’ve stashed him elsewhere.”

Lucie joins them, arms crossed over her chest. They’re close together like some strange sort of team huddle. 

Even in the dark, Hayley looks green. “I feel sick.”

Never prone to coddling, Rebekah says, “Welcome to the family, love. You should’ve run the second you realized Elijah was gone.”

“Yeah, well, the witches have put some sort of hex on me. As long as I’m carrying this baby, I can’t leave New Orleans. If I do, they kill me.”

“Well, knowing Klaus, he’s planning a box for you the second you give birth to whatever’s cooking in your tum. And you,” she turns to the other girl, “You should make yourself scarce the first chance you get. I’m not sure how well you know your history, but witches don’t fare well where my family is involved.”

They’re both watching her anxiously. She avoids their eyes. While Rebekah isn’t without sympathy, it’s best not to get attached. “I’m leaving as soon as I find Elijah. Being daggered in a box for decades sucks, trust me. You both need to get out of here as soon as you can.

“You, witch. Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“To the attic. You’re going to try a locator spell.” 

Welcome to the Rebekah Mikaelson Home for Wayward Girls, she thinks bitterly as she leads them both back up the stairs.