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heich0e · 1 year ago

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THE WITCH'S SONG - part one knight!osamu/witch!reader tags: fem!reader, royalty!au, supernatural!au, witchcraft, enemies to lovers, mentions of violence/illness/death, persecution and oppression, tw blood, please read the tags on each chapter as updated and minors do not interact. crossposted to ao3 MASTERLIST

The night air is sweet.

It’s still early summer, where the days are warm and bright before giving way to cool evenings, and the smell spring unfurled with its budding leaves continues to linger long after the sun sets. The aroma is fresh and green, not yet turned to the heady fragrance of singed grass and warmed earth which will slowly seep in as the days grow longer and the sun ever-brighter overhead.

There’s something captivating about this time of year; not quite the lush, blooming spring, nor the scorching, unforgiving summer, but a deliriously pleasant in-between that keeps the best of both.

On a tall hill, overlooking the rocky coast and a quiet village in the distance, sits a small stone cottage. Ivy crawls along the rows of uneven bricks that give the home its shape, having long settled and slanted in the time since it was built, each vine curling in long stems around four-pane windows and up towards the thatched roof.

In front of the house sits a garden, full of every plant anyone could possibly desire to find in the given climate; vegetables, fruits and unusual herbs abound. The rich earth that surrounds the cottage is fertile and generous—with a careful hand to till and tend it, there’s little it can't sprout. The gardens are still not quite at their peak for the season, the plants low to the ground but flourishing as they patiently wait for a few more sun-filled days to truly blossom into their prime.

Along the western side of the property, nearest to the towering forest’s edge, sits a greenhouse connected to a shabby little shed that greatly resembles the cottage in its quaint, unassuming construction. It’s there, in the dead of this cool summer night, that you—the owner of the cottage—toil.

Your fingers hold a glass vial over a small open flame atop the work station with a set of silver pincers. Your keen, well-trained eyes watch attentively as the fire licks up along the edges of the glass, heating the contents within. A breeze, northeasterly with a faint taste of salt air that creeps in with the nearby waves, whisks through the room and a shiver accompanies it in turn.

A soft sigh slips through your parted lips and your eyes, previously fixed on the tincture held over the flame, lift towards the door.

You aren’t startled when you see him standing there, though you barely contain the sound of annoyance that threatens to leave you; the momentary glance is the only acknowledgement you make to his (notably unwelcome) appearance as his figure darkens your doorway. You return your gaze to the solution you’re in the midst of preparing—a careful balance of valerian, mugwort, and poppy heads for a woman in the nearby village who has been unable to sleep restfully since the untimely death of her husband.

“Good evenin’,” he says to you once he realizes that you will not be the first to speak. He punctuates the greeting with a light clearing of his throat.

“Is it?” you reply, removing the slender vial from the flame and swirling its contents. You closely examine the colour and viscosity of the liquid, returning it to the heat for a few moments more after some consideration.

“Sorry to show up unannounced,” the young man’s own tone is rather tight and clipped as he speaks the words–obviously equally unhappy with the turn of events that had led him to your cottage this evening, though resolute to maintain some level of decorum.

“And yet,”—you finally look up at him, meeting his gaze with a firm and unwavering stare that you have up until this point denied him—“here you are.”

Finally satisfied with the tincture, you set about pressing a stopper into the tube. You reach over and pluck up a burning taper from the candleholder resting nearby on your worktop, tipping it forward over the still blisteringly-hot glass to seal the cork. A rivulet of molten wax runs from the candlestick in a slow drizzle, and you carefully turn the thin vial to coat the border where glass and cork marry evenly. A piece of blue ribbon is then carefully wound around the warm wax before it has fully hardened, sealing the small vessel shut.

The man watches silently as you slip the vial into a velvet pouch, tying the strings together tightly to draw it closed, and then you tuck the pouch safely away in the pocket of your flowing skirt—out of sight from where your visitor stands in the doorway to the greenhouse. Your eyes scan over the bench for a moment before you extinguish the oil burner you’d been using, turning the small knob at the base until the flame shrinks down to nothingness.

“I wouldn’t’ve come if it weren’t important,” the young man’s tone has softened slightly into something closer to a mumble, weary from his journey and seemingly in grave need of something he could only seek from you. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, with grim shadows under his eyes and a pallor to his skin that doesn’t suit him.

“Now that I do believe,” you remark, almost drolly, picking up your oil lamp and crossing the room towards where he stands. He stiffens a little as you approach, as though bracing himself against a threat, but you merely slip soundlessly past him, stepping out into the dark night.

Behind you, the man sighs.

He follows.

The two of you cross the yard, a few paces separating you throughout the silent trek, with the lamp you hold in hand the only light to lead the way. You tread carefully through the well-tended garden, careful but familiar motions deciding where each foot falls, and you sense without turning that he’s following your path as you move towards the stone cottage on the other side of the property—ensuring his own steps follow your footprints precisely. There are candles burning inside your cottage up ahead, their warm glow visible through the windows, and smoke curls steadily from the chimney and into the brisk night air. The smoke is perfumed with herbs, and the scent only grows stronger the nearer you get to your home.

You wonder if he notices.

“That’s far enough.”

You pause in your stride as you reach the stout stone wall that circles your cottage in a knee-high ring, resting with your feet together at the place where a gate might be were there any need for it. Behind you, the man falters to his own stop, surprised by your sudden halt and your sharp words.

“I need yer help,” he sounds confused, and frustrated—impatience creeping into his tone again. There’s a sharpness to it, like he’s forced each word out from between clenched teeth. You don’t look back to verify your suspicion.

Another cold wind blows from the direction of the sea, and the budding leaves of the garden’s plants around you rustle as it passes, whispering amongst themselves as they spectate your exchange.

“I care very little for what you need, Miya Osamu,”—you glance at him over your shoulder, and see the way the distant light from your windows dances in his eyes—“and it will be a cold day in hell before I help a royal knight.”

The garden seems to still in the wake of your low-spoken words, the breeze dying out like the temporary peace ahead of a storm’s rage.

Before you, Osamu’s eyes have hardened. The lines of his sharp jaw set underneath his skin.

“Ya know me.”

“I know of you,” you correct him flatly. “Fortunately, our paths have never crossed.”

Until now.

Osamu’s nostrils flare, then he swallows.

“How?” he asks, his voice low and deceptively even.

“One of the king’s most trusted knights tearing through the outskirts of the kingdom in search of a healer is news powerful enough to reach even my ears, Miya.” Your lamplight dims slightly as you hold it aloft in your hand, the flame beneath the glass slowly shrinking. The oil is burning low. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you got desperate and I got unlucky.”

He flinches, his lashes fluttering slightly like he’s fighting back a more violent reaction. Like he’s accepting a blow he could easily return but chooses not to. The knight's gaze casts down to his feet as his fingers curl into fists at his sides.

“My brother's ill,” he says quietly, his voice heavy with an anxiety that rolls off of him in waves. “My twin.”

“Atsumu,” you specify, since he did not. His gaze snaps up to meet yours, and there’s a spark of something new behind it. Something more volatile. He looks angry that you’ve taken it upon yourself to speak his brother’s name.

“I know what you are,” he says slowly, wielding his next words like a blade and aiming to kill.

“Oh?” You tilt your head to the side in a show of guilelessness.

“Yer a witch,” he continues, overlooking your feigned ignorance.

“There are no witches in this kingdom,” you reply. “The crown you’ve sworn your life to saw to that.”

“Our king h—“

“Your king,” you interrupt him. The unexpected interjection seems to shock him, and his shoulders square indignantly.

“Yer also a subject of this kingdom,” he counters, and your distaste is made perfectly evident in your responding sneer.

“I’m governed by no monarch, and certainly by no man.”

Osamu’s hands are still held in tightly-clenched fists at his side, the lines of his body as clear an indicator as any to his palpable anger. “You’d admit to treason before a knight?”

“You’ve already accused me of witchcraft,” you spit, your teeth gnashing together as you force the words out. “What’s another crime to be burned for?”

You know all too well the end that awaits a woman accused of such a crime.

It’s the fate your mother met before your very eyes, after all.

Seconds stretch between you in the garden—sticky, and uncomfortable, and polluted with the animosity you feel for each other. It takes root in distrust and blossoms into something ugly, like a weed.

Osamu takes a breath, letting his head hang forward. His shoulders slump.

“An old man two towns west from here told me a young woman in this cottage once cured his ailing wife in her final hours, and she lived a decade more. That she was brought back from the brink of death thanks to the woman’s care.” He looks up at you again, and his stare is insistent. Beseeching.

You know the man he speaks of, and his gentle, lovely wife. It was half a century ago now since you’d first met them, and you’ve heard the old man has gone a bit senile in his old age. You doubt he meant you any harm in his revelation, regardless of the trouble it’s come to cause.

“I’m nothing but a humble herbalist.” Your hand sweeps out in gesture to your garden, but the man before you is unmoved.

“Who’s been a young woman for fifty years.”

Even the distant sea seems to have stilled as the tension intensifies between you, the waves falling silent to make room for the hostility that spreads with every passing moment.

Osamu swallows. “They say witches have powerful healin’ abilities. That you can make potions that’ll revive a man half-dead.”

“It’s folklore,” you reply dismissively.

“It’s fact,” Osamu snaps. "I know it is."

“And what else do you claim to know of these so-called witches?” you deride, and you don’t miss the way his eyes seem to quickly trace you.

He squares his shoulders, then he meets your gaze. “They say ya maintain yer beauty and youth by devourin’ the hearts of good men.”

“Is that so?” you muse, though you seek no sincere elaboration. You look to your left, east towards the sea, and then sweep your gaze across the expanse of your garden to the right. You meet his dark eyes again after surveying your surroundings. “Well, I see no good men nearby, so I believe you should be safe.”

In the dim light, you swear you see something throb at the corner of his tense jaw.

“There’s not a healer in the royal court who’s been able to cure my brother,” Osamu’s voice breaks, taking a step towards you. “I’ve come here unarmed, and mean no harm to ya.”

Your upper lip curls at the lie and his proximity, baring your teeth.

No man has ever once approached a witch with pure intentions.

The seek only their beauty, their power, or their beating, bloody hearts.

Your mother’s screams ring suddenly through your ears, piercing and agonized. The memory makes gooseflesh raise along your skin. Makes the back of your tongue taste sour. You squeeze your eyes shut as though to quell it, but this only seems to trap the sound in the recesses on your brain. They grow louder, and harder to forget.

You see your mother on a wooden stage constructed in the town square before a crowd of horrified spectators, the gnarled boards underfoot already stained in scarlet.

The white linen shift they’d forced her to wear, and the way the thin material flowed away from her frame in the breeze.

The glittering hilt of the jewelled knife that carved out her heart, with the sigil of the king etched into its blade.

The crackling flames that consumed her as she wailed.

A witch can live without her heart, you see, so long as it’s kept close to her. Your mother wasn’t spared a second of the misery of being burned alive. She was granted no mercy in the final terrifying moments of her life.

You open your eyes and the dark sky above you seems to hang closer overhead, as though it’s more suffocatingly near than it was before. The garden around you suddenly feels colder.

Osamu’s eyes widen, like he feels it too.

Your dying lamp burns out.

“Leave this place,” you say to him, low and warning. Your voice rings clear in the unearthly still night. “And if you value your life, never come back here again.”

#osamu x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya x reader #hq fic #hq writing #writing #tws

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uzurimisery · 1 year ago

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chapter 5: the call. / coriolanus snow / nsfw

Rating: Explicit

WC: 6746

Warnings: MDNI, he's still insane and possessive, he's not a good guy but he's hot, vomit mention, not beta read

AO3 version | Series master

Friday evening had finally come, the pit in his stomach made Coriolanus anxious. Somehow, despite the years he’d known your mother, and the year he’d spent “dating” you, he had never met your father. The man had taken your mother’s last name when they married, something that rarely happened before, maybe only twice. A myriad of questions swam in his head, threatening to drown him. Ancient myths of sirens singing his doom. Would he be just as insane and twisted as your mother? He couldn’t be, he was far too public-facing. Would he be more like you then? A playful actor with a cold nature? You had to get that from someone and it was not your mother. The traits you shared with her were cruel.

Sometimes his mind was his worst enemy. He conjured up scenarios that ranged from disastrous, to pleasant, to ones that ended Panem as he knew it. He couldn’t shake the feeling like he was walking into the lion’s den.

“Will you quit picking at that seam?” Tigris slapped his hand away from his suit pocket. “I spent too much time making that for you to ruin it.” It was a miracle she had agreed to come to dinner tonight.

That last time they spoke had ended badly, the confrontation lingering. Despite their difference, Tigris did care for her cousin.

“Relax, it won’t come undone from that.”

Grandma’am chided, “Now you two play nice. I am far too excited to talk with Mr Gaul about updating the apartment to let you both ruin it.” She was oblivious to the underlying tension and chirped excitedly about getting a look inside your family estate.

“Sorry Grandma’am,” Tigris always backed off when she got in trouble. “It won’t happen again.”

When the car pulled up to the gates, a private force of peacekeepers let them through, opening the gate after confirming their identities. He had known that your mother kept security with her, but not to this extent. The drive up to the front of the house was long, longer than it should be. The winding driveway, flanked with trees, led them to the crest of the hill and when the canopy lifted, Coriolanus could see your house.

Bathed in the warm orange of the setting sun stood the grand chateau-style mansion. Its two-story structure adorned with intricate architectural details and expansive windows lit from the inside. The mansion’s commanding presence, nestled amidst the green rolling gardens, was a symbol of just how important the Gauls were.

Tonight was going to be a formidable challenge, his nerves building as they got out of the car and escorted through the front door by an Avox. The foyer featured a grand staircase at the back, sleek black railings with intricate breaks in the straight metal showcasing various scientific objects, custom-made to reflect the occupants of the house. The floors were white marble, polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the twin crystal chandeliers that illuminated the space. If the Snow apartment was extravagant, this was utter decadence, opulence in inches of the estate.

Underneath the foremost chandelier stood your family, your parents flanked you on either side.

Mr Gaul was a tall man, taller than Coriolanus. His hair was neatly cropped and styled, the sides tapering into his beard, which was short and neatly trimmed. The combination framed his face, etched with lines of experience and an air of stern authority. Everyone in the Capitol knew him to be a fashionable man, and tonight was no exception. His suit was velvet and impeccably tailored, a testament to his discerning taste and attention to detail, only adding to his imposing physique. He had on a house coat as well. It was in a matching velvet and embroidered everywhere apart from the trim, with fine beads swirling and encircling each other. He had a way of making people look at him. It must be where you got it from. Your mother was speaking to the both of you as he watched on.

Dr. Gaul was not wearing a lab coat-esque top for once and instead was in a black pantsuit. The trousers hung straight on her, a crisp pleat going down the centre, stopping just past the heels. Her blazer had a white inside that carried out onto the lapels, and under it was a simple black blouse. She had told him once that fashion was something she didn’t care about.

You were the first to notice the Snow family approaching. It seemed like black was your family’s colour tonight. Your gown was longer, trailing behind you as you walked, turtleneck and long-sleeved. It was simple. Nothing very interesting about it other than the way it clung to your curves. You pulled your hair back and up, a few curls loose to frame your face. You were stunning.

“Welcome Snow family,” Dr. Gaul spoke first. “Thank you for joining us tonight.” She extended her hand for Grandma’am to shake.

Grandma’am shook it and offered her own greetings. “Thank you for your invitation. I thought it a wonderful idea to get us together before the engagement party.”

“Of course. Mr. Gaul was insistent on it.” Did he have a protective streak?

Your father finally spoke, his voice bassy and resonant. “I would like to know the man my daughter is marrying before walking her down the aisle.” He was friendly, all smiles, as he grabbed Grandma’am’s hand and kissed the back of it. “You must be Mrs. Snow. Lovely meeting you.”

He moved on to Tigris, offering similar treatment, before coming to Coriolanus. Mr Gaul stared him up and down, picking apart his appearance. Coriolanus felt like a shadow was being cast over him, the man looking down at him as if he was appraising a purchase. His gaze was unwavering, judgement and assessment being made every second Mr Gaul looked at Coriolanus. He could feel the pressure mounting, settling on top of him heavy and grinding, expectations being placed on him.

“So this is the man that has the Capitol in such a stir, proposing to my daughter without a ring on national TV.”

Coriolanus stood tall, composed despite Mr Gaul’s intensity. “Yes, sir.”

The older man cracked a smile, bright and blinding, as he reached out to grab Coriolanus’ hand. Mr. Gaul’s hands were soft, but Coriolanus could still feel the remnants of calluses. “I like your gumption, son.” Relief washed over Coriolanus.

“I couldn’t risk the chance of ever losing her,” Coriolanus smiled, hoping it was charming.

“Are you two done, then?” Your question was jovial, playful and light, as you came to the pair. Mr. Gaul pulled you in for a hug and kissed the top of your head. He watched Coriolanus as he did, the smile he previously had gone and his eye holding a warning. Perhaps Mr. Gaul was the judge and jury, and Dr. Gaul was the executioner when matters came to you.

“We’re done.” Mr. Gaul’s previous expression was back on his face as you pulled away from the hug. “The chef is just finishing up the first course. While he does, I wanted to give you all a tour of Gaul Manor.”

“A tour would be wonderful. Thank you, Mr. Gaul.” Tigris was the first to accept the offer, wanting to get away from whatever had just happened between your father and her cousin. She was followed by Grandma’am voicing excited agreement.

“I’d like to show Coriolanus the gardens before the sunsets entirely. Would that be alright Father?”

Mr. Gaul didn’t seem like he wanted that to happen at all, lips tightening into a fine line, but the man was weak to you. He always had been. “Of course, baby girl.” Surrender.

You walked Coriolanus to the gardens, pointing out the different rooms as you went. The click of your heels echoed down the corridors. He could see the back patio lead out to the rear gardens down a set of stairs. The train of your dress was going to get dirty if you walked around like that. He grabbed it, lifting it off the ground for you. Why did he do that? He didn’t care if the dress ruined, clothes were just clothes. Did he care if it had been ruined and it upset you? His emotions had been haywire since he woke up.

The twilight embrace of the gardens was nice, the air filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the gentle hum of insects. Suddenly you laughed, holding your stomach and grabbing Coriolanus’ arm as you walked through the garden.

“You looked terrified.”

Indignation ate at him. “I did not.”

“You did. I swear I could see you trembling, shaking in your shoes as he stared at you.” You straightened up, facing him. “He’s always wanted to do that to someone. He thinks it’s one dad thing he’s never had the chance to do.”

“Wonderful” Coriolanus was sardonic in his reply.

“Oh, lighten up. Let him have his fun. If this alliance is serious, this will be the only time he’ll see me get married.”

Did you not believe Coriolanus was serious about this? He had told you, in not so many words, that he wanted this. He didn’t make friends, let alone allies, but you were both things. Was your worry about him falling in love with someone and screwing you over serious? How could you doubt him? He had given you no reason to.

“It is serious. Did you think I’d say that in jest?”

You shrugged. “Perhaps. You’ve been all over the place for the past couple of months. One minute we’re friends and the next you’re telling me off for standing too close to Dennis Fling, of all people.”

“I’ve had a lot on my mind.” Coriolanus knew that the answer was lacklustre. It didn’t account for his actions, nor explain them. The past few months there had been a lot on his mind, grappling with his growing feelings for you and going between acting on them or closing them off completely. He’d get close to the latter, and then he’d see you again and his resolve lost. The want he had for you vexed him, and he’s felt sick to his stomach since realising he loved you.

“You can talk to me about it.” Your shoulder bumped into his as you spoke. “We are friends, and allies now, too.”

“Another time perhaps.”

“Sure.”

The rest of the stroll through the greenery was quiet. Coriolanus lost himself in his own head again. Should he give up his previous plan and tell you how he feels now? It was there, threatening to jump out of his mouth. But doing that was risky. You could still walk away from him. He should just wait until you had been married or a few before telling you that being married made him fall in love with you, not that his desire to possess you led to him genuinely coming to care for you in the past year. Sick and twisted bastard he was.

He was in too deep, the surface feet above him and he could not reach it.

“We should go back inside with the others. I imagine dinner’s ready by now.”

“Sounds good.”

Coriolanus held onto the train of your dress until you were back inside, letting it fall and fan around you. He hadn’t realised the chill that had seeped into his bones from being out there. It wasn’t cold today. Maybe he was just sensitive. He made sure to escort you properly, fearful your father would pop out of a corner, glaring at him for not treating you properly. Dr. Gaul had cameras everywhere, so who’s saying there weren’t any in the house?

When the two of you reached the dining room, the rest of the party was seated. This was the smaller of the dining rooms, the other being reserved for large parties. Mr Gaul had designed the one to offer a more intimate space, better for conversing as a whole. It was just as ornate as the rest of the house, the ceiling an ornamental relief. Each of the Gauls sat at opposite ends of the table, Tigris and Grandma’am on the left and right of Dr. Gaul respectfully, leaving the only seat free near your father.

Coriolanus pulled your chair on for you before sitting on his own on your father’s right. Two waiters came out, putting down plates in front of everyone and filling their wine glasses with crisp white. The first course was some sort of salad, colourful on his plate, a champagne vinaigrette tossed over it.

“What did you think of the gardens, Mr. Snow?” Dr. Gaul asked him as she took a sip, an eyebrow raised.

“They were wonderful.” His words were polite, nothing too overplayed.

“Indeed.” Was he supposed to say more?

Before he could, Mr. Gaul injected. “I spent a long time designing them and then pruning them. When the plants finally matured, I hired a gardener for it, hoping that they’d be taken care of. But much to my chagrin, they weren’t. So I fired that gardener.”

Your mother hummed. “Finding a new one was a simple task, wasn’t it, husband?”

“Very. You’d be surprised at the number of competent men who lined up for the job.”

“You had a replacement picked out that same day if I recall correctly, no?”

“Indeed, I did.” Mr Gaul wiped at his mouth with the napkin on his lap. “Luckily, that new gardener was good at his job.” The threat was hardly hidden in the story. Coriolanus was replaceable to the Gauls. If he acted out of line with you, they would cut him down. He felt your foot rub his ankle, a show of comfort.

“You’ve always been too attached to those gardens father,” You were aware of what your parents were telling this story for. “Someone might think that it was your child and not me.”

Mr. Gaul backed off. “Well, they would only be partially blind to confuse the two of you. You’re as pretty as a rose.”

“Grandma’am are you still keeping up your rose garden on the roof?” Coriolanus could kiss you right now, as you steered the conversation away from him.

The chatter was light as everyone ate, courses coming and going. Mr Gaul was a jokester, cracking them to make yourself, Tigris, Grandma’am and even Dr. Gaul laughed, but it never reached her eyes. They were always on him, studying what he said and did. How he looked at you.

It was odd, striking in a sense, so different from the initial stiffness of your interactions and formality that had previously been established. It was homey, a warm blanket on a cold day. You had grown up like this, a sprout the Gauls had watered and tended to until you bloomed one day just as you were now.

Would you want a house like this? To have family dinners and tell stories of the days you had? Coriolanus didn’t think he could offer that. He didn’t know how to be a good partner, only play at one. His parents’ marriage was one based on fear and obsession, just like his own feelings for you. To him, that’s what love, partnership, was. A foundation of need. Even now he still wanted to hide you away, to run from the situation. Your parents’ overarching care for you is tenuous to navigate. It’d be a tough role, he’d stumble over his lines, his delivery shaky, but he could try if it made you happy. If it made you stay. If it made you love him.

___________________________

“We’ve received an increase in our budget.” Dr. Gaul stood at the front window of her office. It was two stories above the main lab and looked out over it all.

From here she saw all. Right now she was watching you, her only child, as you led a training session. Your lab coat was an altered one. She had permitted you to wear black over the usual white. It was an older style, pre-war, from a country that was no doubt dead. You had read about them in an old book, Cheongsam, and you told her that when you grew up, you wanted a lab coat just like her but one that looked like that. Her favouritism for you was a quiet thing, often unnoticed, but she gave you that.

She had summoned Coriolanus to her office with little warning. He had been mid-experiment when his communicuff buzzed with two words. “Office. Now.”

He was unsure what she needed to tell him that urgently. When the family dinner ended well, he assumed he was off the hook. Mr. Gaul agreed to push the engagement party to the end of the month, instead of when it was supposed to be today, citing that he wanted to make the event more grand. Coriolanus was grateful for that.

“That’s great news. It allows us to move forward with expanding the arena”

“Yes, it does.” Dr. Gaul’s tone was flat, devoid of her usual sing-song, her hands clasped behind her back as she stared down below. It was always so quiet in her office. There was no ambient noise to soothe the mind, only silence unless you spoke, and she was quiet.

“Do you need me for anything else Dr. Gaul?”

“Tell me, what do you think of her?” His blood turned to ice.

“Of who?”

“Don’t play stupid,” she sighed, low and heavy. “Of my daughter, my Y/N.”

His panic built, rising in his throat, the taste of bile settling on the back of his tongue. His heart pounded, a relentless drumbeat surging against his ribs. It was so loud he swore she could hear it. Sweat built at his forehead, his palms clammy. This was a test. She had seen something at the dinner that set her off, a bloodhound on a trail.

“I…” his voice caught in his throat, words refusing to form. “I think she’s extraordinary.”

The words felt inadequate, but too much at the same time. Did she want to hear about how skilled you were? Should he lament on your strongest attributes and how he admired them? Or should he confess to his greatest sin, his need to have you?

“Yes, she is.” The short answer she gave only tormented Coriolanus, unable to determine what course to take. “Did you know she almost killed me?”

He stammered. “I’m sorry?”

“When she was born, she almost killed me. I carried her for 40 weeks, gave up opportunities for her, and then when she came into this world, kicking and screaming, I nearly bled out,” she spoke without turning to face him.

“I-”

“I didn’t like her at the start. She was small and fragile and cried so much. I could never get her to latch properly, making her colic. There were times when I wanted to end my suffering and kill her, but each time her father would be there and she’d calm down again. She’d smile. And then one day, three weeks after she was born, she latched on with no issues.” He was afraid to speak again.

“I started watching her after that, treating her like an experiment. To me, she was one. Was I capable of motherhood? Of loving a child? It’s a hypothesis that is still being tested to this day. Bur preliminary results show one thing.” her body turned and finally facing him. “I care for her. I have killed for that girl and I will do it again, regardless of the consequences.”

Dr. Gaul began walking towards him, her steps silent.

I raised her with everything that I had. I gave her every opportunity and helped guide her into the ambitious woman she is today. From the moment she suckled on my teat, I laid the world at her feet, feeding her independence.”

They were face to face now. Even though she was markedly shorter than him, she still looked down at him.

“Are you a threat to her independence, Mr. Snow?”

Coriolanus stood his ground, gaze unwavering under Dr. Gaul’s scrutiny. Her tone laced with pride for you and an accusation for him. She questioned if he was a threat to you. Was she threatening to kill him? Replace him like they had the gardener.

“I would never do anything to jeopardise her independence, Dr. Gaul.” his voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. Even now, after years of working together, she unnerved him. “I would never dream of doing anything to harm her.”

Your independence with him was still under question. If he could let you do as you please, just like you had been this whole time, was something he didn’t know the answer to. So far, your independence has been good for him. But would it always? People change over time and who was to say you wouldn’t change, no longer view him positively. If that happened, your independence would most likely be lost. He wouldn’t let you get away from him. Would he hurt you then? Nothing life-threatening.

“Her father likes you.” Her eyes narrowed, slits like a viper ready to strike. She tore apart his words as she looked over him, searching for any hint of deceit, but she found none. “Do you know how an actor dies?”

“No.”

“They start to believe the part they play is real, that the story is real, that their feelings are real. Do you believe that it’s real?” He wanted to vomit, expel the contents of his stomach and her feet. To gag and gag as they poured out. She was onto him. She knew everything.

“No, it’s not real.”

She had seen the lie there, that he thought it was real, and that his feelings for you were real, and she called him on it. “Don’t lie to me, Mr. Snow.”

“It’s real.” He was exposed. “It’s real to me.”

She turned again, walking back to the overlook. What ever anger she had for him now covered. He couldn’t tell what she wanted. Was this the right answer? Had he passed her test?

Her voice was flat when she spoke. “If you ever hurt her, I will destroy you. I will cut you from pelvis to neck, pull your innards out and suspend them. I will lock you in that state, pump you full of the bare minimum nutrients you need to live and force you to watch your loved ones die, and for her to live on happily. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Good. Now get out of my sight.”

Coriolanus was out of the room before she could finish her sentence as Dr. Gaul’s words rang in his ears. She would always be watching him, making sure that you were safe. You would always be hers before you were his. She knew the truth now too, that his perverse need for you, debauched thoughts, had him in love with you. His tie felt like it was choking him, fingers pulling at the knot to free it. His pace rushed as he retreated into his private lab. This was bad. It was more than bad; it was deadly.

How did he play this out? Would Dr. Gaul demand you stop seeing him, ruin all his plans? She wasn’t someone who spoke in empty threats and Hypotheticals; she spoke only of factual reality. Even if it meant destroying her protégé, she would do it for you. This was a bed of his own making, tangled in the sheets called emotion and desire, that he had to lie in.

On the walk to his lab, he could feel Dr. Gaul watching from above. Or perhaps he was paranoid, imagining the feeling of a thousand eyes on him. Coriolanus’ mouth was dry, his hands trembling slightly. Weakness prevalent. Panic prevalent.

When the door closed, he nearly collapsed, stumbling across the room, knocking over a cup of pens as he reached his chair. The rows of instruments, intricate machinery with vials filled with different solutions, sat mocking him. They were tainted. Signifiers of his ambition now show just how much he still lacked.

If your mother knew, did you? Had you known his feelings this entire time and strung him along? If you had known of those, how much did you really know? Coriolanus had never considered what you might know about him and what he’s done. What if Dr. Gaul had told you of his sins, how he turned on Sejanus and reaped the benefits? The possibility of you knowing the truth, his biggest flaws, wasn’t something he could let happen. You’d turn on him in judgment, your affection lost.

A knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts, the mask slipping on again.

“Come in.” He needed to drink something. Speaking felt like sandpaper on his vocal cords.

The door opened as you slipped in, closing it behind you. “You alright? You looked like you were upset.”

You were the last person he wanted to see right now, unsure if he could hide what was going on.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just need to rerun a test.”

“Oh. That’s unlike you,” you spoke as you plopped down on his couch, clueless about his struggle. “Normally you’re so on top of things.”

You didn’t believe him. You were questioning him. Have you already spoken with your mother? Did she tell you everything? The temptation to confess, clear the air before it could change, pulled at him.

“What do you know?” His accusation was sharp.

Your presence, perceptive gaze that was always watching, unnerved him. “In general or?”

“What do you know about me? About my past?” Coriolanus knew he had to tread carefully, caution in every breath. He had to stay guarded and protect his ambition, but he desperately craved your understanding. The acceptance that what he had done was fine.

You were silent, unsure what to say, dropping your flashlight in the dark, reaching out to find it. “Well,” He could tell with just that you knew it all. “All of it, I suppose, other than what you were feeling.”

His voice wavered, a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. “How?”

“I was there when my mother got the jabberjay. She almost ignored it, but I pushed her on it.” You had always known what he had done the whole time. “I told her that the extremes she had always wanted me to go to and I was incapable of, you could do them. That you’d be what she wanted.”

You had been the catalyst, the one that saved him from having to live out 20 years of service in District 2. At any point, you could have told the Plinths what he had done, but you didn’t. You had met them many times and never said anything. In fact, you offered condolences for their loss when you had first met them. Said that Sejanus had always been a positive light at the Academy.

“What about the games?”

“Just that you cheated, gave her rat poison and made the snakes desensitised to Lucy Gray’s smell.”

You sat there, casual and relaxed in his lab, acceptance clear. There was no question of morality from you, how he could do that to Senjaus, how he could cheat at the games. You understood that the ends justify the means. This was just another ordinary Tuesday for you.

“I did have one question for you about her actually,” Coriolanus tensed. “Did you love her?”

“No.” Coriolanus hadn’t loved Lucy Gray. He loved controlling her. He thought that being with her would be enough, but it wasn’t. She would always be District, low class and Covey, and he would always be a Snow. It was youthful naivety to think that being with her would ever amount to anything.

“Is she dead?”

“Yes, I killed her.”

“What changed? You looked close during the games.”

“She was a distraction, a liability, a threat to my success.” That’s all Lucy Gray had ever been to him. “So I killed her.”

“You were right to kill her, then. Sounds like she was a loose end and the last thing we need is loose ends.” You were so unbothered by his confession, like you had expected it ages ago. “We should be more truthful with each other if this alliance is going to last.”

“Then it’s your turn to share. You know my biggest secret.”

He felt calm now. The weight of your acceptance comforting him. Morality was inconsequential in the pursuit of greatness, and you knew that and you agreed with it. He had been vulnerable. You could have struck and crushed his heart by running, but you sat there taking it in.

“No more secrets?” you questioned, offering to establish equal ammunition on his side. A pact of mutually agreed destruction.

“No more secrets.”

“Do you remember Emon Quiver? You might have seen him on the Academy campus before. He was in my year.” You went on describing the boy, familiarity reminding him exactly who you were talking about.

“He’s the one who got sent to District 11, no?”

“That’s him. I lied about him ever touching me. Poor boys never touched a woman because of me.” Coriolanus watched you pick at the lint on your trousers. “The true story is that I was cheating off of him in history with Professor Demigloss. It was fine for a while. He let me do it with no problems until one day he wanted more from me, tried to say I owed him and if I didn’t sleep with him, he’d tell everyone that I was cheating.”

“What did you do?”

“What needed to be done. Told him to meet me in the library, made out with him a litter, put us in a position where he looked like he was in control and forced me. I waited for a few minutes, letting it happen. He didn’t know it, but they were doing an inspection of the Library that day, and all the staff was there. So they walk in and see Y/N Gaul underneath him. I started crying, begging him to stop, and said that I didn’t want this. Next thing you know, he’s off in 11 with no flesh on his fingers, if he even has fingers anymore.” You yawned as you finished the story.

Your moral compass was just as fucked as his own. The willingness to crush others beneath your heeled feet, like the bugs that they were, was so similar to his own. “What if they believed him?”

You laughed. “Why would they?” The point was fair, you were very convincing. “Anyway, that’s my big secret. I was thinking we should go out for lunch today. I’m tired of being in the lab.”

“I think that’d be fine. You can pick where we go.”

As you started going through the option that you and he could go to, Coriolanus was stuck in limbo. He had expected this conversation to go so much worse than it did. You hadn’t cared that he turned on Sejanus and Lucy Gray. In fact, you commended him for it. Told your mother that his willingness to destroy others, kill their physical form and the memory of them, was a good thing, something she needed. It sent a jolt through him, heady with lust, making him giddy. You were validating his true nature, content with the darkness, at home in it.

He felt a connection with you he had never felt before. You weren’t the sheltered playing card he had thought you to be, but a formidable force all in your own right. You understood the true nature of power and control, and the extremes one had to take to obtain it. You were cruel and vindictive, condemning a man to District 11 for threatening you.

It excited him. The prospect of navigating the Capitol’s political arena side by side, both of you playing the game well. There might be times when your interests clashed, but you were smart and willing to adapt.

All he could think about was biting into your cherry-red lips like the fruit they were. Their tempting fullness waiting for him. He used to be afraid you’d run if you knew his truth. Now that you knew it, he just wanted you more.

But could he bear telling you that?

Don't worry! The series isn't dead. Holidays have just had me busy

(edit: forgot to do the tag list originally, silly me)

@serrendiipty @namelesslosers @glitteryblizzardsalad @harrysbitvh123 @secretsicanthideanymore @ayyyeeeeidk @hinata7346 @kisstheskin @sumo-b98 @duds31

#tdoaa #the death of an actor #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games imagine #hunger games #coriolanus snow #uzuri writes #coriolanus x reader #hunger games imagine #the hunger games #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #hunger games smut #thg fanfiction #coriolanus snow x reader smut

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omgthatdress · 2 years ago

Photo

Addy’s school dress is a real classic! In Addy Learns a Lesson, Addy is going to school and making friends. One of the girls she tries to befriend is the snotty Harriet Davis, a light-skinned girl who was born free, has wealthy parents, and lives in the rich Black neighborhood called Society Hill. Harriet was the absolute fucking WORST, but she did teach a few important lessons! She showed that not only were not all African-Americans born enslaved, but that generational wealth for African-Americans existed in the 1860s.

In the original books, Harriet is explicitly lighter-skinned than Addy and her bff, Sarah. The sort story “High Hopes for Addy” introduced me to the concept of colorism and the discrimination that darker-skinned people face. In the newer, updated books, Harriet becomes darker while Addy becomes lighter.

Once again, AG is trying to soften its political edges and remove a very real lesson about privilege, class, and politics.

As far as the fashion goes, Addy has only her pink dress during her first few months of freedom. Harriett gives her a bunch of shit about it, because she’s the fucking worst. Addy receives her blue suit as a surprise so she can wear it to a spelling bee where she finally beats Harriet and puts her in her place.

The suit is a Zouave style, named after regiments of French troops who served in North Africa.

Both the Union and Confederate armies had Zouave units, and the style became very popular everywhere.

(The Victoria & Albert Museum, finding credit @in-pleasant-company)

The jacket and skirt are decorated with soutache trim, which was also very popular, and could be made into very elaborate designs.

(The Met Museum)

The “Millions for Freedom, Not One Cent for Slavery” pin that Addy receives started out as a campaign slogan for Abraham Lincoln in Nebraska, where it was put on coins that were given out. Soon the saying began appearing on pins.

In 2014, Addy was given a BeForever school dress.

Honestly, it’s not bad. It’s just not nearly as cool as the original.

#American Girl #Addy #1860s

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juletheghoul · 1 year ago

Text

A/N; I’ve decided to try and post a bit more consistently. The plan, for now, is to post twice a week—a series chapter update, as well as one of the standalone pieces I have in the works. My confidence lately has been the pits, but I’m not going to let it ruin my life, or my desire to write. This is fun, and I still want to share the things that I create. If you’re still here and reading, thank you, hope you enjoy 💜 (p.s., I know the picture I used isn't Max, but that's how I see this version of him. A little younger, a little leaner-hungrier) (p.p.s, right now there is no plan for a sequel, but I never say never. Asks are always open, and so are the dms)

Pairing: Max Phillips x F!Reader

Word Count: 8.2K

Warnings: (18+ NO MINORS) mentions of loneliness, and alcoholism, language, He's a vampire (went with classic vampire lore for this one, needs a coffin, no sunlight), piv sex (wrap it up!), vaginal fingering, violence, talk of death, blood and some non-graphic gore, period piece

Let me know if I missed anything!

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist

It starts with a prickle to the back of your neck, the hairs there standing on end, a shiver running along your spine.

The main thoroughfare is busy as you make your way home, the lamplights illuminating the steps of your usual path. It's different tonight though, despite knowing the area like the back of your hand and recognizing more than a few faces as they pass, there is a tinge of something threaded through it all.

You find yourself scanning every shadowy corner, peering through the windows on the businesses you pass, hoping to spot whatever it is that has your blood pounding loudly in your ears.

Do I want to know?

You catch yourself from stumbling at the thought, your imagination conjuring images of a dark, evil figure lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike. You shake it off, scolding yourself for letting the fear get the better of you.

Your home is visible now, just at the top of the hill and the relief is mounting, counting down the steps until you can tuck yourself safely inside, and lock the world out.

“Excuse me, Miss.” His voice is low and pleasant, but it sends you a good few inches into the air from the fright. “My deepest apologies, I did not mean to scare you.” Your heart is pounding, your hand pressed up against your chest in some unconscious attempt to steady it. You let out a slow breath before answering, laughing shakily as you gather your thoughts.

“Oh my, forgive me-” You let out another loud sigh, “You gave me such a fright.” You smile up at him out of habit, taking in his handsome face and worried expression.

“No no, please–accept my sincerest apology.” He bows slightly, his head low in deference and you wave it away. “I saw you from across the street, and I thought, I simply must introduce myself.” He smiles now, and it’s a little jarring, his teeth are perfectly straight and bright white. “I’m Max.” He holds his hand out and you take it without thought, watch him almost in a trance as he brings it up to press it to his lips. The kiss is cool, and it brings curiously vulgar thoughts to the forefront of your mind. He tilts his head, expectant.

“Oh! Sorry yes, It’s nice to meet you Max-” You cannot help but watch his mouth as you introduce yourself. “I’ve not seen you in town before.” You leave it there and his smile widens, his eyes scanning all around taking in your surroundings. You don’t fail to notice the expensive cut of his suit, the fabric rich, decadent.

“I’m new in town you see, just arrived this morning.” He towers over you, broad of shoulder, slim through the hip. “I see you are unaccompanied, which shocks me.” He offers his arm and again, and you move to take it without much thought. “May I walk you home?”

“Yes, of course.” You agree, and begin to lead the way, ignoring every warning young women seem to learn practically at the breast, calmly walking with him up the street towards your home. “Where did you come from?” Your attention turns to the feel of his arm in yours, solid and strong underneath his layers.

“Oh, I come from all over, I'm somewhat of a roamer.” His smile is roguish and you get the impression he might be remembering another young lady on another street, in an altogether different part of the world. “How long has this been your home?” He guides you gently as you make your way up the hill.

“I have lived here all my life.”

“Do you like it here?” He doesn’t ask it unkindly, there’s a genuine curiosity there.

“I like it fine enough, but I have always wanted to see other parts of the world. It's difficult though.” You sigh, he frowns in the corner of your eye.

“How so?”

“Well, it is difficult to travel unaccompanied–it also requires funds I currently do not possess.” You laugh a bit awkwardly, surprised with your own candor.

“Oh-” He seemed taken aback for a moment and you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes, men usually don’t pay much attention to the struggles of women. “-yes of course. How ignorant of me.” He was frowning at his feet.

“This is me.” You pulled him away from his thoughts, gesturing to your house.

“This is lovely, you and your family must be very happy here.” He smiled warmly, guiding you up the steps to the large wrap around porch.

“Yes well, we make do.” Your tight lipped smile wasn’t getting past him, his hand held yours for a moment, pulling your attention from your door to him.

“I don’t mean to overstep–are you well?” He held your hand in both of his now, a worried expression plastered on his handsome face.

“Yes-I, I’m sorry, yes. I’m fine-” He watched you intently, studying and suddenly the words were spilling from your lips, unbidden. “-I’m just alone most of the time, my father works, or drinks, and my mother disappears to avoid the melancholy. My sister is wed and living her marital bliss across the city and I am sort of left to keep everything together.” The thoughts were always present, hiding in your throat, in the pit of your stomach, in the clenching of your jaw when the house was continuously empty. It was a welcome respite to be able to let go of them, for a moment at least.

He hummed his acknowledgement, the worried frown in place.

“That is unfortunate.” He was choosing his words carefully. “If you are partial, I would very much like to spend more time with you.” He kissed the back of your hand once more and a momentary madness took hold of you.

“Would you like to come in?” His eyebrows raised and you hurried to clarify, “I could make you a cup of tea, maybe you could tell me about your travels?” He nodded graciously and a slow creeping smile overtook the frown as he walked up the stairs towards your now open door. His eyes flashed with something but it was gone just as quickly–no sign of danger as he crossed the threshold.

“You’re too kind, I would love to.” You closed the door behind him.

He seemed bigger once inside, somehow broader than before. His eyes were bright within the dim foyer, the honey brown of them alert and lively and lovely. You led him towards the sitting room with a shy smile, the thrill of having a gentleman caller in your home without a chaperone sending your heart a flutter.

Maybe I’m too trusting.

The thought crossed your mind, taking up space until his smile shooed it away once more.

“How do you take your tea? Or would you maybe prefer something stronger? I think there’s some brandy hidden away for visitors.” Your hands felt numb, the nerves of being alone with him catching up to you.

“What would you prefer?” He made himself comfortable on the settee, and you noticed his choice with interest.

“Well, the brandy is rather nice.”

“Brandy it is. Can I help with anything?” He made to get up and you hurriedly put your hands up to stall him.

“Nonsense, one moment.” You walked away quickly, ignoring the pounding of your heart and soon you were standing in front of him once more, brandy glasses in hand. He took one from you graciously and once you were seated beside him, you took a generous gulp, wincing slightly at the burning in your throat. He swirled the drink in hand, bringing it to his nose, taking in the aroma and for a moment you felt like your father, just knocking it without savoring.

“It smells wonderful-” He brought the glass to his lips and you did your best to pace yourself.

“So, tell me about yourself.” You put the glass down and waited, enjoying the feeling of warmth spreading throughout your limbs already.

“Oh no, I’d rather hear about you.” He placed his glass next to yours, leaning back with open arms facing you. “I’m very curious as to how no one has snatched you up just yet.” He said it with a friendly smile. “You must be of age to marry?”

“Yes, I am no more wise than you are on the subject.” You reached for the glass once more, needing something in which to focus the nervous energy in your hands, which led you to take another obscene gulp. Half your glass already gone, what would he think of you?

“Have you had many would-be callers? I would have thought your father would be fighting them off with a bat.” He picked up his glass, swirling it as he spoke.

“Not really, there was a young man who came calling, but he was indifferent as to which sister would take him, so he left empty-handed.” Your nerves calmed with the third gulp, so did the burning and now there was a pleasant, full body buzz flowing through your veins.

“Well. The men here must be blind.” His eyes flashed again, something vulgar and exciting all at the same time. He put his glass back down, moving so he was sitting a little closer. “Your father would have trouble keeping me away.” He took the now empty glass from your hand and set it next to his rather full one.

“Why’s that?” You watched him with baited breath.

“Well, because I would be ruthless in my pursuit.” He moved closer still. “Would woo you tirelessly.” His hand came up, his thumb resting softly on the plush of your bottom lip. You sucked in a breath, acutely aware of the hot spike of arousal in your belly.

“And–and if I were to deny you?” your voice was curiously breathless, such was the effect he had on you.

“Would you?” He moved closer, his eyes fixed on where his thumb rested on your lip, “Would you deny me?” He was so close, the tip of his aquiline nose nuzzling softly against your own. His lips so close it would only take a nudge to kiss him.

“No-” You knew you wouldn’t, this enigmatic man who’d appeared out of thin air, appeared out of some long forgotten dream, or perhaps a prayer. “I would not.”

“May I kiss you?” He nudged your nose with his once more, the clean scent of him engulfing your senses.

“Please-” You didn’t get the chance to finish the word before his lips pressed against yours with an ardor that burned through your whole body. His fingers curled around the nape of your neck, caressing the sensitive skin there while his tongue sought entrance to dance with yours. He pulled a whimper from somewhere in your throat before he pulled away, kissing your cheek, and then again, just below your ear.

You’d been kissed before, but never like this.

He smiled, his gaze roving over your face greedily, no doubt taking in the lust blown expression shining back at him.

You gulped.

“I would decidedly not deny you Sir.” You let out a shaky laugh, feeling as the excitement and arousal flowed through you. Dampening your undergarments, hardening your nipples.

“I thought not.” His thumb came up to brush against your lip once more, his eyes focused on your face so intently, it felt as though everything else had disappeared.

“Take me to bed.” The words spilled out of your mouth unbidden, shocking even you and your stomach sank well into the floor when his eyebrows raised. “I-I’m sorry to be so vulgar-”

“Do not apologize to me, there is no sin in desire.” He stood, holding his hand out for you to stand before him. “There is no vulgarity in pleasure between two people, so long as both are willing.” He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, moving to your mouth once more to take the remaining coherent thoughts right out of your head.

Up until today, your life had been, for the most part, predictable. There had been a basic formula to how your hours were spent, where you’d go, what you’d see, even who’d you speak to. You’d thought about it that very morning, the errands you’d have to run-what you’d wear. Whether you’d see your father intoxicated or not.

Seeing a beautiful, naked man was not on the list of possibilities. For that gorgeous, naked man to have you practically mewling underneath him would never have crossed your mind, at least not that early in the day.

The bed creaked with every thrust of his hips between your legs, his cock hard and heavy inside the wet clutch of your cunt.

“Does that feel good?” He huffed out a laugh, his white teeth flashing as he moved a little harder. It was hard to articulate exactly how good it felt and he took your quiet moans as a challenge. “More? Is that what you want my darling?” his elbows came up to rest beside your ears, bracketing your head before he snapped his hips faster, smiling at the way your mouth opened in a silent scream. “There it is, that’s what you like huh?” His voice should have been breathless with the amount of exertion he was exhibiting–but every thrust knocked any coherent thought right out of your head. He shifted to one side, reaching down to slide his fingers around the pearl of your pleasure, thrusting you headlong into your climax. He slowed down, grinding slowly while you crested, no doubt making a mess of the sheets underneath you.

“I could stay here for days.” He punctuated his words with a delicious swirl of his hips, burying his face into the crook of your neck while you caught your breath, your hands finding their way into his hair.

“If it’s to be like this every single time–I’m inclined to let you.” You pulled his face up to kiss, needing to taste his mouth again.

“Oh it definitely would.” He bit his lip, watching you as he spoke.

“You’d ruin me for all others.” You ran your nails down the muscles of his back, feeling how they corded and bunched with each movement, the coolness of him perfectly complementing your almost feverish warmth.

“I plan on it, plan on spoiling you rotten.” He kissed you quickly before pulling away and for a moment you thought he might spill his seed on your belly, but he made to move you.

“I would ask you–” Your tone made him pause, a frown on his face. “Beg of you, not to spill inside, I don’t wish to have any children.” It might have ruined the mood of the night, but a child would have ruined your entire life. His features relaxed, a soft smile blooming on his handsome face.

“I cannot make children, I am sterile.” He pulled you up from your place, both of you kneeling on your bed, his tone sincere. “And even if I could, do you think I would just abandon you?” His hands caressed your back, moving down to hold onto your backside. It was so lovely to have intimacy like this, the loneliness of your days highlighted now in the comfort of his touch.

“Well, to be quite honest I’m not sure what you’d do. I’ve only just met you–” You sighed, his mouth kissing a trail from your shoulder up to the sensitive skin of your neck, “-you should know, I don’t usually do this. I’m not in the habit of taking men into my bed so quickly.” Your fingers curled in the short locks of his hair.

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, pretty.” His lips were still pleasantly cool, all of him was. “I just want to make you feel good.” His hands came up to cradle your jaw before he licked into your mouth, giving you the kind of kiss you’ve only dreamt about in the dark quiet hours. “Now turn around, I want to take you from behind.” he bit your lip, a tiny little nip that had you dripping and you turned to obey.

His big palm pressed against your spine, pushing your top half down into the mattress before he grabbed your hips, pulling you to him a little rougher than you expected. It made you gasp and within a moment he sheathed himself in your tight heat. A hard thrust that knocked the air out of your lungs.

“Your wet little cunt is dripping around me-” He sounded as wrecked as you felt, his words fueling the fire of your arousal, “-come up here.” He pulled you up, his arm wrapped around your middle to press you up against the solid wall of his chest, his chin instantly settling on your shoulder, lips pressed against your ear as he set a brutal pace. He sang the song of his pleasure directly into your ear, it flowed all around you, combining with the wet obscene sounds of your joining to push you further and further into a bigger, more intense climax.

One of his hands moved down, slipping between the lips of your sex to pull you apart, the other sliding up to palm your breast. With a few perfect circles you screamed, digging your fingers into his arm as you clenched around him.

There was a sting.

A sudden sharp pain at your neck that pulled you out of the haze of pleasure for a moment before it was replaced with something otherworldly. A direct current flowing through your fingers and toes, through your nipples, through the gates of heaven between your legs.

It was enough to make you lightheaded.

You blinked, finding yourself laying back on your bed with Max standing near the door, fixing his overcoat.

How did you get dressed so fast? Why am I so exhausted?

You tried to call out to him, surprised to find your limbs heavy, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Sleep now, my love.” You heard him speak, his voice sounding so far away. “Sleep, I will see you soon.” A cool, feather light kiss was pressed to your brow before the world went dark.

Whether it was the sunlight streaming in through the lace curtains, or the nightmare, or possibly a combination of both that pulled you out from the depths of sleep, you’d never truly know. A vision of something hunting, something tearing at flesh, a bone crushing bite flitting through your mind in those first few seconds upon waking making you shudder and turn towards the darker side of the room, avoiding the glaring light in your eyes.

What a horrible dream—wait, what happened again?

It had just been there but now it felt like mist, dissipating far too quickly for you to grab a hold of.

It was gone.

A knock at your door had any remaining musings about it evaporating into nothing.

“Yes? Come in-“ You croaked out the words before clearing your throat.

Your mother waltzed in, already dressed for the day making you frown. She was fussing at her skirts, unbothered—or uncaring that you were still in bed, instead she spoke about a trip she and your father were taking, how the house would be your responsibility for the next few days and that she would see you when she got back. She didn’t wait to hear your thoughts or concerns, or to even ask if you were feeling well, she was gone as quickly as she’d appeared. Leaving you still in bed, studying the time on your pocket watch with confusion.

Something seemed off, a long stretch highlighted the pleasant soreness between your thighs and then his face popped into the forefront of your thoughts. How could you have forgotten?

The events of the night before were crystal clear, to a point. You’d been walking home, he’d introduced himself and things had gone well. You’d invited him back to your home—to your bed. Everything was replaying as though you were reliving the night itself, up until he’d pulled that second climax out of you, after that, things were blurred.

No.

Not just blurred, not just hazy. That would imply there were memories to fog up, this was something else, something aggravating.

You let out a frustrated groan, tossing in your bed to bury your face into your pillows.

I wonder where he is now, wonder if I’ll ever see him again.

The jaded, realistic part of your brain said don’t count on it, and after all, why would he care to come back? You’d opened up your doors and your legs, gave him everything you had to offer and he’d left without so much as a fare thee well. At least, not one that you could remember.

Face the facts, you gave it up, and now he’s gone.

You were out of breath and not for the first time since waking that morning. Your heart raced as you stopped just outside the general store, needing a moment before starting your usual trek up the hill. The night was blessedly cool, a gentle breeze ruffling the sleeves and collar of your dress and it was only while you were distracted that he found you once more.

“Hello my sweet, I hoped to find you out and about, and so I have.” He smiled his bright white smile, reaching out to bring your hand to his mouth.

“Max-“ you frowned at him, unable to hide the shock of actually seeing him again. “I—hello, I’m sorry I-“ you floundered, unsure what to say. He seemed taken aback by your response.

“My apologies, did you not wish to see me again?”

“No! It’s not that, no I’m very glad I just—well to be perfectly blunt I didn’t actually think I would.” You blurted the words out, throwing caution to the wind. He brought that out in you it seemed.

“Oh-“ his eyebrows raised into his hairline. “I see. You thought I’d seduced you and then left you to pursue other conquests.” His tone was light, but there was a hurt in it and it made you feel guilty.

“Forgive me, I misjudged you. I am very happy to see you again.” You gave him your biggest smile and he returned it, forgiven.

“No need.” He kissed your hand once more, pulling you to hold onto his arm. “May I accompany you home?” He gestured towards the hill.

“Yes, that would be very helpful, I am feeling a bit lightheaded today I’m afraid.” You laughed, lighthearted but he didn’t join.

“Are you well?” He matched your pace, pulling you slowly towards the house.

“Oh yes, nothing to worry about. Must have been that brandy yesterday. Doesn’t tend to agree with me.” You patted his arm and he dropped the subject.

“Aside from the brandy, how has your day been?” He smiled warmly, his stride slowing down to match yours.

“Well enough.” You sighed, “My mother and father have gone away for a few days, so I have been alone.” You tried to keep your voice neutral but his expression told you he wasn’t buying it. “It is the way things are.”

“Do they not worry about you?” His eyebrows were drawn together in confusion. “Do they not care?”

“I’d rather not know the answer to those questions.” You left the rest unsaid, he didn’t press the issue. “Let’s speak of happier things. How have you been settling in? Are you close by?”

“Yes, just down the lane, a street over. My house is nicely settled but my days are too busy to go out and meet my neighbours. Thankfully I’ve met you though.”

“It isn’t a very big place, there are people no doubt dying to meet you.” You thought about the debutants, the rich single ones who would have taken one look at Max, and gobbled him up.

“Anyone in particular I should avoid?” He said it conspiratorially, leaning into you and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“No one too villainous.” You patted his arm as you reached the little walkway outside your house. “Come in, sit with me a while.”

“Of course, I’d love to, I need to hear all the local gossip.”

You’d really only meant to invite him in for conversation this time. To have him sit with you in the dim light of your sitting room, listening to him speak about any and everything but somehow- you’d found yourself underneath him once more.

Your face was pressed against your pillows, your hands like talons, gripping onto your sheets while he straddled your thighs. His hands were holding the globes of your backside open while his cock speared into you again and again.

He kept your legs closed making his sex feel so much bigger, made it feel like he was splitting you open in the best way.

You panted into the fabric, dampening it with your breath as he fucked into you—moving your body a fraction with every thrust, the friction of it against your nipples made you ache with arousal.

“You’re so wet for me my sweet, so tight around my cock.” He spread you open lewdly and you knew he was staring at the place you were joined, no doubt watching himself disappear into your body. “You’re going to milk me dry—reach down and touch yourself, I want you to come before I do.“ he sped up, groaning when you clenched around him.

You swallowed thickly as you reached down to obey him, shocked at how much arousal he's pulled out of you, feeling the soaked-through patch of the sheet on the back of your hand.

It only takes a moment, your fingers slipping through your folds with a well practiced swirl and your body tightens up, the coil winding tighter and tighter and you feel him press his chest to your back, his breath in your ear and when the pleasure finally bursts like a firework—a sting.

Euphoria—a wet gush somewhere below you and a pained moan from you, or him, maybe both of you, it’s hard to tell.

You blink.

Or, you try to blink.

Your eyelids are so heavy, it’s hard to open them but you finally do. Light is streaming in through the window, that cannot be?

Your brain feels slow, like molasses on a cold day, your limbs are so heavy and it takes what feels like hours before you can lift your arm to check the time.

It is well past noon, and it doesn’t make sense.

There’s a note on the table where your watch is and you stare at it for a moment, trying with all your might to read the words;

It was lovely to see you again my darling, I had a wonderful time. If you’re partial I would love to call on you again. I hope you slept well, you looked so peaceful when I left. See you soon. Max

You put the note down and focused on gathering your strength, ignoring the ache in your body, and the fear in your gut.

You moved at a glacial pace, both physically and mentally and you ignored the deep-rooted fear in your belly, that you’d caught the coughing sickness.

Does it start like this? Will I feel weaker and weaker until I cannot move? When does the coughing start?

You shuddered and shook your head, afraid of the loops your mind was jumping through, trying with all your might to focus on the tasks at hand. Your room needed to be tidied, the linens on your bed had to be cleaned and so you went about stripping the bed. A few drops of something dried a dark brown had stained part of the sheet, your stomach sank further still when you realized it might be blood.

Okay, just calm down. Everything will be fine, you are not sick.

You gathered the sheets, and your strength, and went about doing what needed to be done.

It took a long time, too long and instead of heading out to run your errands you decided to stay in. Make yourself something warm and hearty for dinner, make yourself a tonic. That would have to work right?

The sun set as you finally settled in to sit by the fire for the evening, falling into your fathers chair with a groan. The doorbell rang though and you seriously debated not answering, your eyes shut tight, the internal battle raging between your health, and your manners.

“My sweet? Are you well? It’s Max-“ he spoke loudly and your heart raced, making the decision for you.

“Yes! One moment Max!” You rose unsteadily, inching your way towards the door as quickly as you could with how you were feeling. His face lit up when you opened the door, it fell soon after though, seeing the strain of it plain on your face.

“Oh–” He made his way past you into the foyer. “-Are you quite well?” He moved to help you over to the chair, kneeling before you once you were seated.

“No Max, I’m afraid I’m a bit under the weather.” You tried to keep your voice light, tried to avoid his penetrating gaze. “You shouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t want you to catch whatever it is.” You pulled the light blanket higher up on your shoulders.

“Oh I very much doubt I could catch anything you might have.” He took hold of your hand, kissing the back of it quickly before moving to sit in the chair opposite. “What are you feeling?” His brow was furrowed, the gears in his mind turning smoothly.

“I feel tired.” The words were a sigh, compounding the sentiment. “Just bone tired, almost as though I cannot catch my breath.” Your hand came up to rest on your chest as you spoke. “My thoughts are slow, every part of me feels like it’s been slowed down—including my wits I think.” You took a deep breath and let out a deep sigh. “Worst is I cannot contact my mother and father, I fear something may happen to me while they are away.”

“I can stay with you for a few hours, but something tells me you’re going to be just fine.” He winked and you couldn’t help but smile at his optimism. “Do you need anything? I can make myself useful.”

A thought popped into your head then, a fear—the fear.

“Would you mind laying with me for a time? In my bed? Just laying and talking?” It felt almost pathetic to ask him, this young, vibrant, healthy man—spending his night with a young, possibly very sick woman.

“Of course my darling, I would be happy to. Come, I will help you.”

To your credit, you’d both laid there in the soft candlelight for a long time, talking about all of the different places he’d been and all of the different places you wanted to visit. He made you laugh, made you forget about how horrid you felt; made you feel special and wanted and so it inevitably led to you both being naked in your bed.

Your feelings of weakness were now replaced with a mounting pleasure. His mouth was a steady suck at your nipple, his tongue circling the sensitive tip mercilessly while his hand worked away between your spread legs. Two thick fingers pumping, a thumb gliding, his tongue–a gorgeous dance being led to the tune of your pleasure.

His cock was flushed with blood, hard and heavy against your thigh and leaking his pearly arousal onto your skin. You couldn’t help but reach down and wrap your hand around it, collecting everything that leaked from the tip to give him a stroke; try to make him feel at least half as good as he was making you feel.

He moaned onto your skin, his hips chasing the friction of your slick fist, quicker and quicker until he groaned deeply, spilling his passion onto your thigh. And then his eyes found yours, the whites of them gone–the whole of them blacker than night and terrifying and then you felt it.

A prick.

Strangely familiar.

There was no time to dwell on any of it though because his fingers were still pumping, his thumb still swirling and the force of your climax was enough to make you scream, then the darkness came.

Glimpses of light plagued you, much like the dreams. One moment you were being chased by some huge, unseen monster, skirts whipping behind you through the night, a bloody grin never far behind. Then you’d open your eyes and be tossing and turning, sweat soaked and feverish in your own bed.

It felt like hours.

Hours of running, hours of tormented sleep, hours of confusion and god knows what else.

I’m dying.

The thought came to you during a precious moment of clarity and all it did was scare you.

Your eyes opened again, the light had faded, was it night? How many hours, days had gone by?

“Max?” It felt like another dream, this one cruel because he was there, healthy and glowing and sitting by your side.

“I’m here, my darling.” His voice cut through the delirium, his hand a cool respite from fire burning just underneath your skin.

“Max-” Your voice was a hoarse croak, “I-I think I’m dying.” Tears streamed down your face, leaning into his hand with the little strength you had left.

“Yes, you are my love, but you don’t have to.” He stroked your face, leaning close to press his lips to your feverish brow. “You have a choice.”

“I don’t understand-” Was this another dream?

“If I leave you now, you will be dead by morning.” His voice was steady, “But there is another way. I could make you like me and then we can be together forever.”

You couldn’t die now, there was so much to do, so much to see, and Max–he could have been the great love of your life and it wasn’t fair.

“Like you? Max, I don’t want to die.” The tears flowed faster, fear and despair running rampant.

Why couldn’t I have met you years ago?

“You don’t have to, I can make you like me.” He lifted your hand in his, placing a soft kiss at your wrist. “Would you like that? Do you want to be with me forever? I cannot help until you say yes.” He wiped away the tears and waited.

“Yes Max, I want to be with you forever.” He smiled a sharp smile, and in a flash he was at your throat, his kiss had teeth and it made you whimper, made you close your eyes and fall limp in his arms. There was a moment when you thought you’d lost consciousness but then there was something in your mouth, a thick liquid crawling down your throat and into your bloodstream. It was a balm, something to soothe the ache and the pain but it turned to acid in a flash. The web of hurt spreading like a lightning strike and burning twice as hot.

It was agony.

You’d been burned once as a child, your mother had been ironing one of your fathers suits. The red hot iron had merely grazed your arm, but the pain lingered for days, caused you sleepless nights and tears to spare.

Compared to this, that burn was a kiss. That burn was the soft caress of a lover, a cool scrap of silk against your skin.

“Max, what is happening to me?” Your voice is a strangled cry, the linens under you felt like steel wool. He answers and he's so much closer than you expected him to be while you thrash blindly.

“It is almost over my love, soon the pain will pass.” His hand found yours through the chaos of the pain, a lifeline in the middle of a deep, dark, ocean.

It could have been minutes, or hours that passed. It could have been years, but eventually the storm abated, and with it went the pain.

“Max?” Your fingers flew up to your mouth, pressing against your lips, shocked at the way your voice sounded. Still your voice, but somehow more.

“Yes my love, I am here.” His voice sounded different too, so much clearer—everything sounded clear. Too clear, the sound of the floorboards creaking under his steps so much louder than you’d ever heard it. “You will adjust.” He crouched beside your place in the bed and your eyes widened when you took him in. It was as though he’d been hiding behind a paper screen before, the shape of him clear enough to distinguish him from another, but somehow vague.

He was devastatingly handsome, his skin smooth as polished marble, his eyes every shade of honey brown at once.

“What did you do to me?” You reached out to touch him and you noted the perfect skin of your hands, almost doll-like.

“What you asked,” he grasped your hand in his, placing a kiss on your palm. “I have made you like me. Come—get dressed and we will eat.”

His words were like a punch to the stomach, hunger spreading like a bruise throughout your body, the pain of it almost debilitating.

“I might faint of hunger Max, where will we eat?” You dressed as quickly as you could, ignoring the slight tremble in your hands.

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find something.” He helped you dress, pulling you from what you’d come to believe was your deathbed and out into the night but before you’d made it out the door, you caught your reflection and gasped.

It was you, that was to be sure but it wasn’t the You you’d come to expect to see. The woman in the mirror has your face, and your eyes, your hair—but she was different. Her skin was perfect. Her eyes sparkled, her teeth shone so white.

It was mesmerizing.

“Is that me?” You watched the reflection, her beauty shifted, something predatory in the eyes.

“Yes my love, that is you.” He placed a kiss on your neck. “Come, before the sun rises.” He pulled you away from the mirror, and into hell.

“It’s overwhelming, I know, but you will adjust, as I did.” His voice is the anchor, a tether holding you from getting lost in the chaos. Has it always been this bad? This loud? Your feet carry you through the streets, with his hand guiding you along and the closer you get to the thick of it–to the crowd milling about the high street where the worst it is.

“I know my love–” His arm slips around your waist, pressing you close. “-Just a little further, and I will find you what you need.” Your stomach roils, the hunger-the thirst rips a swathe through your being.

“Why am I so hungry Max?” You stumble over a loose cobble but he steadies you, lifting you back onto your feet as though you were made of paper and it almost scares you how strong he is.

“Because you have not eaten.” His words are casual, a seemingly simple answer for a seemingly simple question. It didn’t feel simple though, not with the way you could barely concentrate. Everything seemed to be amplified, the dial on the radio turned to an uncomfortable volume and there was no way to turn it down. Distorted voices, an incessant thumping so loud it made you blink to its beat.

Worst of all, was the smell.

The city smelled rotten. The cloyingly sweet smell of overly ripe fruit, the sour smell of unwashed bodies, the moldy smell of old bread, hard packed dirt filled with worms, but threaded through it was the rich smell of butter and fine wine–the green of summer grass. Underneath everything though was something else, something mouth-watering–something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

He led you towards the park, the vast, open, green space where you would have never gone unaccompanied, much less at night. It was hard to feel afraid with Max though, it was hard to feel anything but intense hunger.

“That one there is a good candidate.” He gestures to a middle aged man. “He won’t be missed.” He watched you, an encouraging smile on his handsome face, you frowned in response.

“I don’t understand–” You looked at the man again, he must have been in his late forties, maybe even early fifties.

“You are hungry my love, eat.” He gestures again and your stomach sinks. “Oh come now, no need to be coy with me my darling, I can feel your hunger.” He smiles not unkindly at what must be a shocked expression. “If it makes you feel any better, he’s the worst sort of person. I can hear it in his mind, believe me, you will be doing this world a favour.” He kisses the back of your hand, soothing.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone, Max.” Your hands tremble, “I cannot–” The man walks closer and the smell of him almost knocks you off your feet, the thumping is back and you’re horrified to realize it’s his blood. A thunderous sound pounding through his body and through your head, and before you realize what you’re doing, your feet are carrying you to him.

It felt as though someone else was controlling you, something else entirely had taken over your senses, your limbs.

“Well aren’t you a pretty little thing.” The older man spots you then, his eyes light up with something altogether unwholesome, “What are you doing out this late, and all alone?” His eyes rake over your body in a way that would have scared you had you not been so focused on the sound his blood was making.

“So… hungry…” You barely heard yourself over the sound of his heart, barely saw anything but the seemingly glowing network of veins in his skin, all of it a gorgeous lace pattern.

“What’s that sugar-” He didn’t get to finish his question. Something in your body, something in your very being sprung out, a sudden, awful ache bloomed in your upper jaw before you bit into the salty flesh of his neck, piercing the brightest, thickest vein.

Euphoria.

Your body was curled around him, fingers digging into his arms, clutching him ever closer, your fingers so like the talons of some monstrous bird of prey.

He was silent as you took your fill, pull after pull of what tasted like the thickest, most delicious wine.

“That’s enough my love, not too much.” Firm, strong hands managed to break your hold on the man much too soon. “You cannot drain him. I know, I know.” He soothed your pained expression, wiped at your mouth with his thumb, sticking it into his mouth with a sharp smile. “Believe me, it’s better to stay hungry than to kill outright. Could make you very sick. Come–let's go home.” He fussed at your clothes for a moment before dragging the man over to a bench. You glanced back at him as Max led you away, to anyone walking by, he was just some tired, old man—resting alone.

The walk back to his home was only slightly easier to handle, the sounds, the smells, the cloying press was almost tolerable now that your stomach was full.

“Here we are, just here.” The house is much bigger than you’d anticipated, grand, but still tasteful. Years worth of ivy had already conquered most of the facade, giving it a cottage-like appeal and drawing your eye as he guided you inside. “The sun will be up soon, we must get into bed.”

“Why?” Your eyes roamed throughout the space, noting the almost clinical cleanliness of the place. The rug under your feet, perfectly laid, cushions on the settee without a single sign of ever having been sat on.

“Well, because the sun would kill us, my love.” He says it offhand, making your eyes widen at the back of his head. “We are impervious to almost everything, except that.” He opens a set of double doors at the top of the stairs and what greets you stops you in your tracks, eyes wide and full of terror.

“Max, why is there a massive coffin in here?” You stand at the door, frozen in place.

“Come now, there is nothing to be afraid of, it is where I sleep, where we will sleep–until I purchase you your own.” He smiles, his hands smoothing the worry on your face away with a welcome tenderness. “Believe me, once you get in, you will sleep just as soundly as you ever have in a regular bed, I promise you.” He pulls your gaze from the morbid thing to his own eyes, and in them you cannot help but find comfort, and honesty.

“Promise?” You press yourself a little closer and he smiles, nodding before placing a cool kiss to your forehead.

“Of course, come–we haven't much time.” He places another quick kiss at your brow before starting to undress. You follow suit and once completely nude, he opens the box and lays in it, opening his arms to you. You hesitate for a second, but get in just the same, he closes the lid and plunges you both in complete, and utter darkness.

“That’s my good girl, are you comfortable?” There is just enough room to fit into one another's arms, even with your heightened senses–it is difficult to make out anything within the confined space.

“Yes, there’s not much room, but I’m okay.” You scoot as close as you can, your face pressed into the crook of his neck. “Have you always slept here?” Your hand rests against his chest, just as his strokes at the skin of your back as best as he can.

“Yes, since I was turned.” He moves his face, and finds your lips in the dark. “It’s nice to have you in here with me.” He kisses every inch of your face he can reach. Soft, chaste kisses that make you smile, until he deepens it. His tongue tastes sweet but you pull away before it can turn into anything more just yet. You smile when he chases your mouth.

“Max-“ He finds your mouth again, cutting off your words and replacing them with a moan, “Max, tell me what you’ve done to me.” Your fingers thread through the short crop of his hair as he moves his kisses to your neck, to the base of your throat, and further still to the stiff peaks of your breasts. You bite your tongue as he takes on into his mouth, managing to distract you for a moment.

He hums around a nipple, biting at it before soothing it with his tongue. You don’t know how, but you find your voice amid this assault.

“Max, tell me—oh-“ he manages to get you on your back within the small space, manages to squeeze himself between your legs and before he can distract you with his tongue again, you yank his hair back, silently relishing the deep groan he gifts you with. “Focus Max, I need you to answer my questions, I am at a loss and very confused.” You stroke the place where you yanked at his hair, “Please, Max, I need to know what you’ve done to me.”

“I have made you into something else, something more. I have turned you into a vampire like me. Now we can be together forever.” He presses another kiss to your mouth, once again chaste. “You are neither dead, nor alive. You simply exist, as I do. You will need blood to sustain you, and a coffin at night to sleep in. You will never grow old, you will never get sick-“ he presses kisses to your neck between his words, “-you need never fear anything, and with me, you will never want for anything, ever again.”

“I am… not myself anymore?”

“You are more, you are better, you are at your full potential. You are mine, and I am yours. Neither of us ever need be alone again.”

It was almost too much to bear, the change you now felt so keenly. His weight on top of you was nothing, the difference in your senses, the difference in your body, it was all almost too much and for a moment you thought you might drown in it.

“Peace, my love, be at peace.” He heard the sob crawl out of your throat, the emotion of it all getting the better of you. With an awkward shuffle you were in his arms again, weeping into the skin of his neck. “I know it is a big change, but I am here to guide you through it.”

There were many and more questions you needed answered, but there would be more than enough time for that later. Eventually, the darkness of the space, the feel of him wrapped around you, the comfort in the steady sweep of his hands on your skin lulled you into just what he’d promised it would; warm, comfortable and dreamless sleep.

- Tag list: @foli-vora @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @ezrasbirdie @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @wheresarizona @sherala007 @marydjarin @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @princessxkenobi @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @dihra-vesa @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @quica-quica-quica @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @sophiefatale2495 @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @localddreamers @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @maievdenoir @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @allthatsleftbehind @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed @swtaura @send-me-to-valhalla @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @oliviajdjarin @actuallyanita @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince @rosymythologies @avidreader73 @mr-underhills-things @avengersfan25 @tastygoldentaters @nyotamalfoy @mymindfuckery

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #max phillips #maxxy #maxxy baby #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #max phillips x f!reader #bloodsucking bastards #bloodsucking bastards au #max x reader #max p x reader

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daisy-throat · 24 days ago

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✩ wips/sneak peeks for silent hill and devil may cry ✩

cw: wip list contains some dark/dddne content, please proceed with caution!

as these are wips, they may be altered/changed and tags will be updated upon posting the full ver.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

𝑺𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑯𝒊𝒍𝒍

CW: Real!dadJames Sunderland x reader: dddne/dark content, incest, guilt, smut, loss of virginity, more tags may be added later.

James had been incredibly distant with you growing up, being little more than a provider—A stark contrast to the way he treated your sister, Laura. After leaving for college, you didn't think you'd ever come back, but with nowhere else to go on summer break, you are forced to return. James does his best to show you just how much he cares and how much he missed you.

It's just not in the way a father should...

Maybe if you weren't so deprived of a proper father's love through your teenage years, you'd stop him... but you don't because you are a starved thing, and any little touch or praise from your father is nourishment. His fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants and into your underwear, middle finger dipping down and pressing featherlight over the start of your slit, surely getting a feel of the slick that has gathered. It would be impossible not to, not with the way your underwear had started to cling to you.

"Oh, honey," James breathes hotly against your ear, full of relief and awe with that undercurrent of lust that is new and dizzyingly pleasant to the ears. "You're so messy."

𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝑴𝒂𝒚 𝑪𝒓𝒚

CW: Owner!Vergil x Cat!hybrid reader, pt 1: ppe(partial power exchange), hybrids, gen owner/pet dynamic, misunderstandings, abandonment issues, spanking, slight ddlg because papa is used once or twice, angst/comfort, additional tags may be added later

"Tell me, pet," Vergil begins as he closes the distance between the two of you in a few smooth strides, elegant as ever. He gently guides your chin up with his index finger and thumb. It's unfair how gentle and soft he looks in his concern. Betrayal surges up your spine to wiggle its way into your throat, forming a lump.

"What has caused this behavior?" He asks. Hurt, betrayal, and abandonment tangle up within you, turning your tongue into a useless, paralyzed muscle in your mouth, heavy and thick.

"If you will not tell me what is wrong, how am I to fix this?"

It should be easy to tell him, you tell him everything... but if you do, it will only cement it all. Dread and heavy sadness threaten to bloom into nausea. Vergil's eyes narrow, a soft crease forms between his brows and he moves his hand to grip your jaw, causing you to gasp in surprise.

"Very well, I'll have to force it out of you."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

#daisythroat.txt #daisy throat petals #james sunderland x reader #james sunderland x you #james sunderland smut #silent hill x you #vergil sparda x reader #vergil sparda x you #dead dove do not eat #dark content

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beautifulmakkaris · 1 year ago

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If you're missing Lockwood and Co, don't despair! Here are some recommendations from fans of the show and books to help fill the void while we fight for season 2 - please share far and wide <3

All recs are from responses to this post, myself and things I've seen floating around the internet (ie, Goodreads suggestions/lists). Recs may be based on specific characters, ships, tropes, genres, worldbuilding or just general ~vibes.

Please make sure to check all content warnings before reading/watching any recommendations on this list.

Books (standalone)

Spellbound by F. T. Lukens

The Agency for Scandal by Laura Wood

The Dead Romantics by Ashley Poston

The Cheat Sheet by Sarah Adams

This May End Badly by Samantha Markum

Cemetery Boys by Aiden Thomas

The Ex Hex by Erin Sterling

A Sky Painted Gold by Laura Wood

The Hidden Dragon by Melissa Marr

Trouble by Lex Croucher

Books (series - *ongoing)

Shades of Magic by V. E. Schwab

Skulduggery Pleasant by Derek Landy

A Good Girl's Guide to Murder by Holly Jackson

The Locked Tomb by Tamsyn Muir*

Virals by Kathy Reichs

The Shades of London by Maureen Johnson

The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater

Jackaby by William Ritter

Charlotte Holmes by Brittany Cavallaro

The Checquy Files by Daniel O'Malley

Alex Stern by Leigh Bardugo*

Stalking Jack the Ripper by Kerry Maniscalco

Scarlet by A. C. Gaughen

Renegades by Marissa Meyer

The Diviners by Libba Bray

City of Ghosts by Victoria Schwab

Percy Jackson & the Olympians by Rick Riordan

Mokee Joe by Peter J. Murray

Mortal Engines by Philip Reeve

Murder Most Unladylike by Robin Stevens*

Letters of Enchantment by Rebecca Ross*

The Left-Handed Booksellers of London by Garth Nix

Dreadwood by Jennifer Killick

The Empyrean by Rebecca Yarros*

The Bartimaeus Sequence by Jonathan Stroud

Ankh-Morpork City Watch (Discworld) by Terry Pratchett

The Mistborn Trilogy by Brandon Sanderson

Scarlett & Browne by Jonathan Stroud

His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman

Books (graphic novels)

Locke & Key by Joe Hill

Television series (*-ongoing)

School Spirits*

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Shadow & Bone

Wednesday*

Stranger Things*

CW's Nancy Drew

Shadowhunters

Locke & Key

The Bastard Son and the Devil Himself

Spooksville

The Midnight Club

Teen Wolf

Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency

Grimm

Please feel free to keep sending recommendations my way and I'll update this list as often as I can! Also let me know if you enjoy anything you found from this list, I'd love to know if you found it helpful :)

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angelsdevils · 6 months ago

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Debt of the Heart

Tag List: @reiners-milkbiddies @maraya-007 @shelly-ya @galactict3a @bontensbabygirl @thisbicc

*If you want to be added to the tag list you can fill out this form, or update it.

A week had passed since you had married to Ran and moved into his home. Each day that passed became more normal. The initial awkwardness had been replaced by a routine, in the morning you would eat breakfast, go to the garden for fresh air, in the afternoon you would spend time at the piano, and in the evenings, you would spend time with Ran. It wasn’t by choice, but he wanted to get to know you more. Ran kept his promise, giving you space so you could adjust.

This morning, you woke up to the sound of birds chirping outside the window. You opened the curtain to see the garden still as beautiful and breathtaking as always. You showered and got dressed before going downstairs for breakfast. Like always, Ran was already downstairs eating breakfast and texting someone. When you entered the dining room, he put his phone away, so you had his full attention.

“How did you sleep?” He asked, your plate already made and sitting beside him. You sat down and nodded your head.

“Yeah, I think I am slowly adjusting to not being home.”

“Is this starting to feel like home to you?” He asked, watching as you drink water before eating.

“I… don’t know a little bit, I guess. I developed a routine.”

“I am glad to hear that,” Ran said, smiling genuinely. “I was thinking, we should do something special today. Maybe, a day trip?”

Your head snapped to him, confusion and surprise covering your features. “A day trip? Where to?”

“I was thinking the countryside that isn’t far from here. I think you will like it. We can leave in an hour, and I will take care of everything.”

You thought about it for a moment, leaving the mansion would be nice. And you have always liked the countryside. You nodded your head, accepting his offer.

“Okay, I will like that a lot.” You said, and he smiled taking your hand. He kissed the top of your hand.

“Perfect,” he said.

The drive to the countryside was pleasant, he took his convertible and made sure the roof was down. The wind blew through your (h/l) (h/c) hair, and you wore a cute sunhat to keep your hair at bay. You had decided to wear your favorite sundress because it just felt right. Ran held your hand, and while you normally would have pulled out of his hold. You were enjoying the scenery that passed by.

“You look beautiful by the way,” Ran said, after turning the radio down. You looked over at him, and he turned to you with a smile.

“Thank you,” you said softly. You turned away, and he focused on the road again. He turned the radio back up when a song played. The song was ‘Love on the Brain’ by Rihanna was on. He was humming the lyrics, but you didn’t care, you knew the lyrics and couldn’t help but sing softly to it.

You reached the countryside in about thirty minutes and Ran parked the car. You got out of the car, and he grabbed the basket, and blanket. You looked around, the scenery had rolling hills, lush greenery, and it was perfect for pictures. It was so beautiful; your face held the awe.

“This place is beautiful,” you said, inhaling the air. A wave of calmness washed over you.

“I am glad you like it,” Ran replied. “Let’s go find spot o sit and have a picnic.”

You nodded following him, holding the hat so it didn’t blow away when the wind blew. He found a place that was near the lake. You spread the blanket out and sat down, looking around. He sat across from you, setting the basket down and he leaned back on his arms.

“It’s so beautiful out here. I can’t get over it,” you said, looking around. You couldn’t help but admire the scenery.

“Yeah, you are, I can’t either,” Ran said. You turned to look at him confused, and he didn’t even realize what he said. He was just admiring your beauty. You gave him a weird look, ignoring his comment and went back to looking out at the lake.

“So, why did you want to come here today?” You asked, changing the subject.

“I wanted to bring you here, hoping it would help build our relationship,” he said.

“This won’t change anything, it’s still only a marriage meant to protect my parents,” you said. Ran’s shoulder’s dropped before he reached and held your hand with his gently. You did pull your hand away though.

“I know that, but it doesn’t mean we can’t get along and love each other. I am committed to make this work between us, and I hope you are too,” Ran replied.

“One day at a time, Ran. We have only been married a week. Just last week you threaten to kill my parents. Things won’t change that fast.”

Ran flinched, but he understood. He didn’t want to pressure or rush you. It was his turn to change the subject, to get away from this deep and depressing topic.

“So, what do you like to do? I want to learn more about you. What do you like to do when you aren’t working?” Ran asked, and you flattened your dress.

“I like reading, writing and music.”

“Reading? What do you like to read?” He asked, and you think for a few moments.

“Anything that is fiction, but mainly romance, horror, and mystery.”

“I like to read about history and philosophy, so I guess we have different genres but like to drown ourselves in a book,” he said, smiling.

You both fell silent, and you looked up at the clouds. You both would occasionally snack on the things Ran packed, like the fruit and sandwiches. After the picnic was done, he stood up and offered you, his hand. You took it, and he pulled you up, packing the blanket into the basket. He carried it and you both walked along the lake. You removed your shoes, letting the water hit your feet. You smiled slightly, jumping back few steps from how cold it was.

Ran watched enjoying the sight of your soft smile. He wanted to be the one that brought the smile to your face, but this was close enough, since he brought you here. You both ended up going back to his car, and he drove you both back home. You ended up falling asleep in the car, because the country air, was soothing. He would glance over at you, and smile. When you arrived at the mansion, he carried you into your shared bedroom. It would be the first time you shared a room together.

He got your pajamas out and shook you awake, telling you to change. Half asleep, you changed and curled into the covers again. He crawled into bed behind you, and he went to wrap his arm around your waist, but he stopped himself. Instead, he turn his back to you and fall asleep deciding to give you your space for now.

© [@angelsdevils] all rights reserved. none of my posts or stories should be modified, reposted, etc. I do not own the character or the fanart, but I own the plots of these stories. All fanart goes to their appropriate owners.

#Ran Haitani #Tokyo Revengers #TR #Bonten #Ran Haitani x reader #Debt of the Heart

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scummy-writes · 8 months ago

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⋅ ── ✩ Glimpses of Teal and Auburn - Picnic

Words: 602

Characters: Arthur/Mc/Isaac

Summary: In which Isaac joins them for a picnic. Overthinking as usual...

Hey!! This is a series! This is the third part of it, for more info and the other bits, please view this post.

“A picnic?” Isaac spoke to himself, scanning the letter she had left on his desk once more.

Arthur and her apparently had previous plans to go on a small outing, but something inane must have caused them to invite him. Wouldn’t he just be an awkward accessory?

The letter was set back as he glanced out the window, recalling how pleasant the sun felt on his skin the brief moment he managed to step outside today.

Well… He could always bring a book along, couldn’t he?

Isaac was greeted by the smiling couple once he met them in the garden. He nervously tapped his boot against the ground, clearing his throat. But before he had a chance to speak, she was settling beside him, holding up a book of her own.

“Looks like we had the same idea, Isaac. Isn’t the weather perfect for reading today?”

“Erm, y-yes, it is…”

“Figured this would be a good chance to chat about some things,” Arthur smiled as he spoke, and to anyone else it would seem like a normal statement. But Isaac’s cheeks flushed, knowing they were wanting to talk about the…. Tryst, he had been invited to.

“R-right…” Every movement of his felt stiff- since when had he gotten more nervous between these two? But they didn’t let him suffer in such a way for long.

Instead, Arthur accepted his awkward agreement while giving her a wink, and… they were off, walking past the grounds of the mansion, further into privacy.

He shouldn't feel his heart flutter like so. She held onto his hand tightly as they walked up the nearby hill, basket in his other hand as he carefully guided her. Before them was Arthur, blanket in tow as he led the way to an 'old picnic spot' he used to roam off to on days plagued with writer's block.

As Arthur babbled about the secluded spot, swearing it was the reason he was finally able to publish this or that story, Isaac glanced over at her, catching her stifling a giggle.

Was this what being in a relationship was like? Accepting your partner's subtle oddities while sharing some of your own?

How wonderful it must be to be so readily accepted in such a way…

"Here we are!"

Still ramped up by his own excitement, Arthur whipped out the blanket in a flourish- acting dramatic in order to incite more teasing tsks from her. It seemed as though Isaac’s brows furrowing made Arthur’s smile brighter, bringing out laughter from the man.

Isaac… Couldn’t really fathom why his expression caused that, but he still watched as Arthur took her hand with the same energy as before, pressing a kiss against her knuckles before the couple settled onto the blanket. Isaac was surprised when Arthur reached for his hand after, playfully tugging him down to join them.

“We packed all of your favorites, Newt!”

“Which means I made sure Arthur didn’t pack any apples…”

For a moment, Isaac leaned back on his hands as they unpacked the basket and chatted between each other, closing his eyes and letting the cooling wind freely muss his hair without complaint. That, paired with the warmth of her hand over his, and being shoulder to shoulder with Arthur, felt the closest he could get to pure joy. How odd, that it was these two settling his heart in such a way.

Perhaps spending one heated night with them, regardless of his experience, wouldn’t be as shameful as he pictured it to be. Not if they accepted him just a fraction as readily as they accepted each other.

This one is pretty short. Admittedly, I realized that it's been a Very long time since I updated this, and so I looked for another SFW scene and tried to put some sort of order to them, and decided that this one would be a nice third installment.

Eventually....eventually...this does delve into smut... however those drafts are. hm. they don't seem to follow a set timeframe, and it is difficult figuring out who does what with Isaac first, second, last... They are usually short as well, with Isaac a bit overwhelmed but enjoying himself.

i assumed it made a bit more sense to put out the fluffy stuff before they bang, and then slip in the small bits of them banging. Since it's all over the place, I may combine some of the things Mc does with isaac into a post where Isaac is reflecting on the many things they've done together, before Arthur starts taking his turn.

Don't know! Sorry, I'm not used to sharing fanfics that never got completed in the end. It is a little hard to muster past the anxiety to show how clusterfucked some of it is.

Glimpses Of Teal and Auburn Masterlist || Ikevamp Masterlist || Ikepri Masterlist || Ikevamp/Ikepri Server

Taglist: @xbalayage @queengiuliettafirstlady @yarnnerdally @nightghoul381 @redsky-morning @fang-and-feather @skoetiepoetie @namine-somebodies-nobody @katriniac

#glimpses of teal and auburn #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #isaacona #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp arthur #ikemen vampire isaac #ikemen vampire arthur

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rjzimmerman · 4 months ago

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Water buffalo escapes slaughter, evades police, becomes local celebrity. (Washington Post)

PHill, a water buffalo, recovering at Iowa State University’s Large Animal Hospital. On Aug. 24, PHill escaped from his owner who was planning to slaughter him, and he was subsequently shot by a police officer in Pleasant Hill, Iowa. He was captured humanely on Aug. 27. (Iowa Farm Sanctuary)

Excerpt from this Washington Post story:

A water buffalo who escaped as his owner tried to slaughter him became a folk hero-type figure in Iowa last week as the animal — who was also shot by police — was on the run for days.

Residents in Pleasant Hill, Iowa — a city in the Des Moines metropolitan area — first spotted the water buffalo on Aug. 24 in the middle of a roadway. Passersby were puzzled by the strange sighting, since water buffaloes are unusual in the area.

After multiple sightings, residents started tracking the large animal, and named him PHill (Pronounced Phil) after their city.

Pleasant Hill Police were alerted to the wandering mammal and spoke with its owner, who rents land just north of Pleasant Hill. The owner told officers he was attempting to kill the animal to butcher him for meat when the water buffalo escaped the property, according to Pleasant Hill city spokesperson Candace Bell. The owner told officers the water buffalo was “aggressive and dangerous,” Bell said.

On the same day the water buffalo escaped, an officer found him by a bank, next to a four-lane highway.

“That is when our officer took a shot to keep it from going into the highway,” said Bell.

After PHill was shot in the abdomen, he quickly ran off.

As police tried to track down the roughly 1,000-pound wounded animal, he made his way around town. Residents began to spot him curiously sniffing at their doorsteps and in their backyards, and ambling through parking lots and nearby trails.

There was a consensus that residents wanted to keep PHill safe. Soon, people were pleading for his protection.

“The outcry was, ‘Don’t kill him.’ Everybody was offering suggestions,” Henriksen said. “He’s just the cutest little thing.”

Henriksen created a Facebook page to provide updates on his whereabouts, and a clothing store started selling T-shirts that say: “FREE PHILL!”

“Let him be free! He’s cheated death at least twice! He’s earned it!” the store wrote in a Facebook post.

Iowa Farm Sanctuary — about 100 miles from Pleasant Hill — caught wind of PHill’s story and offered to take him in, as well as two other water buffalo kept by PHill’s owner, who officials said has been charged in the past for similar livestock incidents.

“This same owner has had cows and goats go missing so there is an investigation into how they’ve escaped and if all laws were being followed,” Bell said, adding that police do not know how or where the man obtained the water buffalo.

#water buffalo #Iowa

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colleybrifanfics · 6 months ago

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Imagine a divergent universe, where Cassian Andor never met two bullies on Morlana 1.

He’s not the man he should be.

Jyn Erso, dedicated Rebel in the face of an impossible fight with a triumphant Empire, comes to Ferrix one morning to buy stolen parts. Cassian is very much… his old self.

NSFW below the cut. Smut with a distinctly wistful flavour.

Ferrix, Imperial Era 24

As the glow of dawn makes a rare appearance low on the horizon a flock of five steelpeckers flap over, low and squawking, heading from the main salyards to their daytime roosting sites in the surrounding hills. He tenses a little, instinctively, and hurries under the awning at Gueti’s. One of these birds had shat on him once, and clothes were basically unsalvageable after that. He isn’t ready to give up on this coat yet, not after all these years.

He doesn’t go off-world much these days as the risks are so high, but he does remember a few planets with … nicer birds. Birds that made pleasant noises to greet the day, a chorus of joy at a new beginning rather those guttural cries that put in mind a Corellian hound being throttled. He can't remember the morning songs of the birds of Kenari, though, and supposes he never really noticed.

He selects an outdoor table with a nearby heater, greets Gueti and orders caf and pistachio cake. Then, oh so casually, he places a little iron bowl on the table and pulls out the datapad from his large bag. The Time Grappler marks Start of Day but his, and Gueti’s, and his buyer’s (whoever they may be) has already started.

So. Something to read while he waits.

How many have died recently?

He rarely dwells on the news these days. It’s so hard to know what is the truth anymore. But illicit stations, broadcasting from ships flying under flags of convenience or from all-out pirate vessels, still pop up every few months before being shut down, and manage sometimes to broadcast text updates too. His datapad is ancient and he can’t afford the latest software update, but it doesn’t matter - these guys use old tech and the ‘dark’ holonet, whatever that is. He still likes old tech. He stares at the silently unfolding letters, telling the same familiar story. Another several-billion lives destroyed in a heartbeat. Apparently, a rebel cell had been located on this outer-rim world, a planet he had never even heard of - and that fact didn’t matter one bit because it didn’t exist anymore anyway.

Peace is, according to the official version, being kept. According to the unofficial version, Palpatine is simply wiping out any signs of resistance. He sighs. You think they would have learned their lesson by now, those rebels. How utterly pointless it was to fight back. It’s so much better to live. To eat, to sleep.

He is vaguely thankful, in a passing thought that commonly comes his way, that Ferrix has stayed relatively unscathed all this time. It’s a well-behaved community. Heads down, continuing as they always have to exploit those with money, whatever the design of their flag or logo.

His buyer is late. Still, he doesn’t mind. It means more time to enjoy the small pleasures of an early morning. He lights a cigarette - the iron bowl serving as an ashtray. It’s good cover for its presence, but he wants to smoke anyway. Since giving up the drink, told at last flat-out first by the doctor and then, more convincingly, by Brasso that it would be the death of him if he didn’t, he had felt.. hmm, rebellious … enough to take up another vice. Death-sticks had no appeal even for a risk-taker like him and the last thing he needed was more mental stimulation. Just something to make the days seem… a little more pleasant, in some indefinable way.

“Hello. Is this seat free?” The voice is from behind him and belongs to a human woman, with a clipped Core worlds accent, and obviously she is a small individual as he had not heard her approach over the sounds of the waking town.

He turns and takes her in fully. She is in Pre-Mor uniform, but of course that can mean very little and there’s something about the way she wears it just a bit… too well that makes him immediately positive that she isn’t Pre-Mor. No matter. As long as she has his money, he really doesn’t care.

She’s looking at him very directly, with pale grey-green eyes. She’s attractive. Definitely. He’s probably spending a beat too long looking at her as her eyes now dart quickly to the table - the little iron bowl there - and he realises she’s waiting for confirmation. He gives it with a little wave and she sits. Gueti is over in an instant and she orders caf but nothing to eat.

He sees her eyeing the cigarette. “Would you like one?” he asks.

She grimaces. “No, I hate the smell. Thank you, though.” She says this forcefully enough to compel him to hold the cigarette down and behind his stool so that the fumes don’t bother her. She’s intriguing him already. She doesn’t really look like a rebel. But he is immediately of the belief that that is what she is and wonders if she will realise that he suspects.

Negotiations begin. He’s so used to this now, it’s almost second nature. He's employing a favourite tactic today: try to bump up the price agreed remotely by introducing another unexpected piece as a bonus. The buyer would then sometimes think they were getting a bargain, without the time to research the actual value of said piece. But he knows not to push either the price or the deception too high. He likes repeat customers.

Repeat customers. She is talking now about how the masking transponder he has produced from the bag isn’t the exact model stated in their communications, and he’s telling her that it’s superior. He’s talking on autopilot, practically. A good part of his concentration is leaping ahead twenty minutes or so, to the time when he estimates that they will finish their business in a mutually agreeable way. He is thinking about how he might persuade her to delay her departure.

Because she is very attractive. And the problem with getting repeat customers on Ferrix these days is that … the women who live here all know him. Either directly or by reputation.

Off-worlders were a happier hunting ground these days. With them, he could very often rely on his old methods. Which basically consisted of throwing out the net and seeing if the object of his desire wanted to swim into it. He knew how good he looked, despite the signs of his past indulgences. He didn’t see it as vanity, just as a simple fact - evidenced by the way that the lamest of pickup lines would almost always result in… a pickup. Experimentally, he had even once tried the simple “I’m free if you are...?” - and had scored a pretty much instant success.

He realises soon enough that he should have put a little more thought into this, but then he wasn’t prepared for this particular buyer.

All he can manage, as they stand up, salvaged or stolen parts and credits exchanged, is “Would you like to stay a little longer and…”. He realises his error immediately, as her gaze goes from his face to his hand, where it had been making a vague waving gesture at the dusty street that seemed to suggest that the sentence might finish with ‘…let me show you the sights of Ferrix’, and then back to his face with a dawning expression of incredulous and derisive mirth.

Her laugh is loud enough to draw a glance from Gueti over at the counter.

“That’s actually hilarious. I was warned about you, y’know, by my contact before she gave me the rendezvous details. I thought you were going to be a real Loth-wolf. But this? Is this the best you’ve got?”

Stung but helpless and still hoping, despite these less than auspicious signs, all he can do is smile. Sometimes that would work. In fact, most things would work on off-world women. Again, he really wasn’t used to making much of an effort with them. He wasn’t very good at conversation. Perhaps he should just be frank.

“I just thought.. you might like a little fun. You know. If you want to, we can go…”

“Oh wow, you really don’t know when to stop, do you!” But her smile is now wide and genuine, and he still goes on hoping. He doesn’t mind being humiliated if a payoff may yet come his way.

At this most bizarre but strangely captivating impasse they continue to regard each other levelly. Finally, she tilts her head a little to one side and she subjects the full length of his body to a long, sweeping stare, as if assessing the visual condition of a speeder before deciding whether it is worth a test drive.

(Cont below - NSFW. )

“OK,” she says contemplatively, with a smile that reveals another glimpse of her prominent overbite. It’s… very cute. “Why not?”

He does have a very lovely smile, she thinks. And it had been clear that Caleen had feelings for him, despite the lighthearted warning. An intelligent being, especially a female, can often sense the painful truth behind the outward nonchalance. He was obviously an ex who she still cared about, despite everything.

But besides all that… she knows what she likes, and knows what she wants. Right now, what she wants is this slightly-built man with the unusual accent, the long jawline under a short beard and those big brown eyes that are somehow knowing, cynical and childlike all at once.

He is very, very attractive. And she has plenty of time today.

They attract a few knowing stares on the short walk to his place, but he doesn’t care, and he knows the starers don’t either. He’s gone home with a few Pre-Mor employees before. Some of whom turn a blind eye to his activities for that very reason.

They are upon each other even before the door slides completely shut, and her kisses taste so very good. She allows him to take her all at once and greedily, perhaps sensing that once this initial hunger is sated he will be more measured and considerate of her needs too. Maybe. He can’t think that far ahead. He can barely think at all. All his blood and energy seems to divert to his groin and he feels the familiar but still so delicious burning. He doesn’t even take his clothes off, bar the coat, concentrating on her tight-fitting uniform instead, featuring belt, buttons and zipped trousers that are not hastily shed. Panting, she tries to help him but her fingers get in the way of his, bringing a few snorts of laughter from them both. So she switches to unbelting and unzipping him instead, freeing the cause of that promising bulge that she had noticed from that first sweeping visual inspection. Finally, in frustration, he yanks her trousers and her panties to her mid thighs and she allows herself to be pushed back onto the bed. He follows and is delighted to find her so ready, absolutely sopping, her body belying that slightly demure expression on her face that he has adored for the last - hour?! - since he has met her.

He cradles her face with one hand as he pushes at her and she nips at his fingers with those cute teeth as he enters her fully, trying her out for size.

She breaks off from nibbling and fixes him with a frank gaze. “So,” she says conversationally, “what should I call you?”

He has almost forgotten that they didn’t know each other’s names. And here he is, buried deep and hard inside her. It does seem a little rude. For a second, distracted as he is by his lust he considers giving her his real name. But no, that wasn’t how this worked. “Keef,” he says after a little hesitation.

She smiles, as she knows that’s not his name, but he has answered the question truthfully enough. “Lyra,” she says immediately, before he even thinks to ask. He then vaguely wonders if, like himself, she has chosen the name of a real person of some significance to her life.

He finds himself frozen for a moment, despite the nagging from his nether regions to just get on with it already!. The past, always frighteningly close in moments of emotional vulnerability, lurks just outside his consciousness. Previously, he could drink it away.

“Come on then, Keef”, she growls with sarcastic relish, emphasising the F sound somewhat derisively. “Show me if the man lives up to the notoriety. Fffffuck me, Keefff...” and she blows the imperative and the false name into his lust-anguished face with those two long puffs of fricative breath.

Already thinking ahead to the next course, which might well involve that intriguing mouth of hers, he gets to work as instructed and she matches him, effortlessly.

***

They rest eventually, after over an hour of frenzied and gloriously messy sex. He wonders anew at the human female's ability to just… keep on climaxing, but decides again that he isn’t envious: if pleasure came that easily and frequently to someone like himself he doubts he’d ever do anything else remotely productive. It’s almost too much effort to light a cigarette, but it does really help to enhance the afterglow. She hadn’t seemed to mind the taste of him. It was a high quality tabac.

Very much to his surprise, she asks him for one. “I thought you didn’t,” he says.

“I don’t,” she replies. “Except after sex.”

“And how often is that?”

“I’m not telling you about my personal life.” But she smirks at him as he holds the lighter for her and she puffs the first little drag into his face coquettishly.

She is, quite frankly and once again, adorable. He wishes she could stay longer. Despite his reputation, he really dislikes one-night stands. Or one-day stands: whatever. There’s not enough time to get to know exactly what works for each other. Not enough time for getting to know each other. Just… not enough time.

Yes, there was definitely such a thing, with his relationships, as not enough time. But there was such a thing as too much time as well, of course. Bix knew all about that. Commitment. No matter how many times they tried it again, it seemed that he was never actually willing or able to give her what she really wanted. Perhaps that was sad. They had been so good together, when it worked. She was so good to him, even now. So good for him. Still, she had her life and that idiot of a husband and her cute children - and she seemed to be happy.

Switching his thoughts to the woman here now, as there's never any point in dwelling on the past, he calculates quickly - as he is still mostly as sharp and perceptive as he ever was - that “Lyra” doesn’t actually have sex that often. Or rather, that she doesn’t have regular sex with the same person. There’s something in her manner, her hunger, her eagerness to please him and to please herself that tells him that she is unattached. He feels even more certain now that she is a true-believer Rebel, despite her accent, and that her mere presence here was exceptionally dangerous, to him and possibly to the entirety of Ferrix, commercially valued though it was. No planet was ever, really, safe.

No. Rebels didn’t do long term relationships either, and in that respect he knew she was like him. Rebels put the cause first, always. They didn’t want to risk heartbreak. He snorts a little, cynically. So he does have something in common with them after all, albeit for a completely different reason.

An unpleasant thought threatens to cross his mind then but he quickly dismisses it, distracting himself with a long pull at his cigarette. They are sitting up in bed, the blanket covering them in a surprisingly modest-looking fashion. He thinks anew how nice it is to be sharing a bed when all they are doing are relishing what has been and looking forward to what is to come.

This in-between time… could possibly be his favourite part of a sexual encounter. Well, OK - but...top-three, anyway. Time to digest. Time to contemplate. Time to savour.

They could even be a married couple, he thinks, this silence between them is so comfortable.

She breaks it then, a child with a naughty joke. “Question: do you smoke after sex? Answer: I don’t know, I’ve never looked.” And she giggles.

As is often the case with jokes involving double meanings, as this is still ultimately a foreign language for him, he doesn’t get it.

Frustrated, but amused, she attempts to explain and finally ends up with - “You know - from the friction?!”

He gets it then, but as is always the way the joke is lost by this stage so instead of laughing he quizzically raises his eyebrows and suggests that after their next bout - they should look.

She finds that hysterical, apparently, and he finds her even more adorable.

***

They don’t, literally, smoke but he feels it’s a close run thing. By mutual agreement, they take turns to cool down any possibly overheating areas with their mouths, just in case. And both agree, after a great deal of intensive research, that this process is very counter-productive.

***

They break for a meal in the mid-afternoon. He can see she’s impressed by his store cupboard, packed high with dried ingredients and flavourings from across the galaxy, some of it rare and expensive. While he fries up some leftovers from the conserver, she explores the little house. There’s another bedroom, with a small single bed, in the front and he tells her it was his childhood bedroom.

As he had known she would, she soon spots Bee on his pad. “Your droid. He doesn’t seem to be charging.”

Even now, he can’t help but feel a stab of pain at that, but he keeps his voice light. “I know. He can’t be charged anymore. Eventually, he needed a completely new battery, and they just don’t make them anymore and I couldn't find a secondhand one. I keep him… just in case I do ever find the right model.”

“But his files will be corrupted by then. Have you transferred his memory? You could at least talk with him. Put him in another droid chassis, even.”

“I haven’t.” He concentrates on frying, stirring the vegetables and now adding the beaten fiejuc eggs. He has also just added Durmic spice so knows he can blame that for any dampness in his eyes that might come with his next words. “I made the choice not to. When my mother died, he was inconsolable. He couldn’t understand what death was. I could have had his memory wiped then, I suppose, but … he wouldn’t have been him anymore. His name was Bee. Is. I just … keep him there, in case…”

She has appeared at his side and he realises that while the Durmic might explain his wet eyes it doesn’t disguise the catch in his voice. He glances sideways at her, smiles slightly and sheepishly. He feels her arm around his waist then and her hug is one of comfort rather than desire, and it feels just as good somehow.

And he realises then that this is what he has really missed.

After this moment, and after the shared meal, things are different between them. Different in a good way. He realises later that they had moved forward with the liaison to the same stage that would normally take a week or so in his other casual relationships. There is a tenderness between them now. They talk. On light subjects, but they find common interests. It’s like a kind of cautious dance around the perimeters of each other.

And it’s all so good, and sweet, and delicious and somehow… medicinal. And hot.

It ends, as they had known it must. She needs to take the shuttle ferry out to the commercial port for her evening flight back to - wherever it was.

He wonders, as he watches her retreating form in the fading daylight, if he should call out after her, or tell her his real name. He decides not to. Perhaps she would decide to come again. If she lived that long. He feels a sudden and genuine chill that she will not.

He feels the pain anew then, and something of the old anger. The Empire. They had taken so much. Lives, chances, time.

He even wonders if he should join the Rebels, even at this stage. Belong, in some way, have a purpose, even if it is a short lived one.

Maybe one day. Then again, perhaps not. It is surely better to … live. To eat, to sleep. To do what you want.

He watches her until her retreating figure fades into the failing light.

Steelpeckers are nocturnal. Their dawn comes with the setting of the sun. Day shift; night shift. A flock of five fly over now, low, squawking raucously. Perhaps the same five from that morning - it is impossible to tell. The chimes for End of Day join their chorus as he stands there still, framed in the open doorway, looking, but with nothing to see.

From chapter 2.

#andor #andor fic #cassian andor #andor show #rogue one #star wars andor #rebelcaptain #jyn erso #jyn x cassian #not my main ship #but I did enjoy writing these AUs #canon divergence #alternate universe

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virtie333 · 7 months ago

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The last sibling just left...

Overall, it was a really good and fun visit, for which I am thankful. With work going the way it is, I really didn't need anymore tension in my life. We had some pleasant talks and lots of laughs. I was able to enjoy some time in the Hills and bring Jackson along. There was no arguing and very little talk of sensitive stuff (like the house and/or money).

There were a couple of moments I wanted to kick myself for not keeping my mouth shut. I mentioned that I had started thyroid medication (and learned that both my sisters are on it, too) and said that my counselor was the one who recommended I get tested. On the hike yesterday, my oldest sister (the one who I don't trust anymore) asked "so, you said you're seeing a counselor?" I told her yes and talked about him a bit, but kept it brief.

The other incident involved my other sister. I brought out Leia's lightsaber, which I bought for myself last year for my birthday, and she immediately started laughing/scoffing. I snapped and said "yeah, of course you would laugh at one of the few things that have been literally keeping me alive lately." She got all huffy and I was about to just close up the case and take it back to my room, but my other sister and the brother I don't live with started "oohing" and "ahhing" over it, making me feel better. I know they both heard what I said and I regretted saying it, but it was too late.

My oldest sister, when she said goodbye last night, hugged me tight and told me she loved me. I really do think that she regrets what she said two years ago and maybe realizes now what kind of turmoil her words created in both me and my brother. I think that was as close to an apology as I'm likely to get, however.

I was absolutely exhausted last night and was in bed shortly after 10. My head was hurting when it had been good all day, so I popped some ibuprofen, but I woke up just before midnight and it was worse. A migraine was coming, but I was in denial and just took an Excedrin and went back to bed. Alas, at 2, I was awake again and this time I knew it was going to be really bad, so I took my rx meds. Bless them, they worked, and I feel good (though still tired) this morning. I did horse chores, walked a recovered Jackson, and am now going to sleep some more before doing laundry before work.

Oh, and posting my chapter update. I didn't forget!

Here's Jackson yesterday in recovery mode. He did so much this week!

#personal #family #siblings #long post

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toomanyrobins2 · 10 months ago

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Back to School

Summary: An orphan all her life, Y/N is simply too old to remain at The Bowery Home any longer. That is where an anonymous patron has swooped in to send her off to college and all he requires…a monthly letter of her academic progress.

Based off the book and musical “Daddy Long Legs”

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

last part // series masterlist // next part

Notes: I'm finally getting around to updating this fic! If you would like to catch up and get more consistent updates to this story and others I would go to by AO3!

All of August, Bruce waited and waited for a letter and one never came. He’d driven Clark crazy asking him to call on his parents and make sure that Y/N was well. Hearing that she was indeed perfectly healthy only made him want to tear his hair out more. Everyone around him was waiting for him to boil over, and yet he continued to pace.

When halfway through September when Alfred appeared at his study door with a letter in hand, Bruce nearly crawled across the desk.

28th August

Dear Batman,

I am so sorry for forgetting to write you this month of August. It seemed that every time I sat down to write, something else would arise and draw me away.

I was weighed yesterday on the flour scales in the general store at the Comers. I've gained nine pounds! I no longer feel like a gangly orphan, drowning in someone’s leftover dress. Let me recommend Kent Farm as a health resort.

Yours ever,

Y/N

September 1st

Dear Batman,

I hope this letter finds you as well as I feel. I truly believe you have delivered me to an oasis and in it, I have discovered the meaning of happiness. Being offered such freedom after a life of rigidity has revealed to me that the secret to happiness is to just enjoy this ride. To not let the journey be tainted by pride and not to mourn the past.

I plan to enjoy this life and I will not rush to the end when there is so much good to discover. I want to run through the hills and listen to the wind rush through the trees. I want to see the world and write about everything I’ve learned and I have you to thank for such a discovery.

Happiness, it seems, unfolds when we learn to be still amid the constant motion of life.

In essence, the secret of our happiness is not elusive—it is clear, near, and here. It is a culmination of these realizations, a blend of living in the moment, embracing challenges, and finding joy in the simplicity of being. I hope my ramblings make some sense to you and I hope that you have felt even a bit of the joy that you have given me.

Wishing you all the joy,

Y/N

September 25th

Dear Batman,

Behold me—a Sophomore! I came up last Friday, sorry to leave Kent Farm, but glad to see the campus again. It is a pleasant sensation to come back to something familiar. I am beginning to feel at home in college, and in command of the situation; I am beginning, in fact, to feel at home in the world—as though I really belonged to it and had not just crept in on sufferance.

I don't suppose you understand in the least what I am trying to say. A person important enough to be a Trustee can't appreciate the feelings of a person unimportant enough to be a foundling.

And now, Bats, listen to this. Whom do you think I am rooming with? Barbara Gordon and Harriet Rutledge Kane. It's the truth. We have a study and three little bedrooms—voila!”

Barbara and I decided last spring that we should like to room together, and Harriet made up her mind to stay with Barbara—why, I can't imagine, for they are not a bit alike; but the Kanes are naturally conservative and inimical (fine word!) to change. Anyway, here we are. Think of Y/NAbbott, late of the Bowery Home for Orphans, rooming with a Kane. This is a democratic country.

Barbara is running for class president, and unless all signs fail, she is going to be elected. Such an atmosphere of intrigue you should see what politicians we are! Oh, I tell you, when we women get our rights, you men will have to look alive in order to keep yours. Election comes next Saturday, and we're going to have a torchlight procession in the evening, no matter who wins.

I am beginning chemistry, a most unusual study. I've never seen anything like it before. Molecules and Atoms are the materials employed, but I'll be in a position to discuss them more definitely next month.

I am also taking argumentation and logic.

Also history of the whole world.

Also plays of William Shakespeare.

Also French.

If this keeps up many years longer, I shall become quite intelligent.

I should rather have elected economics than French, but I didn't dare, because I was afraid that unless I re-elected French, the Professor would not let me pass—as it was, I just managed to squeeze through the June examination. But I will say that my high-school preparation was not very adequate.

There's one girl in the class who chatters away in French as fast as she does in English. She went abroad with her parents when she was a child, and spent three years in a convent school. You can imagine how bright she is compared with the rest of us—irregular verbs are mere playthings. I wish my parents had chucked me into a French convent when I was little instead of a foundling asylum. Oh no, I don't either! Because then maybe I should never have known you. I'd rather know you than French.

Goodbye, Batman. I must call on Harriet now, and, having discussed the chemical situation, casually drop a few thoughts on the subject of our next president.

Yours in politics,

Y/N Abbott

17th October

Dear Batman,

Supposing the swimming tank in the gymnasium were filled full of lemon jelly, could a person trying to swim manage to keep on top or would he sink?

We were having lemon jelly for dessert when the question came up. We discussed it heatedly for half an hour and it's still unsettled. Barbara thinks that she could swim in it, but I am perfectly sure that the best swimmer in the world would sink. Wouldn't it be funny to be drowned in lemon jelly?

Two other problems are engaging the attention of our table:

1st. What shape are the rooms in an octagon house? Some of the girls insist that they're square; but I think they'd have to be shaped like a piece of pie. Don't you?

2nd. Suppose there were a great big hollow sphere made of looking-glass and you were sitting inside. Where would it stop reflecting your face and begin reflecting your back? The more one thinks about this problem, the more puzzling it becomes. You can see “with what deep philosophical reflection we engage our leisure!

Did I ever tell you about the election? It happened three weeks ago, but so fast do we live, that three weeks is ancient history. Barbara was elected, and we had a torchlight parade with transparencies saying, 'Gordon for Ever,' and a band consisting of fourteen pieces (three mouth organs and eleven combs).

We're very important persons now in '258.' Harriet and I come in for a great deal of reflected glory. It's quite a social strain to be living in the same house with a president.

Bonne nuit, cher Bats.

Acceptez mez compliments,

Tres respectueux,

Je suis,

Votre Y/N

23rd October

Dear Bats,

I find myself once again pondering your appearance. I know you are not bald, so now I am destined to wonder what color your hair is?

How old are you? I know you won't tell me but you can't stop me from wondering

Where are you now? How goes your day? And are your sporting silver or grey? What are you like? Who could you be? 'Cause I have imagined a kindly old man of at least ninety-two.

On my own I can only imagine. But if we could meet It would lift my heart beause I'd know the colour of your eyes.

The silly thoughts that dance through my mind,

Yours in curiosity,

Y/N

From the desk of Mr Bruce Wayne

The dim glow of the Wayne Manor study cast long shadows as Bruce Wayne found himself unable to escape the haunting thoughts that lingered in his mind. The weight of his deception, the web of half-truths and concealed identities, weighed heavily on him, disrupting any chance of finding solace in the embrace of sleep. Frustration gnawed at him, and in the quiet of the night, he decided to confront the turmoil within by putting pen to paper.

Seated at his desk, Bruce began to write, the ink flowing from the nib of his pen as he poured out the thoughts that had plagued him for far too long.

Dear Y/N, I've been meaning to write to you for quite some time, but with no success. It felt rather dishonest writing to you as Bruce Wayne when all your letters were being written to me as Batman. So I put it off. I shouldn't have done. But I did. Your discovery of my connection to Kent Farm has made a confession all the more necessary, yet I still don't know whether to write to you as Bruce telling you I'm Batman or Batman telling you I'm Bruce. Either way, I feel I shall be a terrible disappointment to you. What can I say? What would make sense? I've made a mess of things at your expense. My little deceit is haunting me now. All I want is to tell you the truth, but I just don't know how. How can I manage to soften this blow when you know the color of my eyes? I am in agony, guessing what you might do once you find out I have thoroughly lied to you. Would you forgive me? I write this to you only because it's late and I can't get to sleep as I think of the hurt in your eyes. I feel like an idiot, knowing the color of your eyes and not revealing to you that you already have the answer to every question about my appearance. Yours in the sincerest of regrets, Batman Bruce Wayne Bruce

Folding the letter with a sense of finality, Bruce tucked it away in his desk, knowing that he couldn't send it. As dawn approached and the night's shadows slowly gave way to the light of a new day, Bruce found himself still grappling with the uncertain path that lay ahead, wondering if he could ever find a way to bridge the gap between the man behind the mask and the person he longed to reveal himself to.

#toomanyrobins #batman #batman imagine #batman x reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader #battison #battison imagine

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