#that was such a quick hunt i was kind of hoping it would pass time on the train for at least a few weeks

[excadrill]

"im gonna shiny hunt my starter in hgss. this is probably the only way to get me to use smthn other than cyndaquil"

cyndaquil, less than 40 resets in:

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, yandere, captive reader, omegaverse, forced bonding is implied, subjugation, some type of sexism, soft dom, but extremely patronizing

♡ fem reader

You offer to go down on him for the first time since he claimed you for himself, and his heart swells with all sorts of bliss—shock and awe, love and pride—utterly overjoyed at the pretty sight of you, so pliant and on your knees, acting like a proper Omega for a change—his cutest little mate. It’s so adorable he ought to take pictures, yet he doesn’t want to miss a thing or spoil the mood—after all, you always get so embarrassed when he brings the camera out.

So he settles for just watching—his adoring eyes resting on you, admiring how you struggle to fit all of him inside your mouth, thinking it’s the just cutest and sweetest how you try so hard for him. Bless whatever brought this new change of behavior on. He can’t be grateful enough.

It was only a couple of days ago when you’d still bite and claw and run away from him at every turn, growling and snarling like a rabid wildling and not the sweet Omega he knew you could be with the proper love and care. Maybe it’s just that—has his love for you finally tamed you? Oh, he couldn’t be more pleased if that’s it.

Look at you… trying your very best. He didn’t mind if you could only fit half of him—just seeing you try to take it all made him more than happy. The way your pink tongue slides along his veins—all teasingly and ticklish—makes him smile while looking down at you. Petting your head in smooth, encouraging strokes—reminding you to breathe every now and again.

He even pinches your cheek when you cough, crooning, “Careful now, there’s no need to rush, baby—take it slow.”

You curse him from where you kneel at his feet, trying to get it over with quickly. Despite your struggles, he seems pleased, and you think you might have managed to get yourself off the hook. That is… until he wraps his cock with one of his big hands and pulls it away from you. 

“I think that’s enough for now,” he says in his best attempt at sounding suave by nature, and yet, as you look up at him, you see it plain as day.

It makes your guts fold—the eagerness that encompasses him as he looks down at you with kind eyes and a smile—not completely able to hide the frenzy behind it.

No, please, you sulk inwardly—your clit is so sensitive from yesterday, you think you might die if he toys with it again today. You almost indulge the urge to scoot back, attempt to crawl away, and hide in false hope. But you know, chasing you around would just serve as kindling to his inner animal—he would take it as a game, hunting and pinning you down only to lick you clean like a dug-up bone.

You shudder at the thought and almost beg him to allow you to continue, almost insist you can do better, but all you manage is to bite your tongue and cry instead.

“You did so good, baby, don’t pout,” he coos, cradling your face and lifting it up to let him kiss it silly—chastely yet excessively—quick pecks all over, the same way you’d kiss something that’s just too cute for its own good.

It’s his way of comforting you, you suppose, or it might just be him poking fun. You can never really tell with him—if his coddling is all some act or something even more unsettling. But you suppose it doesn’t really matter either.

“Come here, baby, and I’ll do the rest, okay?” he asks, and yet it isn’t a question as he hauls you up off the floor and repositions you as he sees fit—on your back, belly-up beneath him.

His alpha pheromones are quick to overwhelm you, thick and suffocating, pouring over you in waves, drenching you in sweat and something else—something that makes everything sensitive.

The former fight you had when you were still independent has all but left you completely—siphoned from your being every day that’s passed and left you soft like the rest of those Omegas you vowed you’d never become—weak-willed with a body even more so. You feel like a stuffed animal at this point, full of cloudy cotton with a broken voice device that only knows how to squeak when played with.

He takes you beneath the knees and folds them down neatly by your head—one large hand taking both your summoned ankles in a single grip—and you’re locked in, unable to do much else other than pant—kept from breathing too much by the weight of your own thighs pressing down on you.

This had been what you were trying to avoid—this awful position which he seems to love just as much as you dread.

He whistles in awe at the pretty sight of you—all squished beneath him like that—face flushed, and your bloated lips parted with cute little draws of breath—tits bunched together, glossed in a sheen of sweat and heaving with the labored rise and fall of your chest—and that adorable cunt, wet and puffy, swollen up like a pink pillow eagerly waiting for him, a soft bed for his cock and a perfectly bite-sized slice of his favorite cake. His gut rumbles, and his mouth soaks. To think he hasn’t had a single taste all day—he’s beyond starving.

You squirm under him, and he chuckles again, this time breathily—showing more of the unsightly animal with the low growl that seeps into his voice, “Such a pretty girl…” It’s unclear if he’s talking to you as his inkwell eyes are set on something else. He sags forward, back hunched as he bows down to face the object of his desire with only a hair’s breadth of separation—breaths thick, puffed hot against you—canines bared in an eerie smile. “So shy…”

He ignores your wiggling completely—pinching the chunk of cunt where your clit hides, making it peak forth like a little button to press, and his grin broadens.

“There it is,” he licks his teeth with a raspy sigh—eyes wide and deadset. “My beauty.”

You squirm a little more, even though you know you’re not going anywhere until he’s satisfied. He doesn’t waste much more time—not allowing you to prepare. Keeping the pinch, he opens his mouth wide and takes the chub with eyes closed, tongue flattened and wide, cloaking your exposed clit with thirst. “Mmgh…”

He always gets like this—cute-aggressive and pussy-whipped. It’s as if he and your cunt have their own private affair, the way he completely ignores you. No, that’s not entirely fair—he gets like that when feeding you his tongue as well, but you suppose it’s easier making out with your pussy as it doesn’t need to get up for air. 

Neither does he, it seems.

He groans loudly and releases your clit from his pinching grip—but keeps his whole mouth on you—lips, tongue, and all—nose and chin too, buried there while his hand moves down to slip three digits inside, filling you up with little regard to the stretch.

Your breath flares and shudders with a whimpery moan, toes curling along with his fingers, biting your lip at how he hooks them right into the soft spot of your gummy walls, then fingerbangs you fast, right down to the knuckles each time.

“Fuck, baby—so, so good, always so good,” he slurs out into you, tongue otherwise too engaged to bother sounding coherent, yet you understand nonetheless, even though you can never really get used to it—how utterly unashamed he is. “Come on, baby, cum f’mo—cum on my face—” he all but happily begs, tongue out, slurping your slit brazenly.

He’s not a very classic Alpha—how he worships you on his hands and knees with a throat full of plead and praise. He doesn’t even touch himself—cock left hung and bobbing against the bedsheets, hard and strung up with a net of veins, pilling pearls of pre that all go to waste—too busy with you. 

It’s stupid how you’re the one who ends up feeling ignored as the unwanted and overwhelming pleasure manhandles you into submission.

“Cum, baby, give it to me.”

You mewl as his tongue draws something out from within you, making your clit blare and thrum with your heartbeat. You struggle to enjoy it, you always do, feeling forced to surrender, and yet the more you try and deny it, the firmer his hold gets, relentless as he sends you right over the edge. You yelp and seize up once it takes you—clenching tightly around his digits as they unknot your insides, turning you into utter putty in his palm. 

And even then, he doesn’t stop—as if he doesn’t know how—sighing with elation as you quake on his tongue. That crooked smile on his face, nothing short of predatory and vile as he maintains the motion of his fingers, moaning in turn at your cute spasming and all the wordless babble that leaves your lips as you shake your head, crying for him to leave it alone. “Plea’ no more—stop, too much—”

He just chuckles against you—you really are too cute for your own good. Silly little Omega, don’t you know what your pheromones do to him? But okay, fine, since you asked nicely. He gives the slit one last thorough lick before wiping his smile while sitting up.

You haven’t even started coming down when he dabs the weight of his shaft upon the sensitivity, cooing at the lewd little plaps it makes, all slick as he slides the length between your flustered pussylips—fucking through the fat of the mound, running over your full clit, again and again, while listening to you squeak more nothings.

He only croons, “Yeah, I know you like that, baby—this pretty pussy of yours just loves my attention, doesn’t it?" His eyes seem to glow with something sickly, his voice thin, just shy of unhinged. "Always so cute, I could die.”

He can’t get over it—you’re too adorable like this. Watching you pleasure him was a welcome surprise, but ultimately, this is how he always wants you—flipped and pinned with your cunt exposed to his every wish—his favorite toy that never disappoints.

“Your pretty pussy’s always such a crybaby, y’know that? Look how it weeps f’mo—so needy to get stuffed. I bet you want my knot, huh?” he keeps mumbling while using his cock to play with your overworked cunt without yet entering it. “Alright, baby—don’t worry—I’ll give it to you,” he rasps, drooling.

You can’t keep from whimpering when the bed jostles, accounting for his repositioning as he moves to mount you with his feet planted down flat on the bed. Your ankles are pinned passed your head at this point, tipping your cunt up higher than your head.

“Yeah—I’ll give you what you want.” His voice darkens, and so does the look in his eyes—soaked in something you don’t like—something wild and downright terrifying. “And I’ll give it to you good.”

You almost protest, but you know there’s no getting through to him—not with that expression. You hate Alphas, you hate him, and you really hate this awful pose—this mating-press pile-driving overkill where he always bullies into the backroom of your cunt, insisting on fucking your cervix as he digs his cockhead right at the mouth of your womb, knotting you and filling you up with the full worth of his load. It never fails to make you feel utterly wrecked and bedridden in the morning.

But he doesn’t care about that. You have no places you’re supposed to be anyway—nowhere aside from right here, in his bed, where you belong—his sweet Omega bride who’s going to give him lots of pups.

He lines himself up, pressing his head past the ring—watching it swallow around him and biting his lip at the sight. “Look at it, baby—look as I stuff that perfect pussy all the way up—”

He sinks in slowly, revering your cunt for every inch you receive—watching it in awe as it takes the entirety of his length right down to the base. It’s like a magic trick how it all disappears—you’re so tiny, and yet you’re built for this, to take every part of him in, hugging his shaft with velvet heat, milking him as he kneads the spot inside you that always makes you cry out so good for him.

“Yes, baby—that’s my girl—take it all,” he coos, all but sitting on your ass with his cock down your cunt. “It’s like your pussy’s made for me, isn’t it? Perfectly tight, perfectly deep, perfectly wet and chunky to feel like I’m fucking heaven itself—”

You feel no different from a toy when he does this—a squeaky toy manufactured for a Chihuahua puppy, yet mistakenly given to a full-grown Rottweiler. He straight dogs your cunt through several peaks—so soaked now that it fossettes down both the slope of your belly and the cliff of your spine. And still, he keeps going, rambling on like usual—all words that fail to reach you.

You’re so lightheaded you’re on the brink of passing out—overheating and out of strength, numb and tingly, beyond happy when you finally feel his knot swell within, propping you to take his seed. 

He keels over—his thighs pressed down tightly atop yours—panting above you—eyes half-mast and glazed, almost crying in bliss while feeding you his cum, knowing it's flooding your womb, breeding you full of warmth and love.

“Yes, every drop, baby—it’s all yours.” He keeps a thumb rubbing over your clit as he croons. Voice beyond lovesick, “Let’s make too many pups to count.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Gojo, Geto ♡ HQ – Kuro, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Bachira ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[rockscanfly]

Random Charles Smith Headcanon's

Has probably contemplated suicide at more than one point (see “I’m here just to hurt and suffer myself. In this land I feel stuck.”)

Maybe a little vain. He cares for his clothing well, embellishes himself. 

Has auditory sensitivity. He gets very irritable with loud people.

Has never felt like he belonged, always feels cut off

Is comfortable with violence only against folk he sees as on his own level/like himself. Has little empathy for himself so has little empathy for them (hence smoking while Arthur beats a man for information, the efficient and quick kills of the bounty hunter, the poachers)

Has a STRONG sense of justice--that includes responsibility and culpability. People make choices and Charles holds them accountable for them. Sadie is a killer, so he treats her like any other ally. That German family didn’t make that choice, neither did the Wapiti. But he doesn’t have any pity for the gang.

Animals don't choose violence, hence the protectiveness over them and their dignity. 

Comes off as cold because he isn’t loud/not good at chat. He’s really just been alone most of his life. 

Okay with drinking, does NOT like drunkenness. Back to culpability. This can make him unforgiving and harsh at times.

Both he and Arthur are so used to people passing in and out of their lives that they’re afraid to hold on too tight. Then Arthur gets captured by Colm. Hosea talks to him, about Bessie and about Arthur’s dead family. 

“I’m not her,” Charles says. “Not either of them. I’m not asking you to leave your world behind, and I’m not going to wait for you in some house. We’re partners first. I’d lose the rest of it before I let you put me to the side.” 

He likes that Arthur is big enough to push him around, to hold him down and anchor him when he can feel himself getting lost. To toss him over a broad shoulder when they’re swimming around on a hunting trip and settle him down on soft pelts, to pin him and bite the lonely from his skin. 

Charles can kick Arthur’s ass and will do so on request

He’s kind and thoughtful. He’d be the one to make Arthur little presents and leave them around for him. Practical things, made special with the careful workmanship of beading/embroidery/etching. 

Can be impatient—autonomy is his norm so waiting on others both physically, mentally, and emotionally doesn’t come natural to him

Will cut slingload on people he feels don’t value him back—would not pine for Arthur or stick around if Arthur tries to protect himself by lashing out at Charles, even if he still has feelings. His father taught him that he has to protect himself because no one else will do it. Arthur. Well. Arthur’s the only person he’s trusted to have his back. Because Arthur proved it, several times over. There’s no one Charles would have used “do it for me” on other than Arthur Morgan. 

He fell into fighting again because he had begun opening his heart for the first time since he was a child, and then fate took Arthur too. Like Charles said—he was put on the earth to cause pain and to suffer himself. 

He tries to help folks, but he’s not good at talking and he can’t use his privilege to help like Arthur did. He’s everything the US government hates, even more than the Waipiti. They reach a point where his violence is no longer useful. And for a drowning, grieving, heart sick stretch of years violence is all Charles has left to him (hence going to Saint Denis, a city he hates, and fighting people for white folks' entertainment in a transparent suicide-by-cop bid for someone to end his suffering) And then Sadie gives him the option of closure and working beside John reminds him that he is a man, not a weapon, and Beecher’s Hope makes him believe he too can change. 

Charles has never tried to be anything but who he is. He and Arthur are similar in that way. What he realizes, what Arthur realized too late, is that he can change if he wants it. And that maybe he’s allowed his past pain and scars to run his life along a course he doesn’t actually have to follow. 

Brought to you by my on-going replay of RDR2 and my undying love and devotion to princess of my heart Charles Smith.

[whatswrongwithblue]

The Hunt pt. 1

Read on AO3.

Part 2. Part 3.

Summary: Alastor x Reader (reader is afab, uses she/her pronouns.) Date nights in Hell are done a little differently, especially when you're dating The Radio Demon.

Trigger warnings: Canon typical violence. Reader and Alastor in Hell for a reason. Horror with some twisted romance.

Today had been a particularly drab day.

Acid rain had been falling all afternoon and Pentagram City was shut down because of it. And you could feel yourself shutting down as well.

These bad days used to fall on you much more often. Back when life was simpler and less stimulating. When there were less options to hyper fixate on and stimulate those delightful hormones that didn’t always help you to feel happy but allowed you to . . . feel.

But today you felt that numbness creeping in; a slithering, creeping, darker cousin to boredom. You were so tired and every forced smile and polite reply aimed at the other hotel residents drained your battery little by little by little by little . . . .

You were on your fifth cup of coffee that afternoon, the bitter caffeinated beverage the only thing left that seemed to cause any kind of chemical spark in your dead gray matter, but unknowingly, you had stopped sipping it several minutes ago. Rather, you were just mindlessly staring down into it, watching the little tendrils of separated creamer swirl around the top. At least it was far more interesting than anything else going on in the lobby.

“Are we having a bit of a . . . down day?” Alastor’s voice said remarkably close to your ear and you jumped, turning to find him bent over at his waist, his head right next to yours.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, turning away from him.

He had pampered and fussed over you too many times on days like these, even when – no, especially when they became so bad you couldn’t get out of bed. But things were different now; since his return to Hell, Alastor was busier than ever and you didn’t want to bother him. The guilt would be worse than the emptiness you were currently struggling with.

“I think not,” came his sing-song reply and you shut your eyes against the enthusiasm you heard in his tone.

“Don’t I look fine?” you challenged and when he stood up straighter, his smile pinching just a little at the corners, you heard how snippy you sounded with him and sighed. There was the damnable guilt you had been trying to avoid.

“You look beautiful as always, darling,” came his quick reply. “I just thought you could use a little cheering up.”

He leaned back in, whispering conspiratorial into your ear now. “I was hoping you would join me . . . on a date . . .” His eyes glowed as he let his words sink in. “But if you’d rather sit in here and sulk the rest of the night, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Like . . . a date, date?” you asked, feeling a little bit of the weight leaving your chest as hope bloomed in you.

“Precisely.” His smile stretched ear to ear. “There is someone I need to collect a debt on and the weather tonight seems just perfect for such an occasion. I would more than welcome your company.”

You felt your first genuine smile of the day grace your features, nearly matching the wickedness of Alastor’s own features, and that little spark you had felt turned into an entire flood of dopamine.

“Where to?” you asked and Alastor took your head, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, before leading you out the front doors.

____

The prey dragged itself up the stairs, stumbling on every other step and grasping the handrail for balance as he went. Although the rainstorm had kept him from the bars that night, it hadn’t kept him from his personal stache of liquor and in his lonely anger, he had downed several gin and tonics before his stomach began to protest and he had passed out in his armchair. He’d woken up a few minutes ago, his bladder protesting the diuretic effects of the booze. By some miracle he had made it to his downstairs bathroom to relieve himself and then decided it was time to crawl into bed.

He made it to the top of the landing after a considerable struggle with the staircase and almost forgot to the turn the lights off behind him. Fumbling with the switch, he just happened to glance down the stairs as the lights flickered out of existence.

The prey blinked in the darkness, trying to adjust his eyes, as he thought he saw a strange shadow at the bottom of the stairs.

He was sure he was alone in the house and he couldn’t quite be sure of what he was seeing, so he flipped the lights back on.

Nothing.

Shaking his head and rubbing his eyes, he turned the lights back off.

And there it was again.

A shadow. Taller and definitely there.

Feeling his heart begin to race, the prey flipped the lights on, certain he wasn’t imagining it this time but as the staircase became illuminated once more, the shadow was gone.

He had perhaps had too much to drink.

One last time, he flipped the switch, inviting the darkness back in, and this time when the shadow came back, the prey swore there were faint glowing green eyes and the hint of a smile playing across its features.

And was it a little closer this time? He had sworn it was at the bottom of the stairs but now it seemed to be a few steps up.

“Now that’s enough of that!” the prey shouted and flipped on the lights.

He breathed a sigh of relief when once more, there was nothing.

Maybe it was best to sleep with the lights on tonight, just to be certain.

The prey turned away from the stairs, leaving the switch flipped in the on position, and came chest to chest with The Radio Demon.

“Good evening, Daniel,” Alastor said, smiling wider as the prey’s face turned several shades whiter. “I see you’ve changed residences.”

“Hey there, Al’ . . . I-I mean, Alastor . . . sir. M-Mr. Radio D-demon,” the prey stuttered, stumbling backwards and just barely catching himself on the banister. “You uh . . . you like my new digs, huh? Paid a pretty penny for it but you know, it’ll be good for business.”

Alastor remained at the top of the stairs, watching his prey make its slow decent down and away from him.

“And who’s business would that be? Certainly not mine, I don’t deal in real estate after all.”

“You know, ha, it’s funny you would say that because I’ve been meaning to talk to you- ”

“You made a mistake, Daniel,” Alastor told his prey, all the politeness leaving his tone, although his smile remained.

The prey swallowed audibly.

“Did you really think going to Zestial, of all demons, would save you from our deal?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re . . . talking abou- ”

“You see, Daniel, Zestial and I may not necessarily be friends, but we are colleagues. And we have an understanding. A certain level of respect for each other, if you will.” Alastor narrowed his eyes and his voice turned cold as ice. “And neither of us like having another Overlord’s leftovers.”

Daniel turned and fled, racing down the rest of the steps with a grace that only adrenaline could provide in such a state of inebriation, though he did fumble quite a bit with the locks of the front doors.

Alastor let his prey make it out the front door before he went in pursuit, though he let his deep laughter follow Daniel the whole way down, enjoying the sweet tangy smell of his fear as it spiked at the sound.

In his panic, the prey forgot all about the inclement weather and dashed thoughtlessly out into the rainstorm and ran down the deserted street. It took a minute for the effects to kick in but eventually he started to feel the itching on his skin and then the burning set in. The prey stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, beneath a streetlamp, and watched as the skin on his hands began to turn red and break out in a terrible heat rash.

With a sob, he dashed under an overhang of a nearby business and shook at the doorhandle, but it wouldn’t budge. He thought about breaking the window to get inside but then he heard that laughter again and the streetlights above flickered and then went out, one by one.

Looking down the street, he watched as The Radio Demon stepped out into view, his antlers now wide and pointed above his silhouette, and turned his head down the street, looking in his prey’s direction.

A smell wafted off of him, even from this great distance. A dank, swampy, animalistic smell. The musk filled the prey’s nostrils and burned his sinuses, and he knew it was the smell of a predator about to pounce.

“That’s alright, Daniel, go ahead and run. Please do.”

To the prey’s horror, Alastor began walking quickly down the sidewalk, completely unaffected by the burning rain.  His limbs and entire body stretched out and elongated with every step, closing the distance between them faster than previously possible, until Alastor was a towering demonic presence chasing down the street after him.

“I like my meals warmed up!” he shouted, and the prey screamed as he took off again.

It was either face the rain or be eaten and the prey chose the rain as it sprinted down the street, screaming and crying out for help but not a light flickered on in the buildings as he passed them.

Eventually the burning became unbearable and the prey darted blindly into the nearest alleyway, praying to Roo herself that there would be some shelter to hide in and protect him from the rain.

And there it was, a small overhang by a bar’s backdoor, with a conveniently placed dumpster to hide next to that blocked his view of the street.

That was where the prey found you, standing innocently by the door, shielded from the rain, and he didn’t question why you would be there on a night like this. He only fell at your feet, clinging to your legs and shaking, his hands and face now beginning to blister, his tears hot and stinging his flesh as they fell down his cheeks.

“Please! Please, help me! Let me in! Please! He’s going to eat me, please!”

“Who is going to eat you?” you asked sweetly, tilting your head as you considered the pathetic demon at your feet.

“Alastor. Th-the Radio Demon. He . . . he . . .” the prey fumbled for words, his sentence trailing off as he risked peaking up over the top of the dumpster and seeing nothing but an empty street at the end of the alleyway.

“Oh, right. Him,” you said, nodding. “Well, that’s his thing, isn’t it? Going after demons that try and break their deals. Especially ones like you, who preyed after helpless young women when he was alive. Isn’t that right . . . Daniel?”

The prey’s breath caught in his throat as he glanced over his shoulder at you, a new kind of fear lighting his eyes.

“Who . . . who are you?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“That’s not important,” you scoffed. “Who was the girl you raped and left for dead in the park on the night of your 18th birthday? Or the sex workers you then tortured and killed and left their bodies out in the desert? Do you even remember their names? Do you know how many family members are still looking for their daughters, sisters, mothers?”

“I don’t . . . I didn’t . . .” he stammered, getting to his feet now.

“You did. No use denying it now, Daniel. Not when Alastor and I are so . . . very . . . hungry.”

A crackling noise, like the sound of several joints popping at once filled the air, and the prey looked up and up and up as he saw Alastor’s gigantic form peeling away from the darkened side of the building, turning from nothing but shadow into a very corporeal and deadly form before his very eyes.

Behind him, you shoved at his back, forcing him to fall onto his knees into a puddle of acid rain.

Then you stepped out from under the cover of the overhang, letting the rain soak your hair and clothes, and the prey looked up at you with renewed horror as he realized the acid water had no effect on you either.

“Please,” he whimpered and then began to scream as Alastor bent over and lifted him into the air.

You watched as the prey’s tiny body was lifted higher and higher until the rain and the shadows hid him mostly from view but you could still hear him screaming. Then there was a crunching noise and a wet sound, followed by a thin stream of blood that fell from the sky.

The screaming continued.

“This will be quite unpleasant until it’s over,” Alastor’s voice said from high above you. “But my darling companion does love the taste of demon heart.”

Another sound of stretching and tearing and then you saw it; the warm mass of your meal falling towards you, and you reached up and caught it with skilled precision.

With the prey’s heart now in your grasp, you brought it to your lips and took an eager bite, never minding the blood that ran down your forearms and coated your lower face.

The screaming above you came to a sudden halt with the sound of one final loud crunch and just as you were taking the last bites of your own meal, Alastor was standing before you.

His antlers were still larger than usual, their six points gleaming beautifully in the dim light of the alley, as rain ran down them in rivulets, soaking the red and black hair beneath them.

Alastor gave you a loving smile as you swallowed the last bit of heart.

“Feeling better, my love?” he asked.

“Much,” you said with a satisfied sigh. “Thank you.”

He reached a hand out, wiping away a bit of blood from the side of your mouth with his thumb, though he had hardly succeeded in getting it all.

“You always look positively stunning like this,” he said as he brought his bloody thumb to his mouth and gave it an appreciative suck.

And there in the rain and the dark, you and your lover shared a private and tender kiss, the perfect ending to a perfect date.

Tag list for part 2? It will be smutty.

[night-night-stories-before-bed]

Dirty heart

Warning ⚠️; slight smut, fluff, mention of drinking blood. 🔞

Pairing; Batman/Vampire!Male!Reader

Summary; The Justice League hit a stalemate during a mission, but thankfully, Batman knows the perfect person to help them. The only problem is that you are absolutely shameless with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Gotham was a nightmarish city. Rotten to its core and filled with corrupted souls, Gotham was the perfect playground for a creature of the night like you. You could feast as much as you wanted, no one ever questioned the trail of bodies you left behind you. Well, that was until you met Gotham’s well-known vigilante; Batman.

You remembered the first time you two met. It was a rainy and cold night and there weren't many pedestrians out. You were hunting, hoping for a quick meal when Batman jumped behind you. The battle was short-lived as you were faster and stronger than a mere mortal. But you didn't kill him, you didn't even drink his blood. You were too curious and wanted to know who was hidding under the mask, so you let him go.

Only to be able to hunt him down.

And what a beautiful mistake.

Because this time Batman was ready for you. You never expected to be outsmarted and bested by a man dressing as a bat, and yet you found yourself stuck in a cage facing the city’s multimillionaire Bruce Wayne. Thankfully for you, the man had no idea how to properly kill a vampire. You managed to pass a deal with Bruce Wayne; you could live in Gotham and feed, but only on the worst kind of criminals.

You obviously agreed and with the days and weeks passing, you slowly came to cohabit perfectly with fine with Batman. From time to time, you would join him in his nightly adventures, watching over him like an evil angel. You even saved his and Robin’s asses a few times, slowly winning over the kid.

Even Bruce got softer around you.

It was a slow process, but Bruce and you became closer. As an immortal vampire, you had amassed quite a fortune, so you could easily be part of the same gala that Bruce went to. Naturally, the papers jumped on the occasion, questioning the relationship between the two of you and so did you.

Bruce was a womanizer, a playboy, but you weren't better. Some could even call you a manwhore. It was only predictable that you ended up sharing a bed with Bruce, savouring the taste of his skin and drinking his moans. His blood became a favourite of yours and you loved biting him in the groin or leaving trails of small bites all over his body. Your own way of claiming him.

You respected each other lives too and never did you put your nose in his business as Batman, unless he needed your help. So you never once met the Justice League until now.

Bruce’s call took you by surprise, but when he said he needed your help with some important business, you immediately accepted. After all, Bruce wasn't one to ask for help. So you went to his manor and Alfred led you to the batcave.

Down there you came face-to-face with the Justice League. Superman, Wonder Woman, The Flash… they were all there staring at you curiously as you made your way to your lover. Sitting in front of his screed, Bruce didn't even look at you as you rested your hands on his shoulders.

- “So, what can I do for you gorgeous?” You asked, leaning down and smirking.

- “I need your help to deal with Lex Luther. Mind helping us get in one of his warehouses?” Bruce said, showing you the place on the screen. “It’s lead so Superman can look inside and it would be too risky for J’onn if there is fire. But you?”

- “Aye, I can turn into smoke and get in without being noticed. Can do that, but what is there for me?” You asked, turning your head to look at Bruce before kissing the side of his clothed neck. “I am getting hungry, been a while since I had a taste of you.”

You had whispered, dropping your voice as low as you could that Bruce would still hear you. You got a chuckle from him as he looked you from the corner of his eyes.

- “Get inside, turn off the security system for us to get in and then I’ll think about it.” Bruce replied, making you scoff.

- “Unfair! I do all the dirty jobs and I don't even know my price?”

- “Let's call it a surprise.”

- “Fine! But just because it's you, precious.”

As you let go of Bruce, allowing him to turn around, you realized that all eyes were on you. Amusement was painted on most faces, but Superman seemed a bit jealous. What a shame, the bat was yours and you didn't share. You smirked before looking back at Bruce.

- “This is Y/N, a close friend of mine. He’s a vampire and will easily get inside Luthor’s warehouse.” Bruce simply said as he got up from his chair.

- “Excuse me, are you telling me mister handsome over here is like Dracula?” The Flash asked, pointing at you with surprise.

- “Yeah, kind of, but harder to kill. I still haven't found a way yet and trust me, I tried a lot of things.” Bruce replied as you simply laughed.

After that, you accompanied them to the warehouse, travelling with Bruce in his Batmobile. Every excuse was good to spend some time with your favourite vigilante after all and Bruce wasn't complaining.

Dealing with the warehouse was a quick business for you and the Justice League got inside in no time. Bruce was the last one to walk in and you got a quick kiss before anyone else could see it as Bruce thanked you. After all you didn't just stop the security system, but also unarmed all the traps you had found. Some could have been deadly for some of the members, but not anymore.

That night you left with Bruce and went back to his mansion. Robin wasn't there and Alfred was already sleeping when you both got inside. You quickly found your way to Bruce’s bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes for Alfred to pick up in the morning.

You took your time savouring your prize, kissing and caressing every scar on Bruce’s body, from the biggest to the smallest. His body was like a piece of art that you worshipped. Soft moans escaped Bruce each time your lips and fingers brushed a sensible spot, making you smile. You loved the sound of his voice when he let all restrain go. You were addicted to the trust he had in you when he abandoned himself in your hands.

And when you both were done and your hunger had been satisfied, you cradled Bruce against you, caressing his face and body as you watched him fall asleep. You would fight your own sleepiness, wanting to stay awake as long as possible, admiring your lover sleeping and making sure no nightmares would plague him. But you would always lose and fall asleep as well, arms and body wrapped around Bruce as if to shield and protect him from the outside world.

[lippyispunk]

When the World Is Quiet, What Thoughts Remain

Astarion x gn!Reader

Summary: Gods, he remembers this feeling intimately.

Dying.

-

A near-death experience provides Astarion some clarity.

Word Count: 3.7k

fluff, realized feelings, developing relationship

a/n: Hello all!

I wrote this to take place in Act 2, after the Yurgir battle but before Astarion's confession. I believe it is gender neutral, but if anyone finds something that says otherwise, please let me know! First time posting on here, so I apologize for any formatting errors.

-

Gods, he remembers this feeling intimately. 

Dying.

Despite the centuries that had passed since his mortality had been lost to this plane, the experience was seared into his mind. Back then, it had been horrific. The excruciating pain. The paralyzing fear of what was to come, as his body was drained of blood and his heart thumped erratically in his chest, desperately trying to keep his blood flowing- his body alive.

 

This time, the pain is ever present. He lies on his back in the mud and puddles, the yawning storm above continuing to release torrents of rain. His ruby eyes blink slowly, despite the droplets landing in them. Twin daggers have been abandoned at his sides, pale elegant hands having to hold his innards together instead. His white lounge shirt clings to his trembling frame, now dyed rusty brown and crimson red. 

 

The fear, however, is blessedly absent. His thoughts trudge through his mind like oozing honey. It’s almost peaceful. Cazador. The parasite. His never ending hunger. All seemed so far away now; the normally constant concerns looming at the forefront of his thoughts, now caught in the sticky trap of insignificance. 

He had been hungry earlier. Always so hungry. The small respite he received immediately after feeding never lasted as long as he wished it would. His condition had been even more bothersome as of late. Ever since he and the little group of misfits he traveled with had entered the Shadowlands. Prey was sparse. And any blood he lost during battle needed to be replaced somehow. That was how he found himself here tonight.

 

He had hunted further from the group’s campsite than he normally would, in search of the few living creatures that had not yet been felled by this accursed land. He had been ambushed by shadow beings, caught unaware due to his weakened, dulled senses. Their claws had cut through him so easily. His lack of armor was another mistake, but a decision made in hopes to be quick and quiet enough to catch a meal.

 

His head slowly lolled to the side, eyes attempting to focus in the direction of the camp. The monsters that attacked him had begun to slither that way before vanishing into hazy mist. His breath wheezes from his lungs, chest shuddering. Breathing wasn’t a necessity for him, but a habit nonetheless. Even now.

 

He wonders, idly, if any of his companions will be awake at this hour to intercept the attack. His muddled mind cannot bring forth who was supposed to be on watch tonight. He even admits to himself, perhaps his blood loss getting to his head, that he would not wish to see them come to harm. Karlach, Wyll, Shadowheart…

 

His drifting thoughts were brought to sudden clarity. A breathtaking, wondrous, kind creature unexpectedly ensnaring his thoughts.

You.

 

Gods, how could it have taken this long for you to flit back into his mind? You were all he seemed to think about anymore lately. Your smile, your laugh, your boundless good heart. But also the confusion he felt that always seemed to twist whatever lovely feeling you inspired in him.

 

He may not wish to see the others harmed, but you… you’re different. The way he feels for you is- different. He cares for you. In a way that he cannot recall ever feeling for someone else. You understand him in ways that he doesn’t understand himself. It’s terrifying. Exhilarating. The most alive he’s felt in, well, ever. 

 

But it wasn't supposed to end up this way. He’s comfortable pretending. Seducing. It’s as familiar as the back of his hand. And the facade had worked with you too, for a brief time. Until that second time he propositioned you at the tiefling party. What had you called his seductions? ‘Honeyed words’? And then the complete dismissal of his fraudulent love confession. He had recovered well in the moment; he’s used to pivoting his tactics when the occasional target gets antsy with his persuasions. Even still, you had rejected him that night. You let him down easy, of course, with a compassionate smile and a sweet whisper of ‘perhaps another time'. 

 

Later that night, when he was alone once more, he contemplated. You were on to him, in one way or another. Maybe you didn’t know the extent of his ploy, but you could tell his flirtations were… insincere. Why else would you turn down another night with him? 

 

He had expected repercussions, a growing distance between the two of you that would put all his progress with you to ruin. You didn’t seem the type to settle for this feigned romance. You'd push him away.

But you hadn’t. You were just as warm and welcoming to him as you had always been. Attentive. Friendly. Hells, even laughing at his irrelevant, snarky quips. He was surprised. And in that surprise, he found himself off guard. You still wanted to spend time with him, despite everything. Maybe… maybe he didn't have to try so hard with you. 

 

Since that revelation, Astarion had found himself just enjoying existing . He had fun around you, and the others too, he'd be loath to admit. Now that the metaphorical weight of seducing you had been lifted. But inevitably, at night when he was alone, the pesky question returned, cycle after cycle. If not his body, what did you want from him?

 

More recently, there had been the battle with the Orthon, Yurgir. Astarion was still befuddled, even now. No one in his extensive time on this plane had ever gone to such lengths for him. When Raphael had offered the deal: one very dead devil in exchange for information on his scarred flesh, there had been no question, no doubt from you. Just resolve and an all encompassing respect for Astarion and his decision making. It made his chest ache. 

 

He's not entirely sure what to call the emotion he feels for you. It goes beyond simple lust for your form or an appreciation of your personality. And Gods knows he's scared to Avernus and back of what this all might mean. But he's not scared of you. Never of you. He realizes that whatever comes, he wants to explore this. With you, if you'll have him.

 

Returning to the present from his recollections, one conviction finally banishes the wandering thoughts in his mind. You deserve better than this. These pretty lies he had been trying to feed you. This mask that he had used for so many years, so many decades. You had given him some of the most important parts of yourself. Your trust, your belief in him, your patience.  It was time he did the same.

 

Ruby irises shift skyward once more, a newfound purpose and vitality clear in his pupils. He has to get back to you. To explain. To apologize. Hells, to bathe in the warmth of your presence just once more would make this endeavor worthwhile.

 

He steels himself before his body begins to twist, rolling to his stomach ever so slowly. An agonized cry peels itself from his throat, unbidden. The fresh wave of pain that crashes over his stomach ripples through the rest of his body, leaving him shaking in its wake. He keeps one hand underneath him, continuing to hold as much pressure on his gaping wounds as he can. The other arm is bent in front of him, poised for what he must do.

 

He begins to crawl.

 

He grunts with the effort, free hand scrabbling in the mud for purchase as he drives his legs into the ground to push his form forward. This is far from the worst thing he has ever endured. But Gods, hasn’t he endured enough in this lifetime?

 

Tears spring to his eyes as he continues his plight. His beautiful white curls are drenched, flattened to his head and dropping into his field of view. His anguished gaze is so unfocused that it doesn’t matter. He’s moving on instinct now, forcing his limbs to respond by sheer force of will alone. The will to live.

 

Somewhere distantly his mind registers that his voice has become an endless stream of moans and broken sobs. Blood continues to slip stickily between the fingers clutching at his stomach. He doesn’t care. He will do anything to make it back to you. He has to. He owes it to you. Hells, he owes it to himself.

 

Time moves in slow motion; he loses all sense of it. He knows not how long he’s been dragging his body forward, just that finally, finally , he reaches salvation.

“Astarion!”

 

He hears you as if he’s underwater, but he would know your voice anywhere. His mind is fuzzy, consciousness fading from his being quickly. He stops crawling and lifts his blood-red gaze. You’re here. His breath hitches in his chest, a new sob rending itself from within. Though this one was not brought out from pain, but rather relief. He's never seen a more welcome sight.  

 

You’ve come for him, battleworn and bloody. Your feet pound the sodden land, racing toward him as you pay no heed to the slick mud. You drop to your knees in front of him, hair plastered to your cheeks and eyes wild with adrenaline and some other emotion he is unable to wrap his disoriented mind around. His eyes trace your face with his last remaining strand of focus.

Astarion had long given up on praying to any deity. What was the point? They never answered him anyway. But you- you are divine. The sight of you here, now, almost has him reconsidering his stance. 

 

“Gods, Astarion! Just hold on, okay? Please!”

 

Your hands flutter in his vicinity for a moment, unsure of where to touch without causing more harm. He watches you, the barest hint of his lip tilting up at the corner.

 

“I don’t think you can make it much worse, darling,” he breathes, tone sounding brittle in his own ears. “Just do it.”

 

He sees you wince before you brace yourself. Ever the leader, doing what must be done. Your hands rest on him gently, but firm. Warm. Comforting, despite the circumstances. He wants those beautiful, lively hands to touch him again after all this. He wants to savor it. To feel them carding through his curls. To rest gently on his arm to catch his attention. To pull him in close, a secret for him alone dancing on your lips. He wants to- he doesn’t know what exactly he wants. He just knows-

 

He cries out sharply when you turn him onto his back, the pain rocketing his thoughts out of his musings.

 

“I’m sorry,” you grimace, eyes scanning over his torso, cataloging the damage. 

 

Carmine eyes are glazed with agony, but he fights to stay conscious. He grunts when you move him again, swiftly tucking your legs underneath you. His head lays in your lap, face tilted skyward and ivory neck lengthened by the newly created slope of your legs. A healing potion appears at his lips, your hand holding firm as you tip it towards him.

 

Normally he’d have some smart comment, he’s sure. Something about being a damsel in distress, perhaps. Or maybe something about how this isn’t what he means when he says he wants to take a drink from you. But exhaustion takes hold, and he follows your lead mutely.

 

The effect is instantaneous; the healing potion is a glorious balm for his wounds. The pain numbs to a background throb, much easier to withstand. The gashes across his stomach begin to seal, the bleeding slowing to a trickle. Astarion sighs through his nose, relief radiating through him down to his fingertips.

 

The rain has abated to a lazy drizzle. It’s the only reason Astarion can hear your faint confession.

 

“You… you scared the shit out of me, Astarion,” your voice wobbles, such a far cry from the fearlessness he is accustomed to hearing from you. He blinks up at you, his gaze taking in your anxious expression as you lean over him. Seeing your expressive concern for his well being is still something he's getting used to.

 

He finishes the potion, licking the remnants from his pale lips as you pull the vial away.

“Apologies, my sweet,” his voice comes out stronger than before, but roughened from his earlier painful overuse. “You know I have a flair for dramatics. What better way to keep things lively than almost dying. Again,” he does his best to smirk, to don the mask of devil-may-care that comes so easily to him.

 

“Gods above, Astarion. ‘Dramatics’? That’s all you have to say? You were nearly gone when I got here. I was almost too late,” your voice tapers off, ending in a near whisper.

 

He blinks again, shocked. The facade slides off his face. Truth be told, your vulnerability is making him… uneasy. He doesn’t know what to say. Why are you so distressed? This is hardly the first time one of the group has come up gravely injured. He doubts it will be the last.

 

He will recover eventually, as he always does following a particularly nasty battle. It may take a little extra healing from Shadowheart, and a belly full of blood would absolutely go a long way in fast tracking the process. But regardless, his body will endure.

He’s painfully aware that his usefulness has… limitations. It extends to his body alone. His battle prowess, his dexterous fingers, his ability to deliver pleasure. But that’s it. He has nothing substantial to offer you. No worldly possessions, no powerful connections, just… himself. His biting nature, both literally and figuratively. His trauma, broken pieces with razor sharp edges. He's not even sure if you are interested in something like this with him, something deeper. No, he thinks. No one could want this. Not truly. His growing feelings for you are one sided, of that he is certain.

 

But then you throw his world off its axis again.

 

“I can't- I can't lose you. You mean the absolute world to me.” 

 

His eyes soften, rounding out as he searches your gaze. For what, he’s not entirely sure. Deceit? Twisted humor? But all he finds is tenderness along with the shine of unshed tears.

You pause for a moment, swallowing. He can see you're trying to continue so he waits, eyes rapt.

“I would miss how you always manage to make me laugh, even when I'm having a horrible day. And getting to hear your laugh in exchange when I do something you find particularly impish,” your serious expression finally gives way to a small amused smile. ”The little sweets you sneak into my bag whenever you manage to get your hands on some, just because you know I love them.”

 

Astarion's eyes widen imperceptibly. Shit. He didn't realize you knew he was the sweets supplier. It was…nice for him. To be able to provide you something you enjoy and a brief respite from all the weight on your shoulders. If only for a moment. To see the stress evaporate from your face for the few minutes it took you to chew. You'd only indulge every so often, when camp was quiet and nothing urgently needed your attention. He'd watch silently from his peripheral vision on occasion, not wanting to ruin your contentment but also needing to witness it for himself.

 

But he hadn't exactly wanted to mentally unpack what this absurd little habit of his might mean beyond the superficial. Hence, the secrecy. He was going to eviscerate whichever loudmouth at camp had clued you in. 

 

“You're there for me, in ways that I could never begin to fully describe. I know we don't always agree entirely, but I'm never afraid to tell you how I feel, or what I think. Because at the end of the day we'll still support each other,” you glance away briefly, and he sees the heated flush on your cheeks. 

 

Embarrassment. Always so delicious to him. For anyone else it means he'd get to loosen his tongue on some provoking quips. How he loves to rile people up from time to time. But now, he finds it enticing for an entirely different reason. Gods, you're beautiful. 

 

You find your courage again quickly, making eye contact with him once more. “I could probably go on, but what I'm saying is… I would miss you endlessly. I can't do this without you.”

What a novel concept. To be wanted, needed beyond anything he could provide carnally. To be desired purely for his presence will take some adjusting. But, if you truly believe everything you said about him, then who is he to disagree? Maybe there is some truth in what you say. If you can see some good in his wretched soul, then perhaps he can try too.

 

“I'm… I'm not going anywhere, my love,” he promises.

 

It flows from his lips so naturally, ‘my love'. It hadn't even been a conscious thought. Anxiety spikes in his gut at the admission, his mind already beginning to spiral. Love? Is that what this is developing into? He doesn't know how to tell; there's no past memories in his mind to pull reference from. 

 

But the smile that splits your lips at his vow is radiant, and he finds that his racing thoughts slow immeasurably. Regardless of the unintentional reveal, the moniker fits. He feels it in whatever remains of his soul. 

 

He smiles then, all honey and warmth. For you.

 

“I'll be here long after you tire of me, I'm sure. Vampires always tend to overstay their welcome, you know,” he jests softly, voice lacking his usual edge. 

 

You gasp quietly and he recognizes it as the familiar sound of you remembering something.

 

“I’m so sorry, Astarion. You've just reminded me, I can't remember the last time you've eaten,” you immediately brandish your wrist, pulling your sleeve up. 

 

He freezes, the roiling, constant hunger in his gut flaring at the sight of your wrist. He knows how close the veins are to the surface there, just how deliciously easy it would be to sink his teeth into that soft skin. His mouth waters at the thought. But he is no animal, and neither are you for that matter. He comes back to himself, muscles uncoiling and gaze connecting with yours again.

 

“I appreciate the offer, darling. But you need your strength. Moonrise Tower won't storm itself, and having our fearless leader stumbling over their own two feet along the way won't instill much terror in our foes, will it?”

 

He can't bring himself to say the truth in its entirety aloud. He truly doesn't want to weaken you before the battle at Moonrise. But it has less to do with fearsome appearances and entirely more to deal with your safety. His feedings always take a toll on you. You smile and wave him off every time, but he sees the effects. Reflexes just a touch slower than usual, stamina not quite up to par with the rest of the group. 

 

It's not your fault he's starving. He wasn't exactly forthcoming about his lack of successful hunts since arriving in the Shadowlands. And you were absolutely overwhelmed with everything going on. Between the deadly shadow curse, Ketheric Thorm, and the Absolute, it was a miracle you could ever focus on anything else. No. He doesn't blame you. He wants you to be okay.

 

He can't be the reason you become injured, or worse.

 

But you insist, your wrist gravitating closer to his plush lips and aching canines. 

 

“I'll be okay, I promise. I'll even ask Shadowheart for a little healing incantation if I really need to. Please, you need to be healthy too,” you plead, eyes doing just as much of the convincing as your words. 

 

He breaks. He might be embarrassed at how quickly he bends to your will if he wasn't so hungry. 

 

His hands close gently over you, one a little ways up your forearm and the other on your hand. You know it's to hold you steady when he bites, but the way his cool thumb runs pleasing circles into your palm sends shivers coursing through you. He presses a kiss to your inner wrist, featherlight and fleeting, but it lights a fire under your skin all the same.

 

“Thank you,” he murmurs before his fangs pierce your flesh. He is as gentle as possible, retracting his canines from the wound immediately. He keeps his lips attached to your wrist, sucking in a saccharine mouthful.

 

He’s uncertain of how much time passes while he drinks, or when his eyes drifted shut, but the feeling of your fingertips sweeping his soaked curls off his forehead pulls him from his reverie. He finishes his feeding, tongue caressing the new puncture wounds as they begin to clot.

 

His irises are vibrant now, a livelier red more akin to a pulsing wound than the darkened burgundy shade they become when he is ravenous. 

 

“You're wrong, by the way,” you begin softly. “When you said I'd tire of you. I could never.”

 

He would look back on this night later on and distinguish it as the exact moment his dead heart began beating once more. But for now, he smiles up at you- one full of genuine adoration.

 

“The feeling is mutual,” he murmurs, unwilling to shatter the moment. His tone is low, husky. More sincere than he's heard his own voice sound in centuries. Despite all that had occurred this evening, he finds a bone deep contentment in himself. He could stay here for a decade in the comfort of your arms.

 

A few moments later, however, the world kickstarts back into motion, voices carrying on the wind to your positions and popping the seclusion around the two of you.

 

Your head perks up at the sound, eyes scanning through the darkness.

 

“Ah, must be the others looking for us,” your attention returns to Astarion. “Think you can make it back? I can help if you'd like.”

 

He can definitely walk on his own, the potion and your invigorating blood have him feeling almost as good as new. But the idea of feeling the curve of your body pressed into his side is too intoxicating to turn down. So he won't. 

 

He breathes deep and nods, resolve settling into his very being.

 

“Yes, I think I've had quite enough of this mud bath. Darling?” He pauses, it's now or never. “After we settle back in at camp, come find me when you have a moment. Please. I think we need to talk.”

-

a/n: Thank you for reading! <3

[lovings4turn]

୧ ‧₊˚ ☕️ ⋅ ☆ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭…

— in desperate need of caffeine, logan stumbles into the first cafe he comes across. little does he know, this will be the start of something great.

+ the first part of my whole latte love series , aka my child , so i hope you all enjoy <3 this is set in the uk , but reader isn't specified to be any particular nationality !

+ dividers from benkeibear !!

there were many sacrifices logan sargeant was willing to make in his life.

flying halfway across the world aged only eleven to pursue his dream of racing, for one. on a smaller scale, always allowing his brother dalton to ride shotgun on family trips, despite the fact that the backseat caused his legs to cramp up after a few hours.

but, no matter how late he was running, logan had promised himself he would never, ever deprive his body of a hot, caffeinated beverage before a meeting. 

on this particular morning, though, logan was running especially late. normally, the jarring sound of the iphone alarm would snap him from his deep sleep within seconds, the noise sparking an instant feeling of dread within him even when it wasn't coming from his phone. 

he’d learned that alex had a habit of setting alarms for various things throughout the day, before promptly forgetting what he’d set it for, leaving logan to go through the five stages of grief at least four times a weekend. 

but it seemed today the universe had been a little bored, and so decided to find entertainment in burdening a poor, unsuspecting american race car driver with one minor inconvenience after another. 

firstly, his alarm hadn't woken him up. correction: it had woken him up, just thirty minutes after it was supposed to.

secondly, his pride in managing to get dressed with an impressive five minutes to spare was quickly dissipated when he couldn't find his keys or wallet. the hunt had set him back another ten minutes (because why on earth would he think to check the cutlery drawer until he had run out of other possible options?).

and, for good measure, he'd tripped over his own welcome mat in his mad dash out of his apartment. so, yeah, it had been a morning, to put it lightly.

logan cursed to himself as he all but jogged down the busy street, eyes desperately scanning every building he passed in search of a cafe. he was too frantic to read any shop signs, but when he witnessed two girls walking out of a doorway clutching two paper cups, he knew he'd struck gold.

fucking finally.

logan offered the pair a tight lipped smile as he slipped past them and into the cafe, letting a sigh of relief escape his lips as the familiar smell of strong, freshly brewed coffee hit him. 

this was more than worth being late for, he decided. he'd pick up a few extra coffees, as an apology, a courtesy of some kind. who could be mad with a cup of coffee in their hand? though logan figured he was allowed to be a little lax in his timings anyways, since he was no longer in his rookie year at williams. the team would forgive him quick enough.

trainer-clad feet led him towards the back of the fairly short queue leading up to the counter, and logan took the opportunity to slip his phone out from his coat pocket and shoot a quick text to alex. he hoped his teammate wouldn’t mind bearing the responsibility of updating the rest of the team on his whereabouts. 

‘sorry, overslept. omw now though, bringing coffee as an apology and effort to keep my head’.

three laughing emojis quickly flared up onto logan’s lockscreen, and he took that as a positive sign. 

it was only when logan placed his phone back into his pocket that he realised just how close he was to the front of the line, and immediately began rehearsing his order. sure, he ordered the same thing practically every single time he got coffee, but with the day he was having, he’d probably find a way to absolutely butcher the simple order.

all he needed was his oat milk latte, a black coffee for james, and some sort of sugary, overly sweet concoction for alex. he doubted this place sold the pumpkin spiced lattes that he loved to tease alex about ordering, so he’d just have to find the next best thing.

only, when he finally stepped up to the counter and opened his mouth to order, his mind went blank.

standing only a few feet in front of him was the most gorgeous person logan had ever seen, and considering he’d travelled the world and met countless different women and men over the years, that was an impressive achievement. 

you, luckily, hadn’t noticed the internal reboot logan was experiencing, and focused instead on offering him a warm smile and greeting.

“morning! what can i get for you today?” you asked, finger poised and ready to input his order into the till in front of you.

logan barely managed to stop himself from physically shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, before pasting a crooked grin of his own onto his lips.

“good morning,” he returned, voice a little quiet before he cleared his throat and spoke up again. “can i just get a large black americano, large oat milk latte, and uh,” logan paused, eyes quickly scanning the board in front of him as he weighed up all of the different syrups available. 

vanilla, caramel, hazelnut, and oh, thank god, cinnamon. that was close enough to pumpkin spice, right?

“and a large cinnamon latte, please. oh, to take out.” he finished, finally returning his eyes to you as you skillfully rang through his order.

“ah, great choice,” you commented, your smile still never having left your lips. 

from the moment he’d opened his mouth, you’d quickly registered the accent, though opted not to comment on it despite how pleasing it was to your ears. of course there were no shortage of americans stepping into the cafe everyday, but there was something about his in particular that caused your ears to perk up a little more. maybe it was down to the person it was attached to, instead. 

“and is that everything for you today?” you continued, snapping back into following what you’d aptly dubbed your ‘service speech’, a routine that ensured you didn't stumble over your words to every customer you served.

“that’s all, yeah.” logan responded with another small smile. 

“perfect. that’ll be nine eighty there.”

"great, thank you."

logan quickly pulled out his phone to pay, though as his eyes caught the small jar sat on the counter, ‘tips’ scrawled onto a label in nice handwriting, he wished he was paying by cash. a flash of hope ran through him as he dug his hand into his jean pocket, and he had never been more relieved to feel some spare change brush against his fingertips. 

barely even bothering to count how much was there – it looked to be about three pounds, but he could have been wrong - logan dropped it into the jar, offering you a sheepish smile. he felt a little foolish, paying by card and fumbling around for some cash, but the look on your face was more than worth it. 

“thank you,” you repeated with a soft laugh. “should be ready for you in two minutes.”

logan couldn’t bring himself to speak again, so simply nodded and moved to walk to the point he would collect his drinks from. before that, though, he would grant himself one, small privilege. 

his eyes quickly found your name badge, and he scanned it as subtly as he could before he walked away, the name replaying over and over in his mind like a broken record. but, no. broken records were annoying, an inconvenience, something to fix or throw out. your name was anything but. 

not even five minutes after he’d placed his order were his drinks placed onto the counter, each labelled appropriately to save for any confusion. a cupholder had also been provided, which logan was eternally grateful for. he didn’t think the three drinks would survive the short journey otherwise. as a treat to himself, he took a small sip from his latte and almost swore. logan didn’t believe in magic, but he was sure that this coffee was somehow laced with it. never had a simple oat latte tasted so good to him.

and, he thought, a little embarrassingly, never had someone looked so good making one, either. 

“see you later!” you called from behind the till, lifting your hand in a gesture that could be perceived as a wave, but also an attempt to smooth your hair a little. 

logan nodded and gave you a smile. you would definitely see him later. he had just found his new favourite coffee shop, and he wasn’t going to give it up any time soon.

☕️ . . . there it is , the first instalment !! i loved writing this so much - and actually did so with a cinnamon iced latte of my own , as alex and i are actually one and the same ! hope you all enjoyed , and thank you for reading <3

[icarusdescending7]

Aquamarine - Chapter 5

Ao3 | First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Your fiancé died seven years ago, and you joined the military in his wake to fill the void his death put on you. Now, you work with the 141 for an assignment, hunting associates of their enemies.

Their Lieutenant, however, given you an uneasy feeling. You have a vague sense of familiarity with him, but from where?

-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-

Price did throw you a mini celebration, he felt bad for missing the day. Gaz and Johnny made a crude little cake for you and everyone sat together and had a good evening. Almost everyone, anyway. Ghost seemed pretty distant the whole time, more so than usual. He would only talk when spoken to but was otherwise off in his own world. Eventually, he retired to his room for the night, leaving the rest of you to your own devices. You all ended up drinking a little bit, which was a mixed bag. Johnny was a very loud drunk, Gaz giggly, and Price the sleepy kind. Unfortunately, that left you, the sad kind, to get all sniffly with them and ramble about the things that make you sad. By the end of the night, you were crashed out on top of your bedsheets, sniffling in your sleep. 

~~~

“Alright sweetheart, I gotta go. I’ll text you in the morning and we’ll call again tomorrow, okay?” Simon said, his voice slightly muffled from the phone speakers.

“Okay, Si. Tomorrow. Sleep tight.” You said, yawning. You sniffed a little, “I love you. Stay safe, okay? I want to see you again soon.”

“You know I always am, love. I love you too. Goodnight.” He said. You both hesitated to hang up, listening to each other breathe for a moment before he hung up.

~

‘Good morning. I hope you’re okay.’

‘We still on for a call tonight?’

You texted him at 6 am this morning when you had woken up. Usually, he’d respond in a few hours, but it was almost 5 pm. It concerned you.

‘Simon? You okay?’ 

‘Si?’

‘Love?’

~

It had been a few weeks since you last spoke to Simon. This wouldn’t bother you normally, considering how busy he was with work, but this time was different. He hadn’t said anything about being unreachable the last time you called, he hadn’t sent a text alerting you to an emergency… nothing. The anxiety ate away at you, chewed at the back of your mind like a horrible migraine. You stared at your texts to him, the long string of messages from you taking up the screen. No reply. 

A few weeks turned into a few months, and you finally got a message. All it read was ‘I’m sorry.’

Wait, what? What? ‘I’m sorry’? What does that mean?

‘Simon? What does that mean?’

‘Please respond. What does that mean?’

Just as quickly as you sent those messages, they were quick to stop delivering.

~

You woke up in your clothes from the day before, your head hurting from dehydration, cheeks dried with salt. Your phone had gone dead from the countless messages you’d sent Simon, not going to bed until you passed out. You put it on the charger, getting up to shower and change clothes. By the time you got out, your phone was back on but no new notifications came in. You set it down and sighed, looking over at the wall. 

A series of pictures lined them, dating back a few years at their oldest and a few months at their newest. You and Simon were the center of each, getting stupid pictures of the two of you at the pier, in the park, at restaurants, parties, and gatherings. All of them made your brow furrow— “What did he mean by sorry?” you asked aloud, staring at the photos. Deciding to send one last text in hopes he received it, you picked up your phone.

‘Seen 3:23 am’

So he did see them. But he didn’t respond. He must have blocked you but regretted it and unblocked you when he knew you’d be asleep. 

‘Is this your way of ending things with me?’ You asked, sending the message. It went through and was immediately seen, but no reply came. You dropped your phone, grumbling to yourself.

~

A few days passed, and you were sitting on your couch staring into space. You didn’t have much energy to do anything but stare. You hadn’t eaten anything but a bag of chips, and you found yourself sipping on a warm glass of water. A knock on the door drew your attention from the nothing you were thinking of. Slowly, you got up, going to the front door and peering through the peephole. The sight beyond made your stomach drop— two soldiers stood beyond with grim looks on their faces. You hesitantly unlocked the door, opening it just enough to ask what they were there for. 

“Are you the spouse of Lieutenant Simon Riley?” One of the men asked, turning to try and peer at you through the crack in the door. You sighed, opening the door fully.

“That’s me, yes. Well, his fiancé, technically but…” You trailed off. “Sorry. Is there something I can help you boys with?” You knew the answer, even if you didn’t want to admit it to yourself yet. You knew exactly what words were going to come out of his mouth, and you were already bracing for it. Your mind blurred out all the words that he said, except a few.

“…was killed in the line of duty. We’re sorry for your loss.”

You couldn’t keep yourself upright, knees buckling underneath you as the truth hit you like a bag of bricks. One of them rushed to catch you, not letting you hit the floor as you fell. Tears flowed like a broken dam and your shoulders shook. The news wreaked havoc on your mind, sending you into a swirl of agony. 

He was gone. He was gone and you didn’t have a chance to say goodbye! He left you alone with only his memory! Didn’t people normally get the honor of getting their spouses tags? Or a uniform? Or even their personal effects? This isn’t right! This isn’t right… Memories flashed through your head, showing you the life you shared with him. The way he smiled, how bright and beautiful it was despite all the devastation he’d seen. The way he laughed, how he snorted at your jokes, how all of it made your heart warm right up even when you were low. The feeling of his hands in yours now becoming a cold memory, knowing you won’t ever get to feel that warmth ever again. You won’t ever get to hear him say “I love you” again. Or sweetheart, or love, or your name. 

Was loving him worth the pain of losing him?

~~~

You woke up with a start, shooting upright with your heart racing and your head pounding. You shook as you looked around for your phone, trying to check the time. When you found it, the time read 3:57 am. You had a new text too, from Ghost. 

‘Can you have nightmares quieter? People are trying to sleep.’

It was a fresh message, sent mere minutes before you woke up. You took a shaky breath, steading your hands as you crafted a reply.

‘Like you’re any better.’ 

‘I am. I have padding on my walls for a reason.’

‘Whatever. Means sound shouldn’t come in either, or something like that.’

‘That’s not what that means.’

‘Who cares?’

‘Not you, apparently.’

‘Correct. Anyway. Its too early to go back to bed. Coffee?’

‘Sure.’

You took another breath, a lot more stable this time. You got up to get ready for the day and clean yourself up from your hangover. Eventually, you met Ghost in the kitchen and had a short conversation before Soap came in, who took over the conversation.

[mynameisjag]

From a fic I never finished, Bruce and Damian enjoy a day out. That's it, just them having a good day.

It wasn’t often that Bruce went out into Gotham as well, just Bruce…not Batman or Brucie Wayne.

Just Bruce.

Changing into simple clothing, letting his hair air dry and just heading out like that and the public didn’t recognize him.

No slicked back hair or suits of any kind.

Just a t-shirt, his favorite throw over cardigan and what Dick insisted was mom jeans, a five o’clock shadow, and he was ready to go.

Just a quick trip to the shopping center to pick up some office supplies for his home office, a few groceries for Alfred, some snacks for the Batcave, and he probably needed to check the family chat to see if anyone needed anything while he was out.

A quick glance at his messages as he began to head out, already on his way to the garage, Dick was trying his best to convince him to get…strawberry flavored Batty-O’s with crackling and popping sprinkles…sounds horrible and right up his eldest alley…also full of terrible sugars…

Alfred would hunt both of them down if he brought this home.

He’ll just order it and have it shipped to Dick’s apartment…

Jason wanted him to fuck off…Bruce sent off a xoxo and a request to come over for tea in response to that. He got a thumbs up and a middle finger.

Tim…is either half asleep and texting or is trying to send out a code for everyone to decipher…both was possible…adding melatonin to the list…

Cass was sending happy faces, so it’s seems she’s good at the moment, sending her a heart, ballet shoes and a crown. His dancing princess.

Duke sent a thumbs up and got one back in return.

Steph was just saying she’ll just take what she needs from his place whenever…time to restock the “hidden” care packages then.

And Damian…Damian was staring him down from the passenger seat of the car…

“Damian…is there something you need that you couldn’t put in chat?”

“I am coming with you.”

“…you hate the public…”

“I will overcome my distaste of others and escort you, Father, you shall not face the scrutiny of the common by yourself.”

Aww, he just wanted to spend time together and Bruce could never refuse the baby of the family, “Of course, I appreciate your concern.”

His darling just puffed up with a smug smile, proud that he managed to get his way without any argument, “I’m glad you are agreeable.”

Look, they are communicating!

Not well, but it was a step forward!

Besides Damian even took the effort to dress more ‘civilian’, the green sweater with a little tiny bird stitched in with the words ‘just a bobbin like a robin’ was definitely a gift from Dick.

Adjusting the seat belt and getting the car out of the garage, Bruce just hummed happily, letting the silence settle between them comfortably. Mentally going back over his list, glancing over to see his son playing on an old handheld game. Something that was more then likely stolen out of Tim’s room, but with the older boy making his own place in the city, it would be awhile before it would be noticed it was gone.

Almost all his children had moved out…he was happy they were moving on in their lives, looking more into their futures but his heart hurt because his babies weren’t actually babies any more. They would have argued that none of them were ever babies with him but he would just ignore that.

He hoped this doesn’t result in empty nest syndrome…

“Baba, can we stop by the game store, I want to see if I can find more interesting games.”

“We can, after we get everything on the list, can you check my phone and see if anyone has sent in anything they want to be picked up-what in Lady Gotham is this?”

Bruce blinked as traffic was stopped to let a…small parade of Batman floats pass by…

“There are copycats out on the street, how dare they parade around as us!”

“…I think parade is the word, look at the banners…”

Batman Day!

“So they are not copycats…but worshippers…”

Bruce tried not to laugh at the thought, "I think the word is…enthusiastics…”

They both watched as a man walked past wearing a banner that said, “Priest of The Bat”.

“…and we will be investigating that later, let’s see if we can park and look around.”

“Time for some detective work, Father?”

“Undercover detective work.”

Damian was eagerly typing away on the phone, “I shall keep the others off our trail so they won’t interrupt our investigation, also according to the online advertisement, the parade will end in the park where the “Batman Day festival” will begin. They will have bat themed mooncakes at certain booths.”

“Are the mooncakes important to the investigation?”

“One must keep all possibilities open, we must check each booth for clues.”

Bruce kept the smile that was threatening to grow held down, he was sure the boy wouldn’t appreciate being cooed over his want of treats being disguised as being extra thorough, more so that he didn’t want his siblings interrupting their day. He was going to have to order everything online and have it shipped to the manor then, mundane chores could wait.

His baby wanted mooncakes.

He will get mooncakes.

It didn’t take too long to park and follow the short parade to the fairgrounds, even with them stopping and staring at the lookalikes, a man giving them a balloon with the bat symbol and the words ‘I believe in Gotham’s local cryptids’, and someone clipping tiny bat wings to the back of their shirts at some point.

Soon the entrance was in view and by that time, Damian was now on Bruce’s shoulders, taking in the crowd, head turning back and forth at the bright lights, the performers in bat themed outfits, wide eyed as a child runs in front of then in a Robin costumes.

Bruce is humming thoughtfully to himself as he eyes a group in clown makeup done up in a Gothic theme, so far all they seem to be doing is some parlor tricks for the crowd around them. Some people even taking selfies, it was a rare sight for a Gothamite to get close to a clown without violence.

He was wondering if he should text the others, surely by now they would be aware of this festival happening, Barbara had to have known…

“Darling, do you want to text your siblings?”

“I can tell them to be on alert for any suspicious behaviors while we blend into the crowd…like the one over by the dart game.”

Bruce could only blink as his head was forcefully turned toward a booth with a bunch of balloons tied to a backboard, “Dart game?”

“Yes, obviously it’s a skill test but what kind? We must investigate.”

Hmm, a skill test that totally didn’t have to do with the giant plush animals as prizes.

“I think I remember Dick saying how these games were rigged,” he watches as a parent carries off their crying kid, wincing in sympathy as the cries get louder.

“No amount of trickery could possibly stop us!”

[goldenavenger02]

you'll be alright (no one can hurt you now)

For @badthingshappenbingo Prompt: Hiding An Injury

Hakoda wasn't going to bring it up to any of the teens, but he had a sinking feeling that the week would not be as fun-filled as Aang was hoping.

If Hakoda was being honest with himself, he wasn't completely sure when he started seeing the former prince, now Fire Lord, not as an adversary but as one of the kids.

It would make sense if it had started after he accompanied his own son to save him, as well as Suki, from the Boiling Rock; Hakoda, who had to fight the urge to reprimand the then sixteen year old for putting himself in danger after finding out about the cooler.

But to him, he was more confident that it had been around the time of the coronation; when he saw just how broken Sokka's leg was and heard the tale of how the young Fire Lord had nearly died in order to save Katara's life.

Hakoda knew that he could not stay in the Fire Nation forever, nor did he want to when he finally had the chance to be with his children after the long, miserable years without them.

But he would have been lying if he had said that the reason he had postponed his return to the South Pole wasn't so he could be confident that the teenager wouldn't reinjure himself within a few days of that crown being nestled into his hair.

He should have known that he would be promoted to Head Chieftain upon his return to Wolf Cove, which ended up taking away more time from Katara and Sokka then he would have liked; it didn't make him feel any less guilty that they were simultaneously being pulled across the nations and into more danger then he ever wanted them in again despite the war being over, all with Aang by their side.

Hakoda liked Aang, it was hard not to get along with someone so happy, kind and understanding as the Avatar himself who also made time to play with the other kids in between all of the stuffy meetings that the teenager was subjected to, but he just wished that he would stay put.

And so, maybe that was why he bit the bullet and sent the letter to the new Fire Lord, extending his invitation to the South Pole; while the rest of the higher ups would want to extensively question the teenager about his priorities, he knew he was being mildly selfish in hoping that the response he received about the visit being confirmed and scheduled would be enough to get his children to stay put for more than a few days.

"Do you think Zuko has ever been penguin sledding?" Aang asked one night at the dinner table while sneaking some of the pieces of his bread to Momo, who had refused to be kicked out and curled up next to Aang's ankles at every meal.

"Do I think Zuko, former prince of the Fire Nation who had a stick so far up his as-" a nudge to Sokka's ribs from Katara, seemingly keeping him from swearing. Sokka skipped over the profanity as if it had never left his mouth, "who spent three years of his life hunting you down and is now so busy as the Fire Lord that I'm lucky if he talks to me for more than five minutes whenever I'm there, has been penguin sledding? Yeah, that's gonna be a hard pass, buddy."

"Gonna put it on the list, then."

"Aang, he's coming for work. Like Sokka said, he's been really busy."

"I know," Aang muttered, seeming more like the thirteen year old that he really was rather than the all-powerful Avatar whose very name made grown men tremble in fear, "but he's going to be here for an entire week. He has to have some free time, right?"

Hakoda could tell by Katara's nod, followed by a quick peck on Aang's cheek, that it was more of a hope than genuine confirmation.

They wouldn't end up waiting a long time for Zuko's arrival, however, when the single airship arrived in the South Pole just a few days later and out walked the Fire Lord along with two guards following behind.

"Fire Lord Zuko, welcome to the South Pole."

"Chief Hakoda," the teenager greeted with perfect posture and a professional smile, "thank you for the invitatio-ooff."

It had been going well until the Avatar himself wrapped the Fire Lord into a bone-crushing hug, followed closely behind by Katara while Sokka went around behind him and dumped the fresh snow down the back of his shirt.

To Hakoda's surprise, however, the guards didn't move despite the onslaught of "Fire Lord Hotman" from Aang, belly laughs from Katara and the snowball fight that broke out between Sokka and Zuko.

"I'm not going to tell you two how to do your job," he started, gaining the older guard's attention before pointing at the group of teenagers, "that being said…"

"I'm just glad it's snow and not leaves this time, Chief Hakoda."

"The autumn equinox in Ba Sing Se was a nightmare for the royal stylist." The younger guard added, still firmly in his post.

He had been a parent for sixteen years, and he knew that sometimes, it was not worth asking for more context.

After a few more minutes, however, the group of four seemingly remembered just why Zuko had arrived and helped him off the ground while he brushed off the excess snow from his clothes.

"My apologies, Chief Hakoda." Zuko bowed in his direction with a bright flush on his cheeks; whether it was from impromptu snowball fight or embarrassment, he couldn't tell.

"Well, that is the most I have seen my daughter laugh in a long time, so consider yourself forgiven." Hakoda was smiling as he wrapped his arm around a still giggling Katara while the Fire Lord stood up, but he could feel it morph into a frown as he noticed just how pale he seemed to be, "anyway, why don't we get some lunch?"

"Yes, I'm starving! You are going to love seal jerky, Zuko!" His son insisted as he wrapped his arm around his friend's shoulder, nearly knocking his knees out from under him due to the lack of tread on the Fire Lord's boots.

Hakoda made a mental note to review how the ambassador of the Southern Water Tribe was supposed to behave in the presence of royalty with Sokka later.

"You don't have to eat it if you don't want to," Katara added which resulted in a disgruntled sound from her brother, "where's Toph?"

"Oh, she wanted to be here, but then she found out about the climate and I told her that we needed her to keep all of her body parts, and she said, um…" He trailed off, but Hakoda had only needed to speak to the earthbender one time to have a guess what her direct quote was, "well, let's just say she made some very creative threats towards me if I dared to make her wear shoes."

Yeah, Hakoda definitely had an idea about the profanities that had escaped Toph's mouth in response to needing shoes.

"So, I know you have work to do while you're here. But, I've been working on some firebending techniques that I want to get your feedback on, and I've been making a list of activities to do in our free time!"

"Sounds like a plan." Despite the nod and Aang's whoop of excitement, Hakoda winced at just how exhausted Zuko sounded as he spoke.

He had always been more moody and reserved than the others, but now his voice had none of its usual bite now that the adrenaline from the snowball fight had ebbed away. Hakoda wasn't going to bring it up to any of the teens, but he had a sinking feeling that the week would not be as fun-filled as Aang was hoping.

…

Hakoda didn't want to be right.

The meetings had gone better than expected, with Zuko promising that he was doing his best to return all of his military personnel to the Fire Nation as soon as he could without draining the already dwindling economy, as well as helping build up the beginnings of the new trade routes.

In fact, aside from the brief moments of him rubbing at his eyes, Hakoda thought he looked as though he had been able to get some sleep the night before, which ended up being the reason why he allowed Sokka and Katara to postpone their meeting with him and the rest of the council about their specific duties to the tribe.

It wasn't like all of them had been given enough of a chance to relish in their teenage years just like he had done with Bato and Kya at their age. If they wanted to take Zuko penguin sledding that badly, then Hakoda was going to let them.

It even gave him a chance to get to know the guards of the Fire Lord better as they gave him advice about how to better security while he tried, and failed, to pry into any misadventures that his kids had pulled Zuko into.

All in all, as the sun was starting to set over the peaks, Hakoda was about to pat himself on the back for handling this head chieftain promotion pretty damn well, at least until he heard the chatter approaching the house.

"For the last time, let go of me."

"You're still bleeding, Fire Lord Hotman."

"And would you quit it with that? I'm fine, it's just a scratch."

"We don't even need Toph here to know you're lying," Katara's grumble was the loudest as the door to Hakoda's hut swung open to reveal the disastrous consequences of penguin sledding, "hey, dad? A little help?"

Katara, Sokka and Aang had snow on their shoulders and boots and flushed cheeks, but what was more concerning was the Fire Lord sandwiched in between the three of them, with snow caked on his clothes and the red-tinted snow that covered his forehead.

The guards were up before he was, the older one pushing Zuko's snow-covered hair out of the way to get a closer look at the gash on the right side of his head and the younger one asking him various questions to rule out a concussion.

"Qiang, Tao, I'm fine! Seriously, I've gotten worse than this from the turtle ducks."

Hakoda held back a snicker at the whine that interspersed itself with the Fire Lord's voice while he tried to fight off the attention of his guards.

He busied himself with grabbing a clean rag and running it under the warm water from the sink, listening in as the group of three wrangled their friend to sit down in one of the dining chairs.

"The turtle ducks made you smack your head into a tree limb?"

"Sokka, for the last time, it was a branch and all it did was take some of the skin."

"That's still a lot of blood, Zuko."

"It's a head wound, they bleed a lot more. Hold still."

"Katara, don't pull at it!"

"Okay," Hakoda finally spoke up while turning around, getting all six sets of eyes on him despite the fact that his daughter was still trying to get Zuko's hair out of the bloody gash where it had stuck, "unless you are currently in charge of part of one of the four nations, step outside," Hakoda commanded, cutting off his son's question before his hand was even fully in the air, "no, ambassador does not count."

"Damn." Sokka muttered under his breath as he, along with Aang and Katara walked out.

He really needed to review the behavior expected of someone with Sokka's position sooner rather than later.

"Your majesty?" The older guard, Tao, asked, "would you like us to stand guard outside?"

"Yeah, that's a good idea." Zuko agreed, waiting until his guards were out of the building to practically slump onto the dining room table in exhaustion.

"Are you alright, Fire Lord?" Hakoda asked as he finished wringing out the rag before bringing it and the first aid kit to the dining room table.

"Please just call me Zuko."

"Alright then, but the same goes for you. I wasn't exactly pleased to find out I had been promoted without my knowledge," Hakoda explained before using one hand to tilt his chin upwards and using the other to gently press the cloth against the sticky hair, "sorry if that stings, I just want to get any hair out before it's disinfected."

"It's fine."

"I take it that the penguin sledding didn't go as intended?" Hakoda asked after a few moments.

"What gave it away?"

Hakoda couldn't help but smile at the sarcasm as he deposited the dirty rag onto the table, "well, between the blood and my children along with the Avatar himself holding onto your arms as they brought you in here, just a hunch."

As he spoke, he soaked one of the gauze pads with the disinfectant and pressed it to the gash, unsurprised to see the teenager's knuckles turning white from the strength that he was clenching his fist, "you doing alright?"

He nodded, and stayed silent as Hakoda pulled the gauze away to replace it with a fresh, dry pad that he taped in place; he'd mention something to Katara later, but for now, he knew that he just needed to get Zuko dry now that the snow was melting off of him.

"I'll be right back," he insisted, shutting the first aid kit and picking up the dirty rag, "just gonna get you some dry clothes."

"Thank you, for all of this. If there's anything I can do to repay-"

"None of that," Hakoda insisted, cutting him off with a raised hand, "you are in my territory and you are a friend of Katara and Sokka's. More importantly, their shenanigans put you in this position in the first place. If anything, this is an apology for their actions. No need to repay me."

He quickly went into Sokka's room and grabbed a spare set of clothes before bringing them back to the dining room table only to see Zuko resting his head on his arms.

"Zuko," he called out, setting the folded outfit on the table, "I've got dry clothes for you."

No response.

This had happened with Aang too, the first night he came to the South Pole after the war had ended, only Zuko hadn't fallen asleep face first into a bowl of seaweed stew. Hakoda tried again, his voice a little louder.

"Zuko, you really need to change before you fall asleep for the night. Also, it might be best for your neck not to sleep at the table."

No response again. Hakoda sighed and laid a gentle hand on his left shoulder, "Zuko-"

He didn't expect him to sit up quickly and pull his hand away in sheer determination with golden eyes glowering right at him and fire shining bright in his right palm.

But Hakoda was unable to speak before his wrist was let go and the flames dissipated, the anger turning into deep regret as he stood up and backed away with his hands raised in surrender.

"I am so sorry-"

"Zuko-"

"I've been unprofessional. You have been nothing but welcoming and kind and I nearly-"

"Zuko, it's okay-"

"I nearly killed you."

And Hakoda wasn't going to deny that yes, he could have hurt him, but the seventeen year old had tears in his eyes as he backed himself into the corner over being woken up unexpectedly.

"Zuko, take a deep breath," Hakoda instructed, managing to lock eyes with the teenager while taking a step forward, "It's okay. No one got hurt."

"I almost-"

"Almost, not did. I'm fine, you are fine and everyone else was sent out. We're all okay," he wasn't surprised by Zuko slumping to his knees on the floor with a nod while he extended his hand towards the teenager, "you need to change and get some real sleep. Can you manage that on your own?"

He nodded again and wrapped his left hand around Hakoda's right, giving him the chance to pull him to his feet only to frown yet again when he saw the sharp wince that crossed Zuko's face.

"What happened to your shoulder?"

"I just need to get some rest."

And Hakoda so badly wanted to push further, the parental side of him desperately wanting to pull the teenager into a tight hug.

But Zuko wasn't one of his kids and, with what he had heard about Ozai over the years, he had a sinking feeling that touch would only result in the young Fire Lord spiraling further.

So he used his best judgment and let go of Zuko's hand before passing him the clothes, "there is an empty bedroom on the right. I'll let your guards know where you are and I suggest having Katara look at your head tomorrow."

"Thank you, Chief Hakoda."

Having been a parent for sixteen years, Hakoda had also learned when to hold his tongue, especially around someone who was easily startled and just nodded in response while saying, "Sleep well, Zuko."

He went outside as soon as he heard the door shut behind the young Fire Lord to be met with three sets of frantic eyes and two sets of raised eyebrows.

"The Fire Lord is getting some sleep," he started, his eyes locked on the two guards, "he's in the third room on the right." He waited until the two guards walked in, a nod given by Tao, before he turned to the three teenagers, "his injuries aren't severe, I don't even think he's going to bruise."

Aang's sigh of relief wasn't lost on Hakoda, but he continued to press on.

"Sokka, you and I will be having a very long discussion in the morning about how the ambassador of the Southern Water Tribe should act around royalty, even if they are one of your friend's. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Sokka nodded, the tone being known by his son that it was time for him to turn in before he had a chance to do something else that would be frowned upon, "come on, Aang. It's late."

The young Avatar followed with Momo settled firmly on his shoulder, leaving Hakoda with just his daughter in the snowy wind.

"You said injuries."

And in that snowy wind, when Katara looked into his eyes, he could only see Kya for a few moments as she seemingly looked right into his soul.

"I advised Zuko to come to you in the morning, so you could heal his head wound which is why I'm also going to ask you a question," Hakoda stopped to take in a deep breath, because even if he wasn't one of his, the fact that someone may do this to a child who hadn't even reached eighteen yet…"has he mentioned anything about assassination attempts?"

"For Tui's sake," his daughter cursed as she pinched his nose before a shout tinged with sadness escaped her lips, "he promised to tell me if it happened again! That no-good, jerkbending-"

"Katara," Hakoda scolded, his hands on her shoulders, "regardless of what he said, it would be best not to insult him while he is in our territory."

"He's lucky I don't go in there and ask him what-"

"Katara, that is enough. He had his reasoning, no matter what it was. More importantly, he needs to rest," he stopped to push a strand of hair out of her face, not surprised that it was wet with tears, "and so do you, my child. It has been a very long day, for all of us."

"Y-you're right," she said, wiping her arm on her sleeve before pulling him into a tight hug which Hakoda instantly returned, "goodnight, dad."

"Gp get some sleep."

She let go and made her way to the campsite she had made with Sokka and Aang when they had arrived in Wolf Cove which left Hakoda standing outside of the chieftain building in the snow and his swirling thoughts about how to speak to the Fire Lord in the morning.

…

"So, what do you think, Sifu Hotman?"

"I think your posture needs more work than your use of outdated Fire Nation slang. Straighten out your back and extend your arms, you'll get more force in it."

Hakoda couldn't help but observe the three of them from where he had exited his meeting with Sokka. It had gone well, but he couldn't help but think it would be the first of many.

Aang was eager to continue firebending, showing off the different ways he could bend the flames, waiting for Zuko's advice as he sat next to the fire pit while Katara healed the gash on his forehead.

He was confident that she had already taken care of his shoulder and probably yelled at him a great deal as well while he had been talking to his son.

It didn't take long for Sokka to join the group with Momo on his heels as he carried their breakfast to them on one of the trays and soon enough the entire group was laughing about something that Appa had done the day before.

Hakoda wasn't sure when his parental instincts had spread from just Katara and Sokka to now involving Aang and Zuko as well, but what he did know was that the biggest thing they needed right now was to be kids.

And he was going to do his best to make sure that it happened.

(Want to read the Gaang penguin sledding? Part 2 below)

[grinninmoon-and-bloodsolar-blog]

“Brother…we-no, you are not back to normal yet…why?” Bloodmoon questioned, he simply got a sigh in return “I am stressed brother…and the hunger is returning, worse than the last time we suffered it” he was stressed because he knew this hunger was returning and he didn’t have much control whenever it wafted through BloodSolar and Bloodmoon, the craving of blood and the need crack bones, to deplete the life of something. “Brother, perhaps we ask the other Bloodmoon if we can hunt in their forest” the bell of the hat jingles nervously “I am not sure Bloody…what if we get so lost in this feeling someone comes looking for us or even passes by and we attack them” she hears the grumbles from her brother “It is the only other option we have, brother. We cleared most of the big game where we usually hunt! And You need destress!” She sighs “Fine, Fine, we’ll visit Grim and Reaper’s place and ask if we can hunt over there for a bit” BloodSolar slips out of the heap of blankets with relative ease despite how massive he was in this current, terrifying form.

BloodSolar leaves a quick note before heading off to pay their favorite Bloodtwins a visit “Will they even bother talking to us like this? We look kind of…Killcode-ish” he thought aloud “It would be quite odd, but I’m sure they’ll know it is us sister…the exhaustion in you voice is always noticeable to anyone” BloodSolar snorts a bit at the jab to him as the trudge along soon find themselves at the Bloodtwins little cabin. He knocks on the door and hopes for the best.

( @escapetheslaughter )

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Hello :) I hope you’re having a fantastic day, please could I request a BG3 and Hogwarts Legacy matchup :)

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Appearance: I am 5’3, have long black hair and green-hazel eyes and I’m very pale. In terms of fashion I normally dress in black and other dark colours as black and purple are my favourite colours, I normally wear goth style clothing, jewellery and makeup (simple and not over the top), and on special occasions I dress more elegantly.

MBTI: I am a Capricorn and personality type INFJ.

Personality: I’m normally shy when talking to people for the first time and scared to approach people. When I get to know people, I am more open and hyper around them. I really enjoy testing myself and improving myself as a whole (I have low self esteem), I also like to take care of other people and make sure they’re doing okay and I really have a soft spot for animals.

Likes (at least three things): I normally spend my time watching horror movies, playing video games, reading, listening to music and I love watching anime. My favourite music genres are rock, metal, goth and classical. I’m absolutely fascinated with Greek mythology and many countries History.

Dislikes (at least three things): I absolutely can’t stand when it’s too hot or sunny outside as I much prefer the cold. I hate being forced into social situations and when people are extremely judgmental.

Extra fun fact: My ideal dates are normally visiting museums, anything historical, nature walks and visiting spooky locations.

BG3 extra

Race: Wood Half Elf

Class: Paladin/Bard

D&D alignment: Neutral Good

~~~~~ MATCHUPS ~~~~~

BG3

Astarion Ancunin

~~~~~ HEADCANONS ~~~~~

Astarion loved easy prey, and that is precisely what you were to him. Someone so timid and shy, easy to manipulate and use to protect himself.

You were also a natural born leader, yes you may need some time to warm up to your companions but once that was all in order you were a force to be reckoned with. So graceful on the battlefield.

The only issue was that you were so bloody kind to every person you guys met. You were always seeking out to help others with nothing in return. What type of person does that?

What Astarion didn't realize was that he loved that about you. He was just clouding this admiration that was blooming with hate so he could hide from his feelings.

When you saw his scars for the first time, he knew he was falling, and it terrified him. You looked at his wounds, his horrible past, and just accepted him. So willingly.

He knew there had to be a catch, so to spare himself, he became cold and distant from you. Yet you always came back, and he realized he couldn't do it.

When you two explored Baldur's Gate with the group, you two were like encyclopedias. Where Astarion could tell you everything about nightlife, you could recite anything about day life.

Though Astarion loved the sun and the time he got to spend in it with the illithid in him, he couldn't deny the moon looked gorgeous on you.

Soon after Cazador's demise, you and Astarion took refuge in a small cottage near the town. There, you two created your own gothic safe haven.

~~~~~ BLURB ~~~~~

You and Astarion had been dancing around your feelings for one another. Yes, he confessed he no longer saw you as just a bodyguard but as something more; he just needed time. You respected that, wanting to give the man the chance to honestly choose you. Making your way to Baldur's Gate is when the incident that caused him to finally confess occurred. You were gorgeous. The whole group would agree, and so would 90% of the people who passed by you on the street. As you walked along the the winding roads and through crowds Astarion noticed all the head nods and quick looks you were getting.

Once satisfied with your hunt for a safe place to sleep for the night, you guided your companions to the campground. Yes, there were tons of taverns around, but with Orin and Gortash switching sides, you would rather be safe than sorry. Taking your place at your tent, Astarion couldn't help but admire you. You had everything: the personality, the looks, and most of all, the morals that any man would be blessed to love. He knew he was the one that pushed you away, wanting to understand his feelings, but something about now in the present, witnessing all the looks you got, made him realize he could lose you. Mustering up the courage, he strode over to you, clearing his throat, "Hello, my little dove. How are you today?"

You smiled radiantly, "I am good; what do I owe the pleasure this evening, Astarion? Do you need some blood tonight?" He shook his head no before gently bending at the waist and whispering in your ear. "Actually, I would like to officially consummate our relationship; I can't bear for someone to steal you from me." You blushed darkly, giggling when you nodded, leading him into your tent. You two got comfortable under your rucksack and began discussing the future for both of you. Yes, Astarion liked the thought of that; both of you are no longer alone.

~~~~~ EXTRA ~~~~~

(You and Astarion are the only two awake at camp, watching over everyone and having a moment.)

Y/N: It's beautiful tonight, isn't it?

Astarion: I agree that the calmness of night was always pleasant when I wasn't on the hunt.

Y/N: Do you think you will learn to love the night again when we go on our own?

Astarion: I would love to relearn everything by your side, my love.

Y/N: Do you think our neighbors will snore as loudly as Gale and Halsin?

HOGWARTS LEGACY

Sebastian Sallow

~~~~~ HEADCANONS ~~~~~

Sebastian thought how shy you were when you came to school was cute. He thought the big bad fifth year who took on a dragon would be some pompous ass.

However, as he grew to know you due to the countless lessons he got voluntold to do with you, he realized you were really kind.

You were powerful, though, beyond belief, and he hoped you would willingly help him with his sister. When he told you about Anne, he knew he had to have some inkling of feelings for you.

Due to his research for a cure, Sebastion loved to quiz you on interesting facts. On holiday, you two will also explore old monuments and museums in the muggle and wizarding worlds.

Sebastian hated it when you doubted yourself. You were the most beautiful and capable witch he had met, so of course, he naturally had to help boost your confidence as much as he could.

When Sebastian confessed to Ominus how he felt for you, it was a good two weeks of torture where Ominus would start a conversation with you, pretending like he would tell Sebastian's secret.

Sebastian may be a great wizard, but he was still a schoolboy at heart, so confessing to you took a long time of contemplation.

What did him in, though, was when he took you to meet Anne. You were so kind and gentle to her, helping her with the chores and other necessities.

When his uncle yelled at him, you were by his side, trying to cheer him up like you always did.

Though Sebastian's path was wrong, you knew deep down that he was doing it for a good cause. That didn't stop you from trying to convince him to stop on the dark path he was on. After the incident, it took a long time to rebuild that trust.

Once you and Sebastian were back on good terms, it was almost disgusting to Ominus how long you two could dance around loving each other, so he had to inform everyone very, very loudly.

~~~~~ BLURB ~~~~~

Sebastian had been bested again in a duel by none other than you. It was crazy to him that you were so far behind everyone else, yet powerful and confident. Though he knew you disliked all the attention you got for your title as the 'Savior,' he couldn't help but agree with them. "Oi, Sallow, will you help me clean up this mess or what? We have our NEWTs to study for." Sebastion nodded, running up to help you clean up the practice dummies. Time had flowen since fifth year when you first appeared, being in seventh year you two went through so much together. Though he had to work hard to regain your trust, he knew he wouldn't risk losing you again this time.

After putting up the equipment, you waved goodbye and went to Professor Weasley's office. You were extremely powerful and intelligent, helping the staff understand the artifacts you found in school that would be placed in a prestigious museum soon. You had your life lined up for you, but where did he stand. He knew he needed to confess to you and was running out of time. He couldn't count how many times he and Ominus had discussed this thoroughly since they had made up. Sebastian had a brilliant idea as he went to his common room. Party in Slytherin.

The party was in full swing, and the partygoers were having a grand time. Sebastian, however, was keeping an eagle eye out for you. He knew how you hated social situations like this, and his goal was to sneak you out on a romantic walk to then confess. The only problem was every single one of your friends wanted to talk to you. Sebastian was growing impatient and leaned over to Ominus to exclaim his discontent. As he finished talking to Ominus, he saw the blind boy smirk before jumping up on the table before him and loudly proclaiming, "Oh Y/N, your lover boy misses you!". Not only did you and everyone know Sebastian's feelings, but Sebastian also learned that there was such a thing as an uncomposed Ominus.

~~~~~ EXTRA ~~~~~

(You and Ominus were watching Sebastian fight a training dummy)

Ominus: Y/N, have you ever noticed that he sounds like one of the dummies?

Y/N: (laughs) Are you insinuating that they would look and sound alike if you could see?

Ominus: Oh, it is, in fact, not an insinuation. It's a fact.

Y/N: (staring at Sebastian lovingly) he is a big dummy, isn't he?

Sebastian: I CAN HEAR YOU!

[whirlwindimagines]

Hello! I hope You’re doing well

I was just wondering if i could request for a Wolfwood x gnreader who carries around a scythe and is called the reaper just like how Nicolas carries around a cross and goes by the name punisher?

I think that’d be cool :)) you don’t have to write it if you don’t want! I hope you are well and hydrated!! And that you take your time<33

Aww thanks for the kind words! I had no idea where this story was going, I just get an idea and run with it lol hope you enjoy! Also I’m like this will be short :) 1300 words later lol Also first time writing for Wolfwood so apologies

‘Fate’

Nicholas D. Wolfwood x Reader

You’ve decided three was becoming your favorite number because that’s how many times it took to intertwine your fate with the punisher. You’ve always gone through life with a sense of survival, it’s how you ended up here. Bounty hunting, only taking in targets dead, they call you ‘Reaper’ nothing but an angel of death in their eyes.

It was cruel work, but if someone wanted someone dead, or found dead you’d do it for the right price. It’s how you survived in this harsh world and you are fine with the routine of it. Until your routine was tossed to the side.

The first time had been quick, an annoyance more than anything else. You’ve been tracking your target for days, and you had finally cornered them outside of some backwater town. Scythe in hand ready to strike, the target was begging they always begged you hated this part. The nighttime air filled with the sound of crying until a gunshot rang out.

You dodged to the side unsure where the bullet had come from or where it would land. The night went still, you glanced at your target hoping they wouldn’t take this as a chance to run only to discover where the bullet ended up. Right through your target's head. 

You whipped around raising your weapon, only to come face to face with a man. He was holding a giant gun in the shape of a cross. Your blood ran cold, but you held your ground. 

“You asshole! He was mine.” 

“Relax you can have the bounty I just need proof.” He stepped closer, lighting a cigarette at the same time, his tone was casual. You stepped to the side letting him pass, you knew who he was. This wasn’t a fight you could win, so you would let him do what he needed and you’d collect the bounty.

“You’re not a ghost then, Punisher.” You don’t know why you felt the need to say it, your eyes glanced over him. He must have finished, whatever he did you didn’t want to know. He stood facing you and took a long drag of the cigarette “You’re not one either then, Reaper.”  

The two of you left it at that, you turned in the bounty, got the money, and didn’t think about it again. It was an odd night; one you’d just want to forget. 

The second time was confusing but somewhat enjoyable. You had a long day, you wanted nothing more than to just drink the night away. You found the closest bar to you and planned to hunker down for the night. People always gave space the moment they saw your weapon, and you don’t fuck with me attitude you were set.

What you didn’t expect was for someone to sit down right beside you at the bar. Annoyed you turned to the stranger, he was already looking at you with a smirk and a cigarette between his lips.

“Reaper”

“Punisher” 

You didn’t like being sought out like this; you were very unsure what he wanted from you. He orders a drink and then orders you one. “First rounds on me.” He said clinking his drink to yours. You downed the drink, “What do you want?” You figured you’d just get straight to the point nobody just sought you out for a drink. 

“What can’t drink with a friend?” You frowned at the tone, casual and that sly look on his face. You huffed looking down at your empty glass, “We’re not friends.” 

“Ah but we could be, I think we could help each other out.” There it was, people always wanted something from you. You knew not to get involved with this man; he was dangerous you were to hit you weren’t suicidal.  “No thanks.” You stood grabbing your weapon and preparing to leave until he grabbed your wrist, you glared at him. His hold was loose you could pull away if you really wanted to but you were in a trance at his dark gaze. 

“Hear me out first Reaper, I’m just looking for information if you can help me there, I’ll be out of your hair.” You sat back down, he let go of your hand and smirked. How annoying, he began to ask you a series of questions, he must be hunting someone you didn’t care to know the details of.  You answered honestly and he bought you another drink, you figured that was the end. It wasn’t. 

“It’s Nicholas D. Wolfwood by the way.” He lit another smoke; you watched eyes focused on his face. “Y/n l/n” you responded no one called you by your name anymore.  

You two spent the rest of the night talking, it was fun in the sense there were no expectations. He asked if he could hold your scythe you agreed, picking it up with one hand and passing it to him. You laughed when Wolfwood nearly dropped it, surprised at its weight.

“It’s heavy.” He said with a huff placing it back against the bar. 

“It’s supposed to be, isn’t it?” You said with a knowing look as you leaned your cheek on your hand to look at him. Taking lives came with a heavy toll, and you all had your crosses to bear, some heavier than most. Your heart raced when he met your gaze, you knew what could happen next so you needed to leave. 

Any sort of Attachment or comfort you didn’t deserve nor want to get into, you’d leave the Punisher here. Maybe next time you could be impulsive but not tonight. Well, a little impulse was okay, you leaned in by taking the cigarette from his lips and placing it between your own lips to take a drag. You stubbed it out on the bar top, leaning in once more to leave a kiss on his cheek. “See ya around.” 

You left him there and headed out into the dawn. 

The third was less than ideal, you were dying. Or you were going to die if you didn’t get up right now. It had been an ambush; you fell right for it and now you were going to bleed out on the desert floor.

You knew it would end like this eventually, staring up at the stars you felt some comfort. This was okay, it would be okay. You closed your eyes and accepted your fate. You didn’t know how long you were out; you were still alive but someone was shaking you and yelling. You couldn’t make out the words. You should’ve opened your eyes, but you were just so tired. You could hear the words ‘reaper’ over and over. 

Then another shout and more shaking, then the sound of your name, no one should know your name anymore. Forcing your eyes open, you came face to face with Wolfwood. He found you, how you didn’t know or care. Funny enough you felt safe, he was yelling at you again but you were too tired and closed your eyes again.

You awoke with a start in some dingy hotel room, you moved to stand up but your body protested the movements. Your wound was bandaged, how? What had even happened? Looking around the room you spotted your weapon right beside a familiar large cross.

“You lived.” Wolfwood stood at the doorway, arms crossed. “Guess I owe you my life then.” Your tone was light, but you were grateful just unsure to have to express it. “Thanks.” You whispered out he shrugged moving to the window to light a smoke. 

“Maybe you should stick around, it looks like your good at getting into trouble.” You rolled your eyes and laughed, “I think you just enjoy my company.”

“Maybe.” He answered, you laughed again laying down. Maybe surviving on your own was becoming too much, maybe with Wolfwood at your side you two could start living instead of surviving.

[keiththecat]

Admissible (Part Three)

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female Reader (You)

Summary: You've always hunted alone. That is, until Bobby sends you on a hunt near the Winchester brothers. How will things change when they come to help?

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: 18+, series typical violence and monsters, weapons, cursing, groping/ almost sexual assault, self-doubt/ self-esteem issues, character death, injuries, hurt/comfort

Author's Note: Here's part three! Hope you're enjoying so far! Feel free to message me if you have any questions or concerns about anything. Y/N is your name, and feedback is always welcome. Thanks for reading and thanks for all the love so far! <3

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or any of the related characters. The Supernatural series is created by Eric Kripke and owned by The CW Network. This work of fan fiction is for entertainment only. I am not making a profit of any kind from this story. All rights of the original Supernatural series belong to The CW Network.

Part One

AO3 link here

Despite only getting a few hours of sleep and being awake before the sunrise, you feel lighter and more rested than you have in years. However, knowing that you’ll leave the Winchesters today leaves a surprisingly bitter taste in your mouth. It’ll be fine, you remind yourself. You’ve made it this long by yourself. You can keep in touch, if they want to. Maybe your paths will cross again.

You spend the morning searching news articles across the country, hoping that you can find something to give you a destination and a hunt. No time to be sad about this crush if I’m busy killing things. You hear the Impala leave the motel around 8:30AM, indicating Dean is going to fix your car. A while later, Bobby calls you.

“Hello?” You answer.

“Still with the boys?” He asks.

“Yeah? Why?”

“Gonna need ya to head this way with them when you’re done there,” he says. “Got somethin’ suspicious up this way, you’re the closest group.”

“Oh, we’re a group now, are we, Bobby?” You tease.

“Well am I wrong?” He asks. You grumble in response, hating his ability to see right through you. “‘S what I thought. I’ll send you the info, you can pass it along to them.”

“Alright, Bobby, I’ll let them know. We’ll head out from here as soon as my car is fixed.” You say your goodbyes and hang up, forming a group text message with the brothers.

[Group Message: Three’s Company]

[Y/N 9:55AM: Bobby has a case, asked for the three of us. Said we’re the closest. Wakefield, Nebraska.]

[Dean 9:58AM: Got it. Should be done your car in the next 30]

You set about cleaning your weapons to pass the time, disassembling your pistol to thoroughly clean the inside. Once it is clean and back together, you clean up the salt lines as best you can and pick up your sigil trap mats, rolling them up so they’ll fit back in your bag. You run through a quick inventory in your mind, making sure you have everything packed away. Pistol, knives, sigils, salt, lamb’s blood, holy water, clothes, toiletries, journal, lighter fluid, matches, phone charger… You’re interrupted by your phone.

[Group Message: Three’s Company]

[Dean 10:25AM: Car’s done. On my way back to you guys. Be ready to leave]

Confident that you have all your things, you grab your bags, leave your key on the desk in the motel’s office, and head back toward room 9. Sam comes out of the room, bags in hand, and runs right into you.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Y/N! Didn’t see you there.”

“All good, Lurch,” you smirk. “Need a hand?”

“‘Lurch’?” He asks, shaking his head with a laugh. “Actually, help would be great. Return our key for me?”

You agree, take the key and return it. When you come back out, Dean has returned and they are loading their bags into the Impala.

“Alright, boys. What’s the plan?” you call out as you get closer.

“We were just talking about that,” Dean answers. “We can drop you at your car and head to Nebraska from there?”

“Or we could all swing by the bunker, leave your car there, and go to Nebraska together?” Sam proposes. “You know, since we’re all going to the same place anyway.”

You think for a moment. More time with them, I guess. Here’s the cliff, time to choose: jump or hide tail and run. “Sure, sounds good.” Might as well embrace it. Maybe I can manage to at least get some friends out of this deal.

Sam’s shy but ecstatic grin in response could light up the darkest of nights, eyes shining. “Awesome.”

Dean glances between the two of you, a knowing smile forming on his lips. “Yeah, good idea, Sammy. Glad that big head is good for something.” He roughs up Sam’s hair, and Sam makes a face, smacking Dean’s hands away. You laugh at their antics, wondering just what kind of shenanigans you’ve agreed to. 

*

Just over half an hour later, you are following the Impala into a well-hidden tunnel. Damn, this is cool. You find yourself feeling jealous that not only do they have a place to call home, but it’s like something out of a movie. Dean slows the Impala to a stop, pointing his arm out the window to show you where you can park. You pull into the empty spot, looking at all the vehicles they have in appreciation and wondering which of them rides the motorcycles. Probably Dean.

You grab your bags, leave your car keys in the visor, and pat the hood of your car goodbye. Sam is waiting at the trunk of the Impala to take your bags. “You sure this is okay?”

“Yeah, Sam. A longer ride in the Impala? Of course it’s cool.”

Your bags secure in the trunk, you hop into the back seat and Sam back into the passenger seat. Dean pulls out of the garage, heading north.

*

A few hours later finds you and the Winchesters pulling into a diner’s parking lot in Wakefield, Dean explaining, “My brain shuts down when I’m hungry. We eat, then we plan.”

Sam rolls his eyes, “Your brain doesn’t plan even on a full stomach, Dean.”

Dean gives him a dirty look, getting out of the car and heading into the diner. You and Sam follow him in. Dean sits on one side of a booth, Sam sits on the other, and you debate for a moment before waving them to the corner booth instead. The boys comply, coming to the corner booth. Dean sits with his back to the dining area, Sam sits on the opposite side in the corner and you slide in next to Sam. After scanning the room, you notice the boys watching you, Sam with both eyebrows raised in question and Dean with his brows furrowed at you.

You debate for a second, then decide that you should explain your thought process. “Corner. No surprises from behind.”

The boys take a moment to consider before nodding. Three exits: front door, side door, back door through kitchen. Windows on two sides.

“I think talking to the Mullen family is where we should start. Their teenage son died in a swimming pool a few days ago,” Sam states, glancing over the menu.

The waitress comes by, takes your orders. She’s small with short grey hair, probably in her 60s. You all get coffee, Dean gets a burger, you and Sam get salads. She scurries away, promising it’ll only be a moment.

“People die swimming all the time,” Dean reasons, “What makes it our business?”

“He was basically a professional, on track to be the youngest competitor in the next Olympics actually,” Sam answers before you can.

“I vote we get rooms, we can change clothes, and drive to their house. Talk to them, feel them out a little. The sun hasn’t even set yet,” you suggest and the brothers agree.

The waitress brings your drinks and food, your table comfortably silent while you all eat your first meal of the day. 

After your meal is finished and you’ve paid, you pile back into the Impala, find a motel, and grab two rooms. You go into your single, the boys go into their double. You cleanse the room, set up your salt lines and sigil trap mats. You change into your monkey suit, grab your fake FBI badge, load yourself up with your weapons, and step outside. Both Winchesters are leaning against the Impala, Dean’s arms crossed and Sam running his fingers through his hair.

“Ready, slowpokes?” You joke. The boys snort out laughs, getting into the car and you follow. 

As you’re pulling up next to the Mullen household, an ambulance speeds by with lights and siren on. The three of you look at each other. “You two talk to them, I’ll check that out?” Dean asks, gesturing over his shoulder in the direction of the ambulance. You and Sam agree, getting out of the car quickly and Dean speeds off.

“Alright then. You want to take the lead?” Sam asks you.

“You go ahead. You’ve got that likable face.”

He nods, smiling a little. You both walk up to the door, you behind Sam. He knocks on the door, and a short, stout woman in her 40s answers. “Yes?”

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am. Agents Nichols and Kelley with the FBI. We were hoping to ask you some questions about Cole,” Sam says, you both flashing your badges before returning them to your pockets.

She opens the door, letting you both in and leading the way. “Sure, sure. Anything to get some answers for my boy. Can I get you both anything?” she asks.

“No, we’re fine, thank you,” Sam answers. You notice the pictures hanging in the hallway on your way by. There are countless pictures hanging, all showing Cole at different ages, gold medals hanging around his neck and a bright smile on his face. Definitely not a lack of skill or knowledge that caused this.

You join them in the living room, you and Sam sitting on the couch and Missus Mullen sitting across from you in a chair. “I’m surprised you all are here, the local police seemed convinced it was an accident. I had to fight for them to do an autopsy,” her voice breaks, tears starting to fall. You grab the box of tissues off the coffee table and offer it to her, she takes one and blows her nose. 

“Sometimes these things get passed to other offices,” Sam explains. “If you don’t mind, what can you tell us about Cole?”

“Well,” she starts, “he was a normal, happy kid. Perfect grades in school. Never got into trouble. He loved swimming. It was his whole life.”

“And he was very proficient at it, wasn’t he?” Sam asks.

“He was. Always first place in competitions. We registered him for the next Olympic trials meet.” she explains, wiping her eyes.

“Was there anything weird the day he died? Or in the days leading up to it?” you ask.

“No, nothing.” she answers. “That’s what I’ve been asking myself too. But nothing was weird. He ate his lunch like he always does, and then he got in the pool and didn’t come back out.”

“He didn’t struggle? Yell for help?” Sam asks.

“Nothing like that, no. It looked like he grabbed his stomach, but then he just sank.”

You and Sam look at each other before you address her again, “Thank you for your time, Missus Mullen. We’ll look into everything and be in touch. So sorry again.” You hand her a business card as you and Sam get up to leave.

“Thank you, Agents,” she says, closing the door once you’re outside.

Both of your phones ding at the same time.

[Group Message: Three’s Company]

[Dean 7:11PM: You guys ready to be picked up? You won’t believe what I found at the hospital]

[Sam 7:11PM: Yeah, come get us]

“Well that was weirdly normal, yet also super weird at the same time,” you say.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Sam says, smiling a little at your wording.

*

You find yourselves back at the motel in no time, all in the Winchesters’ room. You’re sitting with your legs tucked under you on the couch, Sam is sitting in a chair at the table with his laptop open in front of him, and Dean is sitting on his bed with his legs stretched out in front of him and his back against the headboard. 

“What do you mean, ‘gum?’” You ask again.

“I’m telling you,” Dean explains, “it was gum. They rushed the kid into surgery and his stomach was packed totally full of chewed gum.”

“That makes no sense though,” Sam says, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead with his fingers.

“I know it doesn’t but that’s what it was,” Dean shrugs, then snaps his fingers, “Oh! And there was another kid there whose eyes were stuck crossed. His mom was yelling that he was making faces and his eyes just got stuck like that. They’re having a weird day at that hospital.”

“Okay,” you say, “let’s just lay this all out. A kid with his stomach full of gum, a kid with his eyes stuck, a kid drowned after eating his lunch... These are all old wives’ tales, aren’t they?”

Sam lifts his head to look at you, “you’re right. But what is causing them to be true?”

“A witch?” You propose.

“Ughhh, I hate witches,” Dean groans, throwing his head back against the wall.

“Maybe,” Sam agrees. “What if they wanted a specific one to be true but they weren’t specific enough in their spell?”

“Then they suck,” Dean says, pouting like a child at the thought of dealing with a witch.

You laugh a little, “I mean, you’re not wrong, Dean.”

“I know I’m not. I’m always right. And witches always suck.”

“Getting back on track,” Sam interrupts, “how do we find them?”

“What if we look for someone who had good luck recently? Lottery or love?” You wonder out loud.

“Genius,” Sam says, starting to type on this laptop. “I could just kiss your brain.”

You blush and tuck your chin, trying to hide subtly. Dean grins at you, noticing your rosy cheeks. You take a deep breath, willing your face to return to normal color.

“So get this,” Sam says, “there was a marriage announcement in the paper yesterday. Says the man and woman only met two days before getting married, calling it ‘love at first sight.’”

“That fits. I’d call love at first sight an old wives’ tale.” You reason.

“Well, I don't know about that,” Dean argues. “It seems like it can happen for some people.”

You and Sam look at him in shock. You know enough about his love-them-and-leave-them habits from talking with other hunters. “Are you sick?” You ask, getting up to put a hand on Dean’s forehead and check for fever.

He smacks your hand away, “No, I’m not sick. Get off me. I’m just saying, for some people, not me, but it might happen for some.” He pointedly smirks at you.

Your teasing attitude immediately melts away and your face falls, realizing he is hinting at your feelings for his brother. You’re very glad that Sam is behind you and can’t see your reaction. You give Dean the smallest of head shakes, hoping he’ll take pity on you and keep his mouth shut.

“Yeah, sure, Dean,” Sam says behind you, scoffing. “As if you’d suddenly start believing in something like that.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I guess,” Dean agrees, thankfully seeming to drop it. “So do we think the witch is him or her?”

“Well, I’ve got a way to find out,” Sam says, “but we’ll have to separate them.”

Sam, apparently incredibly skilled with spell work, explains that he can cast a spell to locate the witch who cast the original spell, but it will only give him a location. It’s decided that you and Dean will separate the couple to two different areas of town under the guise of them each winning a party, bachelor party for him and bachelorette for her. The biggest con to this plan is that as soon as the witch is revealed to Sam, the witch will be aware that they are being targeted. Sam will call whichever one of you needs to attack and you’ll need to act fast.

Sam gives you a few witch-killing bullets, and you load them into your pistol. You ‘borrow’ a car from the parking lot for the evening. Sam gathers some supplies from the Impala, and has everything set up for the spell within a few minutes. 

“Alright, we all ready?” Dean asks, loading his own witch-killing bullets and placing his pistol in the back of his jeans.

You and Sam respond affirmatively. The boys give each other a pat on the shoulder. With that, you and Dean leave, him in the Impala and you in your ‘borrowed’ sedan. You glance back up at the motel when you’re pulling away to see Sam in the window of the room, giving you a small wave.

*

You and Dean park at the house where Claire and Mick Allen live. You walk up to the door together, and Dean knocks on the door.

After several moments, Mick opens the door. He’s an average looking guy, brown hair, and in his 30s. “Can I help you?”

“Congratulations! You and your wife have won!” You exclaim.

“Won what? What is this, honey?” Claire comes to the door, standing beside her husband. She’s petite, has long blonde hair, and looks to be in her late 30s.

“Well, ma’am, we are part of a company called Eternal Love. We have a team who monitors marriages, and we choose couples monthly who get to go on all-expenses-paid bachelor and bachelorette parties. You lovely people are the winners this month!” You explain, trying to sound excited.

“Oh wow, sweetie,” Mick says to Claire, “This is awesome! We didn’t get the chance to go before the wedding.”

“Aw, how perfect!” Dean says. “Well, we’ll just need you both to pack overnight bags and we can be on our way. Don’t worry about the late hour, we will take care of driving and you can rest on the way.”

“Oh, I don’t know, honey,” Claire says.

“Let’s do it, sweetie. It’s all paid for.” Mick argues.

Claire still seems hesitant, but Mick turns to you and Dean, “We’ll do it. We’ll go pack and be right back.” Mick ushers his wife back into the house and closes the door.

You and Dean wait impatiently. The couple returns after a few minutes, each with a small duffel bag in their hands. You usher Claire to your car, Dean ushers Mick to his. You pull out your phones before getting inside.

[Group Message: Three’s Company]

[Dean 8:59PM: I have Mick. Heading east]

[Y/N 8:59PM: I have Claire. Heading west]

You each get in, pulling away and driving in opposite directions. The only noise in the car is the quiet sounds coming from the radio for several minutes. Then Claire speaks up, “So where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” you answer. “I promise it’ll be worth it. We should get there in about half an hour.”

“Oh. Okay,” she responds, disappointed that you wouldn’t give her more information.

“So how long have you two known each other?” You ask, trying to kill time.

“Not very long,” she admits. “Only a few days, really.”

“Wow, love at first sight, huh?”

“Yeah, it was,” she says.

You focus on appearing relaxed, but you keep your muscles tense, ready to grab your pistol if your phone rings. You’re driving for a few more minutes before Claire gasps and starts crying. “Oh my God, why did I marry him? I don’t even know him!”

You realize that the spell must have broken, meaning Dean got rid of Mick. You start trying to calm Claire down and explain what happened when your phone rings.

“It’s not her,” you answer.

“I think something happened to Dean, he won’t answer.” Sam says quickly.

You turn the car around to speed in the direction Dean drove. “Well he did something because the spell is broken. I’m going to look for him. Where did your spell lead?”

“Industrial Road, east of town.”

“Claire, I need you to lead me to Industrial Road, quickly.” 

She looks at you, still panicked.

“Claire, I promise I will explain everything but I need you to help me. Can you do that? Please?” You beg.

She nods, leading you through town and to Industrial Road. You put Sam on speakerphone and laid your phone on the dash, focusing on looking for any sign of the Impala or Dean.

“There’s a car there!” Claire says, pointing.

You pull off to the side, slamming the car into park and jump out, leaving Claire and your phone behind and telling her to stay in the car. The Impala is on the side of the road at an angle, both front doors thrown open. You pull out your pistol and flashlight, making your way into the trees. You find Mick first, laying face down, blood seeping into his shirt from a shot to the heart. You still check for a heartbeat, finding nothing. You’re continuing deeper into the trees when you hear a rustle behind you, spinning around with your pistol aimed at the noise.

“Woah, woah, Y/N, it’s me!”

“Dean?” Your eyes register him standing in front you, left eye swollen and blood running down the side of his face. On instinct, you rush forward and wrap your arms around him. “I’m so glad you’re okay, I got so scared when Sam called,” you say into his chest. Can’t believe I like these boys this much already.

He pats your back, “yeah, yeah, I’m fine. You good?”

“Oh my God!” you say, realizing you left Sam on the phone in the car. You pull away and run back to the car with Dean following behind. Claire is holding your phone, watching the trees, and she gets out of the car to hand the phone to you when she sees you coming.

“Sam, I found him, he’s okay,” you tell him. “A little beat up but okay.”

You hear a sigh of relief on the other side of the phone. “Good, I’m glad. Take care of things there and come back, okay?”

“Yeah, we will, Sam. See you soon.”

Part Four

[inkblot22]

It Leeches Under The Skin

So I promise I am not obsessed with anything, but I definitely am going to be a bit more self-indulgent with this miniseries. Also I spent several hours staring at pictures of abandoned pools so that was kind of cool.

I'm going to try something new and put the target audience here. This part is aimed at gender neutral readers (they/them pronouns wooo,) and can be read as afab or amab, as there is no smut whatsoever in this section. I'll see if I can keep the body ambiguous enough for later parts, but it may come at a cost to writing quality as my skills are lacking.

TW for mentions of gambling, contracts with Azul (selling your soul to the devil), human hunting, if you squint, blood, biting, verbal abuse, reader is bad at swimming, Floyd and Jade because they freak me out and I know I'm not the only one. If you squint, there may be some primal play, but like I said there is no smut.

It was a little odd. Entirely predictable, but also a little odd. Their best friend and roommate seldom thought his plots and plans through all the way, and of course they bore the brunt of the collateral.

Well. It’s well-deserved, they supposed. Expect trouble and you’ll get it, after all. They only wished it wouldn’t cost this much.

“Prefect? Are you listening?” Azul’s kind voice broke through their thoughts, but it was so easy to lapse back into the comfort of their mind.

What did he do this time? Oh, yes. Grim just gambled away all their savings and won nothing in return. The Lounge already had the seedy vibes of a speakeasy, why wouldn’t they also have a gambling table? Regardless, he’d racked up enough debt and was unable to pay it back, so the Leech twins had paid them a visit, perhaps hoping that they’d have some stash of money somewhere to pay.

They would, had it not been what Grim used to gamble. They sighed and stared at the cup of tea in front of them.

“Prefect, I thought you enjoyed tea. If you don’t like that blend, we can get you another one.” Azul said, “You seem lost in your thoughts. I hope all is well?”

“Not really. I’m about to sell my soul to the devil.”

“I’m hardly the devil. Besides, the main stipulation of this contract is simply that you let Floyd take you swimming tomorrow night.”

They didn’t trust that at all. They snatched the contract from Azul, and sure enough, in big, bold letters, they read the requirement of going swimming. 

“There’s a problem.” They said, scanning over the rest of the contract and not finding anything particularly bad within, “Two problems.”

“What would those be?”

“Well, I want you to guarantee Grim’s safety,” They passed the contract back to Azul. “Also I can’t swim.”

“That’s not a problem, prefect.” Azul spread his hands in a relaxed, placating gesture, “I have potions and other implements to help with that. It’s a non-issue.”

“Alright, then. And what’s the thing about hanging out with Floyd later on as well?”

“It’s only a clause, don’t worry. If he gets bored, then it won’t matter.”

They had to narrow their eyes at that one, kind of unsure about this. Still, the chances of him growing bored was about a 50% chance,

“Okay… Fix that part about Grim and I’ll sign it.”

Azul’s writing was quick but not one bit less neat. They signed the contract and Jade placed it in the safe, then poked his head out of the Lounge’s office.

Floyd strolled in, holding Grim. His face broke into a big grin when he saw them sitting there.

“Hey, Shrimpy!” He unceremoniously dropped Grim and got in their face, smiling even wider, “Why are you gettin’ so sweaty? I can smell you all the way from over here!”

“You’re…” They turned their head away, grimacing, “You’re really close, actually.”

“Hee hee… I know.”

“Are we gonna pretend that he didn’t just drop me or what?” Grim bristled and walked over, climbing onto the couch and taking a seat, “You guys are so rude!”

“Sorry, Grimmy-wimmy-two-toes.” They cooed at him, squishing his cheeks and giggling as he swatted them away, “Did you break anything other than your pride?”

Floyd stood, picking up the prefect's untouched tea and sniffing it, “Ugh.”

“Well, since this meeting is over, I trust you’ll be in the natatorium at eight tomorrow?”

“Eight? Is it going to go past curfew?” The prefect asked.

“Yes. I am sure this is also not an issue.” Azul’s eyes glanced at Grim and they swallowed, narrowing their eyes and frowning.

“Yeah… no problem.”

~*~

After classes, Jade dropped off what appeared to be an overnight bag, including a terrible swimsuit. It sort of looked like a chitinous layer, a silvery brownish color with panels sewn together like the plates of a crustacean. Not a very funny joke, honestly. There was no clause in the contract that they could remember that required them to wear this, but they also couldn’t remember, so they put it on anyways and rifled through the rest of the bag. There were painkillers, a pair of water wings, a few potions that they would not be imbibing, a new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste, travel soap that smelled like Floyd's cologne (yuck), and a few pairs of underwear. How he had gotten their sizes correct was something they chose not to ponder for long.

The walk to the natatorium was sort of slow. Maybe it was just their reluctance to go through on this, the concern of what the night would hold fresh in the forefront of their mind. 

It wasn’t that they disliked Floyd by any means. They honestly thought he was okay, and other than the incidents before Azul overblotted, they hadn’t really had to consider him a threat of any kind. There was that primal part of their brain, long suppressed through years and years of being the apex species in their world, that sometimes whispered that they needed to get away from him when he looked at them a certain way, or made a certain noise or movement… Little things that unsettled them but were easily ignored. 

The natatorium was unlocked. They stopped in the locker room and took off their overclothes, leaving them in the swimsuit and the pair of cheap flip-flops they’d gotten off of Ace. The flip-flops were too big on them, but he assured them that he could just get a new pair whenever. It was nice of him.

The pool room was silent and dark. The water was uncovered and completely still, but they couldn’t see Floyd anywhere. They took a seat on the edge of the pool, dipping their legs in the water and blowing up the water wings. They kicked their legs and waited.

Something shot out of the water, grabbing them by the shoulders and pulling them down in the water. They didn’t even have time to scream before their head went under and whatever it was released them.

The water wings ensured that they popped back up on the surface, gasping for air and shaking. They struggled to paddle to the edge of the pool but something grabbed their ankle and pulled them back underwater.

Clawing at the air uselessly, the prefect went back under, no sound other than a cut off scream escaping them this time. When they popped back up, head and arms above water, they heard snakey-sounding laughter. Their head whipped around, panicked, before they saw him.

Floyd was leaning against the pool wall, grinning in his true form with his head slightly tilted. All they could see of him was his silhouette, highlighted by the moonlight shining through the large windows of the natatorium, and his glowing eyes, one gold and one silver. He kept laughing as they slowly paddled to the other side of the pool and hugged the wall, turning to shoot him a glare.

“You’re really bad at tag, Shrimpy.” He said before they could say anything.

“Tag?”

“Yup. We were playing tag. It’s boring to be 'it' all the time, you know.”

“Floyd, I can barely even see you. How-”

“If we turn on the lights, we’ll get caught. It’s more fun this way, too.”

“But I can’t be 'it' if it’s dark. I can’t see you.”

He shrugged and slipped into the water, the only visible part of him becoming those glowing eyes, “That’s too bad, Shrimpy. Better start swimming.”

They were so bad at swimming, legs paddling in futility as they tried to get to the deep end of the pool. The water was black as ink under them, feeling endless. They felt a motion below them and disgust crawled up their throat as they paddled faster. It was slow moving, they waved their arms through the water and spat up the saltwater that got in their mouth. 

If it was, in fact, Floyd circling underneath them, he was simply toying with them now. The motion they felt went still as they got to the other side and they paused to catch their breath. 

The room was silent under their heavy breathing. They looked around and felt the sweat bead on their neck and shoulders, under their arms and at their hairline as they wondered when he would catch up or pull them under. Nothing of the sort happened.

They kept paddling towards the edge of the pool so they could lean on the wall instead of feeling so unsteady with these waterwings on. As they splashed slowly towards the wall, they relaxed infinitesimally.

An arm shot up in front of them, webbed hand grabbing their face as a sharp, spiking pain lanced around their shoulder. They screamed as they were pulled under, the breath they were expelling turning into nothing but bubbles.

They could hear giggling, sort of like the sound of pebbles sifting underwater, and he let them go again. Their head popped above water and they gasped for air, touching their shoulder and wincing as the saltwater tickled the wound there. Their fingers came back smeared with a dark substance and they began paddling faster, climbing out of the pool as soon as they could.

“Man, you got the water all dirty. It smells like blood now.” Floyd’s voice startled them and they looked around.

They couldn’t see him, not from wherever he was. Their lips quivered and voice shook as they spoke.

“You… you bit me.”

“Uh, duh, Shrimpy. Why do humans gotta have such thin skin anyways? It makes it harder to do fun stuff.”

“What the hell are you even saying? You can’t run around biting people!”

“I don’t,” He said, plainly. They could almost make out his silhouette in the water, or at least see the ripples as he moved towards them, “Well, since you wanna be lame and complain about a little bite, guess we gotta get out of the pool now.” 

He hefted himself up onto the lip of the pool and popped the cork on something. They could hear him swallowing and then they could see his teal scales change into pale skin. He frowned at them and that primal part of their brain whispered that they should run.

They swallowed and stood up, frowning and clutching their shoulder, “I… I’m gonna go find a first aid kit.”

They turned on their heel and Floyd pulled them back by the seat of their swimsuit.

“You’re kinda stupid,” He mused, “You were gonna walk into the pool again. Do you wanna keep swimming?”

“No!” They yanked away and waved their foot in front of them, ensuring that the floor was solid, “I already told you that I can’t see, Floyd.”

He giggled again as you entered the locker room and gathered your clothes.

You hoped he was bored, but it was an asinine and frivolous wish.

[lsjhl]

Nose in the Snow Pt.2

Parings: Alcina Dimitrescu x Agender reader

Summary: Finding evidence of fictional delusions sets a path down for further investigation Words: 1k+

Walking through the maze of a dungeon that my wife owns, I feel the humidity of the air and the sticky smell of blood that clings to everything in this godforsaken place. Weaving through rusted bars and walls of cages just as I have countless times, I relish the unrelenting life of Mother Nature and the cold of snow as I step past the last few cells that lead to an opening formed as a small holding area used for loading and unloading wine and materials of a similar category in the warmer weather.

Lifting my face to the sky, I take one quick whiff, hoping to pick up even the faintest trail of something that shouldn't be there.

Coal and ash blanketed by the stinging ammonia of a doe.

I follow the scent like a hound on the tail of a fox, giving my surroundings a once-over now and then until I reach the culprit of the offending markings in the air. Standing in front of the small campfire seemingly doused in the urine of what could only be a Cervidae, I crouch and look for any indications that the wood turned to char is still hot and that the trespassers are still near, but not even the fresh winter wind is picking up any embers.

Falling to the tips of my fingers and the phalanges of my feet, I rest into a more primal stance, though less than that of mankind itself. If I were to turn myself into any more of an animal, I would either need to be prey or human.

For now, I lower my nose in the snow and search for the telltale of the rubber from a shoe or the cotton of cloth, but surprisingly the snow tells no such thing. Only the crisp ice comes through, along with the pinch of pain that follows the below-zero temperature.

And even with my hackles now raised with what could only be drawn by the need to protect, I let off an involuntary warning of a large gargling noise not unlike the ones of a higher beast on the food chain that only the smartest of animals take as a threat and the dumbest of ones that hunt me try to find.

Shaking off the fallen snow that has built upon my shoulders, much compared to a soaking canine, I take my once-original stance and track back the steps that will take me to the holding area for loading and unloading and the rusty cells that tell stories. In the kitchen, where my steps falter though my rhythm does not, I grab a decorative bottle of Sanguis Virginis with the intention of having much to tell Alcina about the presence of something out there.

And being the loving parent I am, I find a suitable and nutrient-rich organ, such as a tender liver, and take the time to thinly slice it and put it on a tray along with the respective kinds of tea I and my lovely daughters tend to enjoy. Gathering the ensemble that can never show the amount of love that I can give my family but is a worthy proclamation for only one of the things on the never-ending list of things I would do for them.

Walking back to the library, I pass a ghost of a woman who doesn't seem to fear death enough, for she gave me a scowl as she saw me coming down the corridor.

I pay her no mind, mostly due to having been known as the one family member in this maze of walls labeled as Castle Dimitrescu to have no ill will thrown about from such looks and have even been the one to stop any kinds of blood-spilling acts that could have been caused by one twitch of the brow from any of the maidens on the castle grounds.

And even then, I already know all about this little maiden, for her death shall be one of both healing and cleansing. She's a nasty one, I'll say, taken and practically handed to my wife and daughters when her father went off to slaughter once it was found that he misused my kindness, which is not to be given lightly.

While I might not enjoy saying it, that man played me like a damned fool, and the only reason that shall stay on the books is for others to know that while I might be different from them, either human or fly or dragon, we all make mistakes.

Such as one like the shadow of a girl did. She, like the slave of foolishness we all fall to, sought some form of revenge for her father's quite timely death if you asked me. For the sound of glass shattering will always send a chill up my skin, and the air of winter fighting that of burning wood sharpens the teeth in my mouth, and the sound of insects ready to burst through the door, ready to endanger themselves, sharpens the glint in my eye.

She has broken one of the very few rules I have and has brought danger to my family. When caught and tried for her acts of disrespect and downright heinous crimes, having been told she has accomplished nothing in terms of enacting her plans of self-righteousness, all she could do was beg for death.

And while my lights were ready to fulfill said wish, I stepped in and instead gave her employment just so she would have to serve the ones she so wished were dead. I can be cruel when needed, and I so wished to see her suffer, playing the long game to see who makes the next move on the other's life, though with how she's looking, I do think her next hit might be self-sabotaging.

Arriving at the library, I kick off my shoes and find myself welcomed to the sight of my beauties cuddled up in the chair meant for Alcina, with my wife purring softly enough to bring out the same rumble from my children.