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burningembers91 · 2 days ago

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Rare - The Salesman x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up piece to:

Freak of Nature

On Display

A Game of Cat and Mouse

Crime of Passion

Synopsis: The Salesman wants to play a game with you. But when he changes the rules, so do you

A/N: I am immensely proud of this series. It’s unlike anything I’ve written before and I love exploring the darker sides of characters. This particular fic is probably my favourite so far. I wanted to thank everyone for the frankly mind boggling love I have received on all my fics so far. Thank you ❤️

It had been two weeks since your mysterious man in the grey suit had saved you. Two weeks since you’d given in to your desires. The day after he fucked you so hard that your bed slats broke, an entirely new bed arrived. One with a plush, cream, fabric headboard and a mattress that felt like you were sleeping on a cloud sent straight from heaven.

His heroics in the alleyway, the transition from something psychological to physical had changed the dynamics of your relationship. He didn’t want to admit it, but he could feel himself falling under your spell. It was a constant struggle to maintain the upper hand, to continue the illusion that you were entirely at his mercy. But you both knew it was a mutual torture, that each of you had the other twisted so deliciously around your respective fingers. The other night he had come so close to telling you his name. It had been so long since he’d spoken it, he wasn’t entirely sure he knew what is was anymore. But there was something about you, something deliciously dark bubbling after your soft, shea scented skin. You could be the death of him, this beautiful femme fatale. He wasn’t quite ready to relinquish control to you though; he still wanted to try and break you.

You received a phone call one day, requesting your attendance at an incredibly high end dress store in Myeong-Dong. As you made your way through the doors, the eye watering price tags made your jaw drop. You could never in a thousand lifetimes afford a dress like this; but you knew someone who could.

You were whisked into a private area, where several women with tape measures took measurements of your body. They didn’t speak to you, didn’t answer any of your questions. You were there less than five minutes, after being instructed to return to the store the next day to pick up your purchase.

“But I didn’t order anything,” you exclaimed, “can you just tell me what’s going on.”

“Our client is very discreet,” the store manager responded. “Please arrive promptly tomorrow to collect your purchase.”

You couldn’t text Mr Grey Suit to ask him what he was up to. You still weren’t privy to any personal information about him, including his phone number. He didn’t come to see you that night, leaving you to stew in your own thoughts about what he could have possibly ordered you.

The next day, you arrived at the time requested, and were once again greeted by the store manager who handed you a dress bag, with a note attached. I will see you tonight, 7pm. DO NOT LOOK IN THIS BAG UNTIL THEN. I will know if you do. You headed home, desperate to look inside the bag. You didn’t dare though, you had absolutely no doubt he would know if you took a peek.

Your grey suited man arrived at your apartment at 7pm sharp. He nodded appreciatively at your immaculate hair and makeup, cupping your chin in his hand as his eyes explored yours.

“Tonight,” he explained, “you will do exactly what I say, when I say it. If you disobey me, you will be punished. If you perform satisfactorily, you will be rewarded.”

“If I perform satisfactorily?” You scoffed. “I didn’t realise I was a circus monkey.”

He wiped his thumb along your lower lip, smearing the lipstick you’d applied not 10 minutes ago.

“You will do exactly what I say,” he growled. “Now, get dressed into the gift I gave you. And clean your face up. You have 5 minutes. Do not keep me waiting.”

You did as you were asked, presenting yourself like a piece of meat on a platter for him. He nodded approvingly, his hand trailing down the burgundy silk of the evening dress that fit you like a glove, the one he’d had made especially for you. You were a vision, an angel sent straight from heaven. He wasn’t going to tell you that though; he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction.

He took you to the most expensive restaurant in Seoul, where a private room had been set up especially. The staff were very discreet, and he’d need exactly that for what he hand in store for you tonight. You sat down opposite him at the small table, classical music quietly playing through the speakers. The room had no windows, lit only by the dimness of the candles dotted around the room.

“I took the liberty of ordering for you,” Mr Grey Suit said. “I’d expect you to eat every single bite.”

Champagne arrived, followed by oysters. You hated oysters with a fiery passion, but you forced yourself to finish every single one. You refused to show your distaste for them, refused to grimace as the slimy substance slid down your throat. Next up was steak, rare, the meat still oozing blood into to your plate, seeping into the accompanying potatoes. Your stomach turned; you hated red meat. You hadn’t eaten it since you were 10, the smell of it sending your stomach churning.

“I can’t,” you whispered, the metallic smell of the dead animals blood seeping into your nose.

“Are you disobeying me?” He asked, tutting as he tucked a linen napkin into his shirt. “I’m supposing you want to be punished then?”

“Please,” you choked, “anything but steak. I can’t, it’s the smell.”

“Stand up.” He told you. You stood to attention, ignoring the rising bile in your throat. “Come here.”

You did as you were told, your breath hitching as he pulled up your dress to your waist.

“Bend over,” he instructed. You obeyed, hearing the sound of his steak knife slide through the fabric of your lace underwear. You cried out as a sharp, swift slap was delivered to your right cheek, quickly followed by another, and then another. Each hit was harder than the last, tears streaking your face. The mixture of pleasure and pain was exquisite and yet so unbearable.

“Will you do as you’re told now?” He asked, his breath slightly ragged. You were soaking wet as you nodded, and he to resist sliding his fingers inside you. He was supposed to be punishing you after all, not giving you what you wanted.

You sat back down, the skin of your ass stinging as it made contact with the leather chair. Mascara smudged your cheeks, your face flushed. You looked down at the rare steak, then back up your mystery man. He was smiling so smugly at you; he clearly thought he’d won this little game. You smiled sweetly back, picked up your knife and fork, and sliced into the meat. You did your best to ignore the blood that seeped from it. You hardly breathed as you ate, swallowing the bile that continued to rise. A flash of anger contorted his usually handsome features; you were besting him yet again.

You proudly showed off your empty plate, sweat peppering your forehead from the immense effort. You refused to show you him how unwell you felt, choosing to down your glass of champagne to remove the metallic taste from your tongue. He begrudgingly poured you more, both of you smiling as you tried to figure out the others next move.

“What do I get then?” You finally asked, when the silence became too much.

“I’m sorry?” He said, dabbing the corner of his napkin as he surveyed you.

“You said if I did everything you asked, you’d reward me,” you reminded him.

“Ah,” he chuckled, “but you didn’t do everything I asked.”

“Yes, I did,” you snapped back. “I wore the dress, I ate the oysters and the fucking steak!” Eating that piece of meat had almost made you sick, but you’d done it. And he was reneging on his end of the bargain.

“But I had to punish you before you would eat he,” he smiled.

“And I did,” you hissed back at him, fists clenched under the table. “You can’t do this.”

“I can do whatever I want,” he whispered.

You looked him up again, his smug face looking entirely slappable in that moment.

“And so can I,” you decided. “Goodnight.” Throwing your napkin down on the table, you headed for the door.

“Wait!” His voice was desperate, panicked. He didn’t want you to leave. You stopped in your tracks, turning slowly to face him. He looked uneasy, wondering why his game wasn’t going the way he wanted.

“Fine, you sighed, “I’ll stay, but you’re going to play one of my games now.”

You fucked him on the floor of that private dining room, straddling him as you pressed the steak knife to his throat, the one he’d used to slice off your underwear. He quivered underneath you, entirely at your mercy as your slick, tight walls swallowed him again and again. He came with a strangled cry, thrusting his hips up into you as you drained every last drop of his seed.

Leaning down, you planted a single tender kiss on his lips.

“Goodnight, Mr Grey Suit,” you whispered. Standing up, you left him lying there on the cold marble floor, his cock still hard and his breathing ragged.

He had seriously underestimated you. What had started as a game of control, was now something entirely new to him. For the first time in his life, he was entirely at someone else’s mercy.

#squid game #squid game 2 #squid game x reader #squid game fanfic #squid game x you #squid game smut #the salesman x reader #gong yoo #squid game season 2 #the salesman fanfic #the salesman squid game #the salesman smut #the salesman x you #the salesman

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geneviveleocardius · 3 days ago

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i want y’all to know that this isn’t okay, i’m not romanticizing it, much less normalizing it in any way.

simon riley never saw himself as a good man. not even close. he knew his flaws too well—sharp-edged and cutting like the knives he carried. you deserved better, he told himself a hundred times, but selfishness had sunk its claws deep into him. you were his, and the thought of you walking away felt like a death sentence.

lately, though, he couldn’t ignore the signs. you weren’t as warm as you used to be, weren’t lingering in his arms like before. your laughter, once so easy and free around him, had quieted. he told himself it wasn’t a big deal, that you’d come around. but when he caught you sitting alone, staring out the window with an expression he couldn’t read, doubt began to gnaw at him.

you were slipping away.

he couldn’t let that happen.

that night, when you crawled into bed beside him, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close. his grip was firm, unyielding. you stiffened at first but didn’t pull away.

“what’s wrong with you lately?” you asked, your voice soft, almost cautious.

he knew what you wanted—what you’d confided to him during one of those rare moments where walls had come down. you wanted a family, a child to hold and love. he’d scoffed at the idea back then, brushed it off as something far too tender for someone like him. but now… now he saw it differently.

he saw it as a way to keep you.

he didn’t answer right away, his face buried against the curve of your neck. he breathed you in, grounding himself.

“you’re mine,” he said finally, voice low and rough. “you know that, don’t you?”

you shifted slightly, trying to put some distance between you, but his hold tightened. “simon—”

“no,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “i mean it. you’re mine. you don’t get to leave me.”

“i’m not trying to leave you,” you muttered, but he didn’t bought it.

he didn’t believe you. not fully. and that fear, that bone-deep terror of losing you, made him desperate.

“simon,” you murmured, your voice laced with sleep.

“shh,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “just relax.”

you didn’t resist as he tugged you closer, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh, spreading you beneath him. his movements were slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring the moment.

he didn’t speak. he didn’t want to give you a chance to question him. instead, he focused on the feel of your skin, the way your body responded to his touch. he buried himself in you, his breath hot against your shoulder as he moved, his grip on your hips possessive.

he knew exactly what he was doing.

he wasn’t thinking about the consequences, not fully. all he could focus on was the need to keep you tethered to him. and he knew what you wanted—had heard it in the way you spoke about children, about the family you dreamed of.

this was his way of giving it to you, of ensuring you’d stay.

when it was over, he stayed inside you, his hand splayed over your stomach as if to seal the promise he’d just made—without words, without asking. you didn’t say anything, your breathing still uneven as you lay there, and he took your silence as acceptance.

he told himself it was for the best. you’d understand eventually. and when the time came, when you held that baby in your arms, you’d stay. you’d have to.

because simon riley didn’t lose the things that mattered to him.

he’d make sure of it.

#modern warfare #cod modern warfare #simon ghost riley #cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley #call of duty #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon ghost x reader #ghost riley #ghost x reader

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ivymarquis · 1 day ago

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Say You Won't Let Go

Greedy Little Thing

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 4.3k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Zombie!AU, PiV, Oral (F!Receiving), pregnancy sex, wee bit of lactation kink

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

If you thought your solo play time in the shower would calm you down, you thought wrong.

You’re truly spinning out and losing your mind. That is the only reasonable explanation for the level of arousal flooding your system at the moment.

All of a sudden you can’t help but be keyed into John’s every move. And surely you are projecting every depraved thought squirming around in your little brain- you’re imagining that he’s encroaching that much more into your personal space. His hands- broad and warm- gentle as always feel a bit firmer with his hold as he either brushes past you or herds you where he wants you.

You’re distracted, eyes fixated at the boarded up windows like they’re a big screen showing your favorite sitcom. The book you found lies open on the table, failing to capture your interest in favor of your imagination. Of another universe where John’s interest isn’t a figment of your imagination and he’s willing to do something about it.

“Something on your mind, Love?” John’s voice startles you out of your thoughts and has you jumping on reflex. “Easy- ‘s just me,” he soothes as he crosses the distance from the doorway to the table you’re sitting at.

“Nothing important,” you answer breezily, trying desperately to hide that you were just thinking about the various ways he could fold you like a piece of paper. Can always lie and claim to be reminiscing on the past.

He has no reason to doubt you, the rumbling hum of acknowledgment from him showing that you’ve not gained any unwanted attention.

You don’t know what’s wrong with you, what all of a sudden has you acting like a cat in heat. The only thing you haven’t done at this point is lift your skirts and bend over the table in invitation.

Any hope you may have of getting back into your book is dashed as he comes closer.

You’ve never been one to fixate on how a man smells- and not even cologne, since that’s not an option these days really. But how he actually smells- you have no idea if you’re pulling off subtle well, but he smells divine and you know nothing will get done if you don’t get a hold of yourself.

Hopefully your sinful thoughts are not evident on your face, but if they are then he doesn’t call you on it.

It’s not uncommon for John to leave you alone for stretches and sporadically swing by to check on you. You know he’s in the neighborhood lurking for supplies and hoping to scrap up radio parts.

The drop ins soothe your anxiety- that he is just across the street, or a few houses down.

Although it’s still the end of the world and anything can happen. You begrudgingly accept that he has to leave on occasion so you don’t starve to death in the middle of winter in this frozen tundra.

“Gonna need to go further out today, Love. Not sure when I’ll be back.”

Your displeasure is blatant across your face.

“None of that, now,” he reproaches firmly. “I’ll come back when I can. I want you back upstairs before the sun goes down.”

You’re pouting like a child, your earlier fantasies completely derailed as your thoughts swirl around the anxiety of being abandoned. Of course there’s a part of you that knows this is an inevitability. There’s only so many supplies in the area. John is reluctant to move you, knowing that the pair of you are relatively safe and hidden which means he’ll have to move further out to scavenge to care for you.

Your lack of an immediate response prompts him to reach out and cup your face, prying your mind from your surly thoughts. By now you know him well enough to understand the cue for what it is- a silent ask for you to soften back up to him and quit being a brat about him leaving.

The logical part of your brain understands that there’s no choice considering you don’t wish to starve to death. Unfortunately until further notice your hormones are what call the shots so you can’t help yourself other than to be in duress over the thought of John leaving you for more than a few hours.

“Why are you being difficult, hm?” He ponders, tone substantially softer than one might expect.

“I’m not trying to be,” you protest gently, settling into his hold.

“And yet here we are,” his tone is more amused than anything else.

His free hand drops to your belly, something that immediately garners the attention of your baby who gives a volley of kicks.

“You can’t wind him up and then leave me here alone to deal with him,” now it’s your turn to reproach John good naturedly.

Again, you blame your hormones. You like John’s hands on you- like John touching you.

“He’ll be a good lad for his mummy, won’t he?” He prompts the baby, and you don’t protest as his hand smooths down your belly.

This time your child is not called to action, deciding to spare your poor ribs from another litany of kicks. You decide to not question the way he immediately quiets down at John’s prompting.

Despite the conversation you just had, you can’t help but pout and mope as John leaves. You keep it to yourself, even though you know your anxiety is bleeding through and he knows exactly what your thoughts on the matter are.

There’s nothing to be done for it though, so you’re left alone with nothing but Fred’s shadow and your child for company.

You listen to John’s request and begin your trek up the stairs just before it starts to get dark. The natural lighting in the house is weird and casts odd shadows. It's overcast and a new moon, which will leave little to guide you with when the sun goes down.

With only your thoughts to occupy you, you think about silly little things because if you don’t then you’ll be cognizant of the crushing realization of your solitude. That John is out there somewhere in the murky darkness and there is no guarantee that he will come back to you.

You’d have made a piss poor military wife.

It’s easier to think about how things could be in another life- if you would have met the handsome captain in some bar and flirted shamelessly in the hopes that he liked you enough to take you home and show you a good time.

That you were at his home, in his bed, with his baby nestled under your ribcage.

But you’re not, although in a way you are as close to that fantasy as you can get.

You’re tucked into the little hidey hole that John has chosen to squirrel you away, waiting for his return upstairs just as he asked while your child does somersaults and uses a kidney for soccer practice.

Somewhere between bouts of fretting, you manage to fall asleep. It’s certainly not the best sleep of your life by any stretch but you’ve also had worse without question.

It’s also easily disrupted. There’s a part of you that is still keen to your surroundings- that’s still aware that you’re alone in the dark and the cold, and that to truly slip under the haze of sleep could sign your death warrant.

You don’t quite wake at the sound of the door creaking, but you drift that much closer to the land of the living.

It’s when the bed dips under his weight that you stir, partly in offense at the cold air that creeps under the covers with him.

The greeting that escapes you is more of a whine than anything else, hands grabbing at him and trying to burrow under the weight of him.

“I’m right here, lovely- told you I’d be back.” He soothes you like an over reactive pet that’s absolutely enthralled with his return and showcasing it by trying to crawl into his skin.

He’s warm, a welcome reprieve from the biting cold waiting for you just outside your blankets. You want to melt at the sensation of his hands on your back. You’re a puddle of a human being in his hold.

And somewhere between your squirming and his soothing, you’re not completely sure who ends up kissing who first but you have zero complaints.

Quickly your searching hands find purchase on him, just as his anchor you to him.

You’re drowning, you think- head dizzy, completely disoriented as lust burns through you. This is everything you’ve been pining for and now that it’s in your hold you don’t quite know what to do with it.

John rolls you gently onto your back as the pair of you break for air- hovers above you, mindful of your belly while still not being too far away.

“Tell me to stop,” he looks as flustered as you feel, and a part of you preens in the knowledge that you’ve impacted him the way he’s impacted you. That you haven’t been the only one yearning for more.

“Please don’t s-“ you don’t even finish the sentence before he’s on you again, the covers rustling as he shuffles to position himself closer to you.

“Good girl” he praises against your lips, the words itching something seated deep inside you.

John’s hands roam your body, searching for the hemline of your dress only to hike the skirt up to your hips once he finds it.

“Please,” you whimper and try to arch under his touch.

Rather than immediately diving under the skirt of your dress, he continues to feel up your chest, back, hips and thighs. You could practically melt at the attention, gladly feeling him up in turn before your hands grope down his chest to pry at his shirt. Your make out is briefly interrupted as he shucks his shirt, although in the dim lighting of the dark it’s hard to fully appreciate everything he’s displaying at the moment.

“God, you are soft,” he marvels, lips leaving yours to kiss down your neck.

You realize that he’s trying to keep the covers over you as he works your dress up your body, pooling the fabric around your collar bones as his attention drifts from your neck to your sternum.

One hand gropes at a breast as he teases your nipple with his tongue, immediately making you gasp and grab his hair.

“Gentle!” You correct him- while under normal circumstances his grip on you would have been perfectly acceptable, you’re currently very pregnant and part of that means your chest has been sore the last few weeks. You’re so sensitive now.

“I’m sorry, lovely. I’ll be gentle,” he apologizes, and you relax back into the mattress.True to his promise, John is far more careful of where he gropes and kisses, delighting in all the noises you make.

The sensitivity in your breasts has you squirming underneath him, whining in pleasure.

You feel strung out and desperate, some nebulous part of you aware that you're in trouble if you're already this amped up and he's barely begun to touch you yet.

Arching into his hold, you both freeze at the same moment you feel something akin to a release in the pressure of your chest. You haven't quite been sure when you would start actually lactating- knowing that the real stuff wouldn't come in until after birth, but knowing that there was the colostrum prior.

You're not quite sure what you feel. Flustered? Relieved? Embarrassed? But John remains unflappable, a mere "Tastes sweet" before returning to the task at hand.

The hand not anchoring your breast for his mouth drifts down your side, ghosting over the fabric of your underwear. You're wet- keenly aware of how his fingers trace across your skin. Gooseflesh rises in the wake of his touch, something to do less with the all encompassing chill that you two are trying to avoid and more to do with the lust that is firmly growing in your belly. The gusset of your panties doesn't take long to soak as he teases you over the fabric.

Your hips twitch, trying desperately to follow his fingers.

You want more. It's been so long since you've had anyone touch you, and the weight of John over you feels phenomenal. "Please, John- I need you to touch me." Never in all your days have you actually begged a man to touch you, but your life has just been full of unexpected surprises lately.

"I'll take care of you, lovely- gotta be patient," he consoles you, paired with a teasing suck of one nipple before moving across your chest to get to the other one.

You don't want to be patient. You want him- now- and even though you actively have him right in this moment it's somehow still not enough. You'd say you're like an animal in heat, but animals in heat aren't usually ready to calve at any moment. It's almost alarming how little control you have over your own body right now. You're little more than your most base urges with spread thighs and heaving breaths as you keenly watch him.

"Gotta get you ready for me, sweetheart," he soothes with his words as his hand slips under the waistband of your panties. "'m not a small man- don't want to hurt you."

You feel dizzy just at the thought. You're well acquainted with what he's packing at this point, and the knowledge he's going to try to make sure it's good for you too is enough for you to find what minimal patience you possess.

The feel of his fingertips lightly searching for your clit has your legs spreading and thighs twitching in anticipation. He's an insufferable tease, tracing the pad of one calloused fingertip around your vulva and teasing the seam of your lower lips. Just enough to keep you keyed in on him, hook line and sinker, whining for more like an anxious dog.

When he finally parts your pussy with his fingers, you arch up into his hold as he spreads your wetness around. "Bein’ such a good girl f'r me" his praise is low and gravely and shoots straight between your thighs.

God the things that this man could make you do if he asked you nicely.

"John, please!"

"So impatient" he chuckles against your soft skin, nipping at you ever so carefully. Just enough to get your skin between his teeth, the squeal that escapes you more in anticipation than from any actual discomfort.

He shushes you, lapping at the patch of skin that he nipped in a mock apology as the hand slipping between your lower lips slides one finger inside of you.

There's certainly more to his one finger than to your own, and you must be such a greedy little thing tonight because you're still wanting another finger. John is in no hurry it seems, content to rock his one finger in and out of you as your body gets wetter in preparation of future events.

His hand doesn't leave from between your thighs, but he moves further under the covers where they've obscured him completely, falling around your collar bones. Certainly warmer for the pair of you for him to do this like this, although your hips are already rocking.

You've got a reasonable guess on what he's about to do, but not being able to physically see him does, you admit, add a certain level of excitement. There's nothing you can do other than lay on your back patiently like a good girl and wait for him to make his next move. His warm breath on your pussy makes you jolt, a thrill shooting up your spine.

You haven't gotten head in ages- certainly not with your last beau.

"Try to be quiet for me, lovely. Don't need anything outside hearing your pretty noises," is all the warning you get before he's lowering his mouth to you.

It is certainly easier said than done- partly you manage to keep your whines and whimpers down, but it just makes your eyes want to roll back the way John doesn't hesitate to put his tongue to work.With a cursory lap of your vulva, he's quick to hone his attention on your clit while his finger continues to slip in and out of you.

After a few thrusts of his wrists you have to turn your head and muffle yourself with a pillow as he gives you the second finger you've been so keen for. His fingers stroking you from the inside paired with his tongue on your clit is certainly enough to work you steadily towards your orgasm.

You're not sure that you're going to last much longer when he starts to crook his fingers against the anterior wall of you- seems he knows exactly how to try to wring out every last drop of pleasure from you, and you're more than game to let him.

"John," your whine is a small, pleading thing this time- not the same feverish anxious plea from earlier, attempting to get him to give exactly what you want. This is a softer cry, a plea and an acknowledgement all wrapped together that he will take you where you're trying to go if you'll just let him do it.

Cold be damned, your activities under the sheets have a sheen of sweat breaking out over your skin. You pull the blanket off of you, partially because you're starting to get hot and partially on the reflex that you want to watch him- although that isn't really going to be an option with your belly in the way. "Oh my God, please don't stop,” you beg, perfectly able to picture the smug grin on his face as you feel the vibration of him chuckling in amusement at you.

Your squirming is dealt with swiftly as he grips one of your hips with his free hand, holding you in place as you rock against his mouth. The pleasure coiling in your belly twists down tighter and tighter, your staccato breaths hitching as he pushes you closer to your climax.

Right when the dam breaks, it seems both of you were on the same page- one of your hands clamping over your mouth to muffle yourself right at the moment John straightens a bit and abandons your hip in favor of trying to cover your mouth as well.

Which suddenly puts you in the position of being completely at his mercy- that he's using the hand buried between your legs to see how much he can get you to squeal now that your noises are muffled to his standard.

When he lets up, you're dizzy and gasping for air. This is so much more intense than the orgasm you'd brought yourself to in the shower and that one had literally brought you to your knees. There's a part of your brain still cognizant enough that you want to return the favor- That he's made you feel absolutely divine and it's only fair to reciprocate that.

However, rather than functional words, all you can come up with is to just paw at the top of his pants, mumbling more so than speaking "I want- I-"

Despite your complete lack of clarity, he seems to understand what your mission is regardless.

"We can worry about that later, Love," he assures you, coaxing you onto your side and getting in close behind you. Despite having just gotten yours, for a moment you are incredulous at the idea that he's about to just tuck you back into bed and go to sleep.Then you realize the covers are still down around your ankles, and your night dress up across your breasts- and, blessedly, that he's pulling down his pants.

God you wish you could see it, but between the darkness and the angle with him behind you it's not really an option. You can see enough shadows to have a vague idea of where he is behind you, but also the lack of vision is adding to the experience.

Just groping and touching in the dark like a pair of frisky teenagers trying to not get caught.

"I've got what you need right here, pretty girl- lift your leg up for me," he instructs and you comply immediately.

Oh God he's big. You knew that, sorta- have been well acquainted with what he feels like pressing up against you with morning wood. And he just told you that you needed to be prepped in order to take him.

But somehow this feels completely different, and here you are lying soft and compliant on your side with your legs spread wondering how the fuck he's going to make it fit.You're completely gagging for it either way.

"Please, please, plea-" you beg, head turning his direction in the dark even if you can't see well. Your begging is cut off as he drags his cock across your swollen folds, sensitive from the earlier attention he paid to you.

"Easy, lovely. Told you I'd take care of you," he instructs, and it takes everything in you to lie still in his hold while he lines himself up with you.

Your mind is spinning a hundred miles an hour, excited by the prospect as he finally pushes the head in and gives a shallow thrust.

His chest is lined up to your back, one hand helping prop up your thigh to give better access. It's the most intimate position the two of you can manage, and it gives you a front row seat as he groans low in the back of his throat.

Oh, you like that noise.

You want to hear him make it again.

"Christ you're warm," he chokes, and a deep satisfaction rolls through you. Just knowing that he's as affected by you, as you are by him is enough to stroke your ego.

"John, I can't wait anymore," you whine, pushing back against him in encouragement for him to move. Since when did you become such a needy little mess? It would be embarrassing if you could bring yourself to care.

You've been long overdue for a good romp between the sheets, and you are just thrilled to pieces that the captain has decided to be the one up for the task.

"You are an impatient creature, aren't you pet?" His admonishment is a gentle thing, as are his first few thrusts as your bodies acclimate to each other.

"It feels so good. Want you to feel good too," you plead your case, and really who was he to disagree with that?

"Feels fuckin' incredible, lovely, don't you worry about that. Sweet pussy of yours has me like a vice," You push back against his thrusts, eyes rolling as the angle lets him hit that one spot in you. Pragmatically, this position was the best to allow the pair of you to be close to each other while not overcrowding around your belly- allow some level of intimacy, as John is able to get up close behind you, and you can reasonably turn to touch and paw at him. But God is it also working for you as far as bringing you pleasure. Each time his hips bury against the plush of your ass he hits that spot that makes your leg shake in his hold.

"Gonna get you there, lovely, just-" it strokes your ego that he's babbling slightly as he speaks. That he's just as excited to have access to your body, to let you have him like this.

"John, right there- I, ah!- Oh God, right there," your pleading seems to just ramp him up. He's not rough with you by any stretch, just clearly comfortable that he's not going to hurt you and confident that your body's acclimated to take all of him. It's your turn to babble, whimpering and whining in his hold. The hand holding your thigh spread coaxes your leg over his hip, hand drifting back to your clit to stroke the little bundle of nerves.

"Just like that, hm?" he asks you like your eyes aren't almost crossing from how good he's giving it to you.

"Oh my God, please!" your brain's possibly broken. Your entire universe has condensed down to you, and him, and this bed and how damn good he's making you feel.

A quick study, he's already learned your tells that you're inching closer to your climax.

"You can do it, pet- cum for me. I wanna see your pretty face when you cum all over my cock.”

You’re past words, clinging to him with one hand and the sheets with the other as you breathe and try to relax your tensing body.

“That’s it, good girl- deep breaths,” he coaxes you, and that’s the magic combination to get you seeing fireworks.

He must still doubt your ability to stifle your orgasm yourself, muffling your noises by grabbing your face and turning it so he can kiss you. You certainly have no complaints, aware by the way his pace changes for a few thrusts that he’s not very far behind you before reaching his own end.

For a moment, the pair of you recline in silence as you come down from your respective highs. The heat the two of you made quickly starts to dissipate in the night with the covers still bunched at the foot of the bed, making you shiver as the cold finally settles back over you.

That movement is enough to bring John out of whatever post coital bliss he was in, shifting behind you to pull out.

“Hang on, love,” he instructs while pulling his pants back over his hips before pulling your dress back down your legs and grabbing the covers.

You feel calm for the first time in days, content to laze on your side with John behind you as he snuggles in next to you.

You remember turning your head back towards him for one last kiss- something slow and soft and gentle- and don’t even realize it when you fall asleep.

Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡

#john price x reader #John x love #price x you #zombie au #pregnant reader #single mom reader #lactation kink #pregnancy sex #my writing

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artinventor · 2 days ago

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Ok let’s break it down shall we:

In season 4-5 I could already see the shipping potential with the concept of an angel pulling a faithless man out of hell, and said angel who is a robotic soldier suddenly starts to feel emotion after interacting more and more with said man.

Insane foundation already but I did think of how castiel seemed to already have a fascination with humanity after I saw his chat with uriel at the park where he tells dean that not only does he think all humans are works of art but that he already has doubts in heaven and in his absent father. Dean IS the one to inspire him to ultimately rebel and discover free will but I could excuse it as mainly a personal journey that you could certainly just say is a budding friendship. Setting aside the fact that they would constantly look at each other for long moments in a really charged way (for castiel I could say he’s a cosmic being that is unfamiliar with social norms or human emotion so staring intensely can be a byproduct of that but I don’t have an excuse for dean’s reactions to it, you can tell he wants to be threatened but my guy looked enraptured, if not ignited by it)

It wasn’t until season 6 and the episode The Man Who Would Be King that the “oh they’re so gay” hit me.

You’re telling me that this angel has been around for eons, witnessed the creation of everything on earth and observed it’s many big events, but did not start to feel emotion or act out until he met dean?? And he champions dean’s mission of free will even when he doesn’t fully understand it himself when the other angels ask him. I can say this is still apart of his personal journey but at this point I cannot deny that dean is the one that really spearheaded it forward. He starts a whole war in heaven so that he can maintain dean’s mission and so that his sacrifice (his brother) was not for nothing. The fact that cas’ bad decisions were all based on the fact that he just didn’t want Dean to be involved because he was finally retired and at peace so he had no one else to turn to except crowley. He really cares about dean’s happiness THAT much, that is a mighty intense feeling to have for someone to me.

Then they emphasize the fact that dean is the one who feels the most betrayed by cas after struggling to even accept it in the first place. There’s a lot of intensity within the dialogue in the scene they confront him about it, and they’re sure to give me a close up on only dean to make sure I know how he feels about it. The eye contact in that scene really goes crazy because there was so much there on a deeper level, It was like you could see how they both realized the betrayal was breaking the trust between them but they were still wanting to hang on to that connection because it was something they both cherished, the way dean looked back before leaving? Insane.

That episode was the main hit for me, but it was largely mainly on castiel’s end. The main hit from dean’s end for me was when I saw the purgatory flashbacks in season 8.

In season 7 it seemed to me that dean was very effected by cas’ death and handled it in the classic dean winchester way of internalizing it all, but we get lines here and there about how bothered he is by it whenever his concerning behavior is somewhat addressed. Before Cas even had a chance to redeem himself after what he did, Dean seems to have already forgiven him, defending him once cas re-gains his lost memory and says he deserved to die. This showed me that the connection they had meant as much to dean as it did to cas.

And he really shows how much it means to him with how he fights tooth and nail to get cas out of purgatory. Cas literally disappeared once they got there, making it look like he abandoned dean, and then actively ran away from dean because he thought he belonged there. Yet dean was so insane that he hunted down cas’ location, caught up with him and dragged him to that portal. He literally had a way out that he chose to ignore until he found castiel, and was willing to die to get him out. Dean very desperately wants cas to be around when he gets out, he did not like how it felt when he previously wasn’t. Again, that is a mighty intense feeling to have for someone to me. Especially with how his memory literally changed what happened because he couldn’t handle that cas was left behind??

I do think a big part of this storyline is showing how dean thinks everything and everyone is his responsibility because of the way he was raised by his father as a hunter and protector. But we’ve seen this in dean since the beginning, while not fully addressed until now, it’s not new, so the fact that they used castiel to further show this side of him is very insane. Leaving Cas in purgatory would effect nobody on the outside except Dean, Dean made it his personal mission to get that angel out even after everything he had done, and that level of intensity was another major hit on the Destiel train for me. That and the gay ass reaction dean had when cas walked out of the bathroom when he got back from purgatory???

anyway, I’m only on episode 8 of season 8 rn so that’s all I’ve seen so far.

y’all I am so sorry for years I assumed that gay ship in supernatural was just a delusion that people overanalyzed and claimed queerbait for no reason cuz I’ve seen that happen a million times but now that I’m actually watching the show they really were gay as fuck LMAOOOO

#destiel #supernatural #deancas #first time spn watcher #jess watches spn

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hwalovs · 15 hours ago

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The Apprentice 1/?

Chapter One; Deer, Fox, or Rabbit?

Pairing; Viktor x Vampire!Reader Warnings; none too extreme? Blood drinking (animal), mainly just yappers yapping about things. it’s a little twilight coded, so what?? sue me! Word Count; 7.9k

Summary; Finding an Apprentice should be easy. You have a simple task, one that cannot be handled lightly. Yet, the mind is a unique thing, and each one you've come across don't seem to meet your specific qualifications. Until your dear friend and confidant, Heimerdinger, brings forth a man with a bright ambition and a determination that could rival anyone.

A/n; oh god,, another series?? this one ahs been cooking for the last few days, and after finishing arcane and igniting my LOVE for Viktor, i decided it was time to try my hand at writing him :>> my darling friend @disturbyn beta read this so I’m no longer liable for financial instability!

THIS IS NOT EDITED!

DO NOT COPY, REPOST ON OTHER SITES, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK WITHOUT PERMISSION!

“My dear friend,” a voice chimes, and you smile. Dropping to a knee, you open your arms to greet him with a brief hug. He was warm, fur soft as it touched your cheek. He pulls away, and with bright eyes he says your name. He was dressed in his usual councilman attire, blue fabric complimented with gold.

“Councilor Heimerdinger, what a pleasant sight to see.”

He waves you off, stepping away to give you a glare “drop the formalities, would you?”

Shrugging, you rise to your full height, tipping your head to your driver who opened your door. The streets of Piltover were bustling with life, people walking in and out of the building. The sun was shining brightly, no cloud in the sky, the buildings of Piltover glimmering and dazzling. On the rare occasions that you visit, the city never fails to amaze you with its beauty. More innovations included, more steps into the future.

Even with your jacket on, it was cold outside. The air was biting at your cheeks as you walked the stairs, body shivering as the wind wrapped your body. Heimerdinger couldn’t tell the difference, his thick fur protecting his small body from the elements.

Unless it was raining, then you would see him running for any kind of shelter.

“I find it customary, dear friend,” you jest, beginning to climb the steps of the building. It was large, almost doubling the size of the one from the last Inventors Competition you attended. It was hosted in Piltover this year, situated right between the heart of the city, and the bridge that leads to Zaun. The building was a museum, repurposed for the day. Three sets of double doors were propped open, allowing people to freely go in and out. Marble steps lead the way up, the chains on your boots clinking with each step you take.

“Yet, you’ve arrived late,” Heimerdinger says, “not very customary of you, my dear.”

“Eh,” you shrug, “I doubt my presence was missed.”

He shakes his head, “most have already asked for an audience with you. You’re going to come across many disappointed faces, I fear.”

“Aw, poor babies,” you kiss your teeth, stopping in the doorway to look around the room. Multitudes of tables were set up to hold different inventions. Most of the crowd had already moved on, the aisles free to roam comfortably.

Although you’d have rather stayed home, there was a nagging that stayed consistent in your mind. It whispered to you during the night, while you tried to work, while you roamed the empty halls of your estate.

Oh, sweet death. It would sing, a symphony without the strings.

Heimerdinger's letters on the subject once brought you annoyance, but this year, you decided to indulge him. Months of writing, planning your short visit, tell you what to expect from some of his students. You tried to keep an open mind, but as you survey the room from your standing point, you find mirrors of what you’ve seen before.

He chuckles, and you nod to the enforcers that stand beside the doors. They barely glance your way, all zoned in your own worlds as they try to stay awake.

Unless it was raining, then you would see him running for any kind of shelter.

“Tell me,” you muse, “anything promising?”

“That all depends on what you’re looking for,” he smiles, “the entries this year are very promising, I should add.”

Finally making your way into the building, you start down one of the rows, briefly reading off the small cards that line the table. It was intriguing, seeing what the human mind can create. Each one was different, promising innovation and change for the ones who needed it the most. Some were simple, a new irrigation method, a new tool to help with surgery. Others were more intricate, a way to heal broken bones faster, a way to grow taller or thinner in a matter of days.

Heimerdinger continued to talk at your side, keeping with your slow pace. His voice was bright and joyous, a singing tone that contrasted to yours. He spoke enough for the both of you, and as time passed you’d grown accustomed to his hyperactive personality. Always easy to pick out of the crowd, various voices meshing together in one large mass that you tried to ignore.

“The last time I was here,” you break the silence, glancing down at bright blue eyes, “you told me I’d be impressed with the entries.”

He pauses, looking at you with narrowed eyes and a twitching lip, “I was correct then, just as I am correct now-”

“Eh,” you wince, scrunching your face up and rocking a hand side to side, “I’d say-”

He cuts you off, speaking over you, it makes you laugh. Holding your hands in surrender at his stern tone, “New minds bring new innovations, different outlooks that we haven’t thought of. It’s brilliant, what the mind can do without restrictions.”

Stopping at the end of the table, you reach out to grab a small device, painted an array of blues and pinks that resemble a chomping shark. On the side was a pin, your thumb brushing over it, nodding your head once and setting it back down. Next to it was a small card, the dimensions, components, and its purpose all messily written.

“Brilliant. Yet, the council never seizes what can excel the cities.”

Heimerdinger huffs, “Many trials can take years to complete, and other items do not get chosen.”

Humming, you choose not to argue. It was something that would always come up between you both. With him on the council, you liked to poke fun. Liked to make jabbing remarks that would cause his fur to bristle, his foot to stomp. He didn’t pick up on it until years later, and stopped indulging your antics. Tonight, you suppose he forgot. The excitement of young minds filled the air, cheerful laughter and jittering tones that spoke too fast.

The back of the crowd was already making their way into the main ballroom, where all inventors and potential patrons would speak of partnerships and opportunities. Sometimes you wouldn’t even make it to that room, instead heading home after surveying the array of inventions.

“Has the ranking already been released?” You ask, turning down another aisle. Boots tapping against the tiled floor, you brush down the front of your jacket before continuing. Most things mirrored each other, mostly the same except for a slight difference. It makes you smile, seeing the small things added. A simple touch of a difference that brought out the mind of the inventor. A different paint, a different metal, a different bolt or screw. It was all intentional to them, all things different that make them human.

“Ah! Indeed! Announced just before your arrival-” He jumps, reaching into his jacket to bring out a piece of paper. It was pristine, decorated with gold and black ink. He handed it to you with a smile, and you looked over it with a raised eyebrow. From left to right, was the ranking, name, age, and small description of each entry. In tiny numbers besides that, was where each person could be found. You briefly look over each description, coming up empty handed on what you were interested in.

Fourth Place, Ekko ---, 13, ---

Third Place, Powder ---- , 12, ---

Second Place, Jayce ---, 23, ---

First Place, Viktor ---, 24, ---

Your step falters, hand quickly grabbing the edge of the table beside you to right yourself, and you glare at the bolt that slides across the floor. It was a gear, its notches broken and chipped. Heimerdinger hums a light tune under his breath, continuing on his way. He didn’t see you almost fall, didn’t see your eyes narrow and glare at the page in hand before cursing under your breath.

Shivering, you tilt your head to the side and turn the paper over. The back was filled with an array of the named Patrons, Investors, Mages, anyone who could take a beneficiary.

In italicised gold ink, was your name.

Frowning, you glare at Heimerdinger, who continued to make his way to the main room. Perhaps he thought only two rows was enough to look at, he knew what you were here for, after all.

“I’m done here,” you grumble, turning to leave before Heimerdinger shouts your name, walking quickly down the aisle to meet you once more. Gaze stern, he regards you with a frown, “you just got here, I refuse to let you leave.”

“That’s called kidnapping,” you scoff, trying to walk past, but the Yordle stands in your way.

“You’re hardly a child, yet with the way you’re acting right now- I can hardly tell the difference.”

You fake a gasp, placing your free hand onto your chest.

“Heimerdinger, you insult me.”

He ignores you, “you must meet some of the candidates before you leave, who knows- you might find who you’re looking for!”

Sighing deeply, you refuse to look at him, instead turning back around and to stare at the open doors that await you on the other side of the room. You could faintly hear the music that floods through, glasses clinking together as connections are made.

Dropping onto your haunches, you feel your jacket fold behind your knees, puddling around you. His eyes briefly widen, before his hands rest on his hips, beginning to tap against the tiles.

Holding out the paper, you tap the front, finger brushing along the parchment right next to each name.

“See these? The names, small descriptions of what they’ve brought?” His eyes flicker, and you can see the gears turning, before he sighs.

“I do, my dear.”

“What is here that will thrive under my apprenticeship?” Heimerdinger's eyebrows relax, the fur atop his lip drooping slightly. He seems to fully deflate for a moment, and then a spark ignites, and he's set alight with a new vigor.

“If you give a plant no water, will it grow? If you simply look at an unfinished project, how will it come to fruition? You must work for it,” your name is softly spoken, a hand gently placed onto yours.

“Ha,” you laugh, sarcastic, shaking your head and dropping your arms to rest on bent knees.

“If I wanted to water a plant, I wouldn’t be here.”

Sighing, he steps closer to grab your free hand once more, his other coming to gently pat the top.

He was so kind, so gentle with the people around him. All bright colors and curious nature, a mirror to you. Dark colors, disinterested eyes and almost permanent frown.

“Each human is different from the next, you simply have to talk to them. Gage what they want to pursue, and go from there. You’ll find what you’re looking for faster that way, you know.”

Grumbling, you throw him a glare. Standing, you brush off the front of your pants, and turn towards the room once more. Some of the attendees regarded you with curious looks, whispering to their partner while making room for you and Heimerdinger. Others stared with wide eyes, clutching their drink to their chest.

The room itself was beautiful, an open space once used to present statues and large art pieces. They were moved away, replaced with small tables full of small, bite sized, foods and flutes of champagne. Large windows covered the wall to your right, letting in the sun. Thick, red velvet curtains framed them, golden tassels holding the fabric open. Some were cracked, letting in the clean city air.

There was a brief moment you hoped you wouldn’t be recognized, but your attire and companion gave you away entirely.

Piltover was the city of progress, its people dressing as such. With bright colors of gold and white, displaying their house sigils proudly on their own attire, all sparkling and proudly presenting themselves. You didn’t have a house here, didn’t have a name, you didn’t wear Piltover's colors. Keeping your gaze forwards, you try to ignore their intrusive gazes.

The room itself was chilly, and you reached to pull your jacket tighter around you. It was a deep blue, silver threading and embellishments decorating the front and back. It reached down to your boots, the material slightly billowing behind you as you walked.

You make your way to the edge of the room, and politely smile at a few young faces who continue to stare. Wearing the academy uniform, you wonder if Heimerdinger would recognize them, but the student body was much too vast now to remember each new face. They each blush, quickly turning back to whoever they were talking to while walking away. Soon, it was only you and Heimerdinger, who continued to smile like nothing was wrong.

“Why are they looking at me like that?” You ask softly, hands clasping behind your back, paper still in hand.

Heimerdinger chuckles, “you’re rarely seen in the city, and you wonder why everyone is so curious?”

“I hate being a spectacle,” grumbling, you turn to look at anything else. Trying to ignore the lingering gazes, the whispers that include your name.

“Maybe,” he gasps, “you should visit more! Oh, now wouldn’t that just be lovely?”

Scowling, you glare, shifting your stance to hiss under your breath, “oh, you’d like that wouldn't you? You little demon.”

He laughs to himself, waving you off, “you just might come to adore the city the longer you frequent. The City of Progress is ever changing, my dear.”

Ignoring him, you try and make out the faces from one another. Some councilors were present, all with a champagne flute in hand as they talked to academy students, other investors, even potential partners that could benefit for their own gain.

One boy, though, all smiling and bright eyed, continued to talk with a small group of students. The one who caught your eye, though, wore the silver medal of second place around his neck. He had a small device in hand, twisting and maneuvering it around to explain to the others how it functioned. Dark hair pushed back haphazardly, tan skin that seemed to glow under the light, he was a handsome young man.

“What of Jayce-“ you squint, “Jayce Talis?”

Heimerdinger makes a questioning sound, following your line of sight before whistling, the end trailing off, “The beneficiary of House Kiramman, I’m afraid.”

“Hm, not swayable, then?”

He only waves you off, “he seems to be prospering under their care- what of Ekko and Powder?” he’s pointing to a young duo opposite Jayces' group. Sitting at one of the small tables, drinks untouched. They were consumed in a hushed conversation, both staring inquisitively down at an open notebook. Short blue hair stopping just under her shoulders, the young girl bites at her nails. The dress she wore was violet, flowing just past her knees. It matched the pink stripe in her hair perfectly.

The boy, though, was in an academy uniform, white hair pulled away from his face. Dark skin, kind eyes, his leg tapping anxiously.

“Ekko and Powder?” You parrot, and Heimerdinger makes a noise in the back of his throat.

“Best not to separate them,” he stops short, quickly recovering “They work well in tandem, bouncing off each other as if they were small balls of energy. You’d find most progress with both.”

That wouldn’t do; you sigh. Looking back to Jayce’s group, you briefly meet his eyes. A bright hazel that shimmered with energy. He falters in what he was saying, eyes darting between you and Heimerdinger before he frantically looks back to one of his friends. Sighing, you kiss along your teeth. There was no shaking the eyes you would spot in the crowd, clinging to you. They would quickly disappear, blushing and whispering. This part, you hated the most. All the people, staring and whispering. It made you feel small, scrutinized under them. Were some of them judging you for arriving late? Were they wondering when you’d accept a new apprentice? Closing your eyes, you try to level yourself. It wouldn’t do you any good to drag yourself through turmoil.

“You mentioned a number of them requested an audience?”

“Ah!” he jumps, clapping his hands once, before scurrying away and into the crowd.

You tried to keep yourself steady as student after student was brought to you. Some were smiling, blushing as they offered you their hand politely. The conversations were dragging, them speaking of their ambitions and dreams before being silenced by your raised hand. Some would grow teary, words dying off like the light in their eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you’d smile, a sympathetic tone wrapping your rejection, “Your ambitions, although bright, do not align with what I’m looking for.”

Some took it better than others, shaking your hand once before departing with disappointed faces and sagging shoulders. Heimerdinger would throw you a glare, ask what was wrong with them, if you were doing it just for spite. Each time, you’d shrug, “they cannot give me what I need, Heimerdinger.”

One girl was promising, Sky Young. She dazzled you with her beauty, crossing her arms and smiling brightly. She had freckles that covered her full cheeks when she spoke, glasses that reflected a dreary image of you. Life danced across her face with each word she spoke, a desire to discover, to create. She offered to show you her ideas, what she had brought as her entry. Her smile didn’t falter when you declined, and for once, you could feel hope dance its way between your ribs.

Until she mentioned her schooling, and how she’d want to continue innovating and creating.

With a heavy heart, you reluctantly rejected her. She took it respectfully, dipping her head.

“I have one more idea, although he did not request an audience,” he sighed, before he departed once more. For, hopefully, the final time tonight.

Towards the two hour mark, you find yourself standing with your eyes closed, listening to your own breathing and the chatter of conversation around you. The windows had been closed, the sun shining directly through and casting shadows of people along the floor. The music was a repeat of around ten songs, you discovered, and on the seventh song you heard Heimerdinger approaching, the distinctive tapping of a cane following.

My dear!” Heimerdinger sings, stopping to stand between you both. Smiling forcefully, you ignore the onsetting headache as you look over the man in front of you. Loose pants on long slender legs, a vest that clung to a lithe waist. Fingers that gripped a golden medal, and the pommel of a cane. The ladder made your skin prickle.

Eyes scanning higher, gliding over the grey tie that fits his throat, brown hair that almost curls around his ears, and dazzling honey gold eyes that stare back at you with unwavering certainty. Shoulders relaxed, the man seemed to be studying you as well.

“This is Viktor-“ drowning out his voice, you bite down on your tongue. Heat builds across your back, sharp claws digging into your skin to drag its way over your shoulders. Fatigue deep within your bones, you clasp your hands behind your back.

“A pleasure, truly. Madam?” He smiles, it doesn't reach his eyes.

Speaking your name plainly, you tilt your head, eyes narrowed, “congratulations on first place. I don’t remember seeing you in attendance last time I was here, are you a new student?”

“Viktor has been my assistant for some time, working under my watchful eye while he completes his studies. Though, he’s one of my top students!”

A hum, and you decide to look at anything but the man in front of you. Stomach turning, you wished for a drink. No doubt, if you could drink the bubbling champagne, you would’ve had five glasses by now. Your head moves towards the windows and when your eyes catch the light, Viktor catches a flash of red tint. He almost shivers, smile wavering and as quickly as you look away, you’re back to watching him intently.

“Your patron must be proud, working under Heimerdinger personally.”

He waves you off, and Heimerdinger gives you a curious look, gloved hands clasping in front of him, “Viktor has no patron, dear friend.”

Eyebrows rising, you look back at the younger, who was glancing at the painting behind you. Pushing the wings of your coat open, you slide your cold hands into your pockets, paper still in hand. It was folded, now hidden away. You skim your finger over one of four points, pressing it into the pad of your index before retreating.

“You’ve no patron? Can I ask why?”

It was a first, seeing someone so young without the guidance of a Patron. Every one you had met, were almost all students. They each were vying for one, asking for guidance to help with their research. Viktor, though, had seemingly made it far enough by himself.

Hands boxing his vest, he only shrugs, “Eh,” he hums, “I find it more fulfilling to work by myself. I simply assist the professor with miniscule tasks when needed.”

You wince, “I apologize on his behalf, then.”

“You insult me! Viktor works diligently and without complaint, thank you,” Heimerdinger gasps, crossing his arms.

The pair of you chuckle, and before you stop yourself, you find a smile curling around your features, “I commend you, I can barely stay around him for too long before i get a headache.”

“Have you known the Professor long? You speak as if you’re close?”

Your smile falls, and Viktor wonders if he’s spoken out of line. A melancholy look floods your features, and you look to Heimerdinger, “I’ve known him almost my whole life. He’s been a close confidant to me in my times of need, surely as his assistant, you can agree?”

“I can, his guidance has helped me with my personal work.”

“Any success?” You can feel the answer already swelling between you both, and with a disappointed shake of his head, Viktor tenses his shoulders, “Only on paper, the council deems experimentation ‘too soon’”

A small bout of anger pools in your chest, such a brilliant mind, condemned to a rigorous routine of theory after theory, faux solution; one after the other to show a group of councillors, not even proficient in the field of study, what they deem to be ‘safe’. How has such a promising city made so much progress, if minds such as his were forced to sit patiently?

“Isn’t the city of progress supposed to encourage, I don’t know- progress?” Rolling your shoulders back, you give Heimerdinger a pointed look.

“Safety must always come first, dear friend! Not everyone can go into their back yard and ignite an explosion.” He shoots an equally devious expression your way. Viktor clears his throat, shooting Heimerdinger a warning glance. You smirk, and with a tilt of your head you ask teasingly, “have you blown something up, Viktor?”

“My work can sometimes cause an unwanted chain reaction, It’s not as if I want to cause an explosion.”

“‘Sometimes’? Do you regularly almost blow up buildings? What does your work entail for you, hm?”

Cheeks burning, Viktor avoids your eyes, silently cursing the professor for bringing up the select few times an experiment went awry.

“I want to help the people who need it most, and end the suffering of the common person. My work includes basic machines and tools that could make everyday life more simple, like mine-workers. Why let outdated, faulty machines cause more suffering, when something more reliable and simple can help?”

You're smiling, looking down quickly to slide the toe of your boot across the tiles. It's brief, but it allows you to gather your thoughts, “that’s certainly an ambition.”

“Reminds me of someone, no?” Heimerdinger nudges your leg, and you wave him away. Viktor’s eyes roam your features, “You’re also a scientist?”

“I… used to be, when I was young. Now, I simply provide the necessary equipment for the work to continue. Of course, I oversee it, but I refrain from interfering.” Sliding your hands from your pockets, you flip the now crumpled piece of paper through your fingers.

“Her apprentices thrive, my boy. You should see the work others have accomplished with the tools she offers!.”

“An apprenticeship?” Viktor looked slightly confused, nose scrunching as he shifted his footing to settle more comfortably. Silent, you nod. Knowingly, you refrained from saying anything else. Your neck was starting to hurt, back aching from standing in one place for so long.

You could have walked around, mingled with others. Yet, what good would it do? Talking with polite faces that would only speak willfully of you behind your back, fake laughter and fake bonding that would, truly, get you nowhere in this society.

You’d much rather suffer the consequences of stagnation when Viktor looked at you with unhidden emotion. He didn’t try to cover them up with indifference. He bares his emotions without vulnerability, how his eyes narrow and eyebrows furrow, how his nose scrunches in annoyance, how his lips tilt in barely-hidden amusement. You can see it all flicker across his face, moments in time captured by another person’s eyes. It's familiar, you realize, how simple humans truly could be.

“Mm,” you scrunch your face, not liking the term so carelessly thrown around, “I call it a beneficial agreement.”

“Have you found any success?” Viktor retorts, smiling softly at the way you soften in disappointment. Much like his own, you yearn for a solution.

“I have not, my previous apprentice made great advances in his research. He had a great mind, I wish to find one similar.”

Your friend, though, deemed it a perfect time to raise his own voice, “Would something like that interest you, my boy? I theorize your research would thrive much more with her, rather than me.”

Ice water, poured directly over your head.

“Heimerdinger-“

“Professor-“

Honey gold meets yours, and you promptly raise a hand. It’s familiar how you both regard each other. Too comfortable, you were the one who had to cut it here.

“While I appreciate the gesture,” a warning issued within the group, blaring red, “I cannot find it within myself to consider someone who isn’t interested in the slightest.”

Viktor bites his cheek. Was he interested? He was secure with his position as Heimerdinger's assistant, yet the idea of being able to thrive in his field without watchful eyes sounded very appealing. Even Heimerdinger himself seemed thrilled at the idea of such a position for him.

“Who said I wasn’t interested?”

Kissing your teeth, taking a small step backwards, hand settling itself back at your side.

“Even if you were, I’d have to politely decline.”

Viktor, for once, finds himself at a loss for words. It’s like you’ve completely changed within the second Heimerdinger mentioned the possibility of him working under you.

“Decline? Miss,“ Heimerdinger steps closer, but you send a glare his way. It doesn’t hinder his stubbornness, “Viktor is more than qualified to take on the responsibility!”

“He isn’t-“ you stop short, head tilting as you look him over; Mulling over words that could express how against this you truly were. You look at his shoes, his cane, his chest, and finally his eyes. Curious and inviting, so alive with ambition and determination.

“He isn’t the right fit.”

Heimerdinger almost laughs, “Right fit? Viktor is my assistant, he has enough determination and willpower to climb the ranks of Piltover! Where others would falter, Viktor thrives. Even with his first time attending, the boy has won first place!”

A sense of pride, Viktor smiles, but your huff of annoyance at the statement makes the emotion fade.

“You’re correct, He’s the assistant to the dean of the academy, doing just fine for himself, as you say.”

“He could be much more, and you know this just as well as I do.”

The beginning of an argument is swelling, both Heimerdinger and you sharing glares and scowls. You’ve taken to crossing your arms, all but ignoring Viktor to turn your attention to the Yordle. Top lip twitching, Heimerdinger almost stomps his foot, “must you make things so difficult?”

You laugh, hands rubbing harshly at your eyes, sarcastically smiling, “first place doesn’t really mean anything, his ambition is too straight forward-”

“My ambition has gotten me this far, miss. If I was willing, I could get farther.”

“So you agree?” gaze narrow, you turn to him with sternness, “you choose to stay stagnant in your current position?”

It's his turn to flare with annoyance, and his eyebrows furrow, “No, I choose to benefit from my current position.”

“The boy is learning, absorbing the information that he gets his hands on. Working under you, he would be exposed to a plethora of material- he would rise higher than he ever could working under me.”

You raise a hand, and suddenly Heimerdinger breathes a heavy sigh, “Viktor, you have a brilliant mind, and a unique outlook. Yet, you do not fit the qualification I’ve set for the position.”

“My dear-” you pointedly glared, and he fell silent, “I wish you the best of luck in your research, now if you’ll excuse me gentleman, I have overstayed my welcome.”

Ignoring the calls of your name, you make your way back to the front of the building. Someone tries to step in your path, but with a tilt of your shoulder you easily slide past them, shortly turning them down with a not-so-pleasant glare.

You had lost yourself in how easy-going it was to converse with Viktor, almost forgetting why you were there in the first place. In reality, he was the most promising individual you’ve come across. Yet, you couldn’t find it within yourself to take him from the place he thrives most. He wanted to change the city for the better, pursuing actual innovation. How could Heimerdinger cast upon you the decision to ask him to leave his home? To cast aside his well earned position?

Your carriage was still waiting patiently among the others. The sun was starting to set, casting golden rays through the trees that lined the street. There was a man on stilts slowly walking down the street, lighting the lamps that stood tall. The footman smiles when seeing you, opening the door and offering you his hand.

Settling yourself down in the uncomfortable seating, you look over the paper, crumpled and folded one to many times. The edges were worn with your fiddling, and slowly you unfold it to look over the seemingly never ending list of names.

First place, Viktor —-

There's a small sliding door that sits between you and the coachman, a little bigger than the size of your hand. Silver hinges with small ornate detailing, and a matching silver latch that swung side to side during the bumpy rides. It slides open smoothly, green eyes and white bushy eyebrows gaze back with a softness akin to a grandfather.

“Where to, my lady?”

Clearing your throat, swallowing thickly, you toss the paper onto the seat beside you. Relaxing, you breathe deeply and take one final look at the museum, “take me home.”

“As you wish, my lady”

------

Your home was large enough to house a great family, yet only you remained. The halls were dark, two wings once occupied with life. Now, only a few rooms from each were used. The library was full of unread books, your laboratory untouched by your hands for years. Your office was where you mainly resided. In front of the windows that climbed up to your ceiling, filling the room with dimmed light that cascaded over the misty hills. The estate's walls were cold, its occupants bundling with layers to defend themselves from sickness. You’ve grown used to it, but your staff still wandered around with pink noses and thick shawls.

One member of the staff, Miss Aleena, was one of the few who remained. Her grey eyes regarded you with warmth, wrinkles and tired smile showing her years. She was slower, yet still refused to rest. She continued with her work day after day, and sometimes kept you company during her downtime. She made her way around your office easily, stepping over thrown books and crumpled pieces of paper. All to set a wine glass on your desk, though what filled it was not wine.

“Three animals today, my lady. Deer, fox, or rabbit?”

You hum, still gazing at the rolling hills. The glass was held together with silver framing, a thick set of curtains hanging from the ceiling and pooling on the carpeted floor. Holding out your hand, you wait until she picks the glass back up to set it into your hand. The surface was painted with flowers, all faded. You lift it to your nose, sniffing once before grimacing.

“Rabbit.”

She chuckles, reaching out to tap your cheek. You almost wave her away, but these were moments you rarely receive. To have another person touch you, human warmth was like no other.

Spinning in your chair, you set the glass back down and slouch, rubbing harshly at your eyes. Miss Aleena makes her way to the chair that sits in front of your desk, slowly descending with a huff. She doesn’t say anything, rarely does. Instead, she lets you fill the silence with whatever words you want. Her hair, salt and pepper, was pulled back from her slim face. Grey eyes comforting as they watch you, never judging.

“I’m not thirsty.”

You were lying, of course. The churning of your stomach was the dead give away, and she raises an eyebrow at you in retort. Slowly, you reach out to grab the glass once more, raising it to take a small sip.

Blood tastes different with each animal. Rabbit, for example, was sweeter than deer, yet more tart than fox. It starts as a treat, warm and inviting, until you swallow and are greeted with the kick at the end. Wincing, you groan. Shivering at the taste, you take another small drink. It was never good to drink too much at a time, you’ve learned the hard way.

“I don’t know why the gods forsake me,” you grumble, “I ask for a simple thing. One thing, yet time and time again I’m rejected and turned away. Something is always blocking this path, and for whatever reason, I cannot get past it.”

“Maybe it’s something you shouldn't pursue,” her timid voice responds, and you shake your head. Center of your lips stained red, you cross your legs.

“Do you know what it's like to live for 800 years?”

She smiles, “I know what it’s like for 73.”

“Its a living torture,” you smirk, and she hums. “I cannot sleep, cannot eat or drink what you do. I cannot fall in love, I cannot feel happiness-”

“And why is that, my lady?”

You huff, chest squeezing, “it is a fleeting thing, happiness, love. A human can love their entire life, and feel fulfilled by the end. Humans have the pleasure of an ending, while I live in a purgatory specifically designed for me. No matter how hard I try, I simply cannot die.”

You take another drink, looking over the small pile of papers still left on your desk. Requests and letters signed with black ink mock you, the dates in the top corners taunting.

“Tell me, then,” she requests, “when you’ve fallen in love.”

The question makes your shoulders tense, flashes of memories blinking past your eyes. Years upon years of memories, yet they all boil down to moments in your life.

“I-” you clear your throat, “I can’t remember what love feels like. I suppose feelings fade with time,” you look down into your glass, your reflection staring back.

Miss Aleena sighs, “my dear, I may not be as old as you, but I am still old. I know what love looks like,” she stands from her chair, brushing off the front of her dress.

“Indulge me, what does it look like?”

“It looked like that gleam in your eyes, my lady.”

Head tilting, you watch a smile creep across her face. Chuckling, you rub your thumb along the top of your hand, cold as always. Miss Aleena reached out, gesturing to your almost empty cup, “would you like a refill?”

You shake your head, and watch as she turns to make your way back to the door. Spinning, you turn your gaze back to the misty hills, how the sun tries to break through, and tries to wrap a golden blanket around the trees that border your land.

“Maybe I should just have you find me someone.”

Miss Aileena laughed, old and tired, she sounded like her mother, “I think that’s a terrible idea.”

“How so? You’re a great observer, and you follow my instructions without retort!”

“I don’t know much about science, my lady. If I were to bring someone in, you would find something inadequate.”

She was right, and you knew it.

The door opens, and a male voice clears his throat. You almost groan, instead you rest your elbow on the arm of your chair, supporting your head on a clenched fist.

“My lady?” It was Benedict, who’s voice matched his appearance. Silky and smooth, all fine cursive lines that dance across his body. You can hear his smile as he looks at Miss Aleena.

“Ah, hello nana,” he says softly, before the door creaks and he coughs.

“What is it, Benedict?” Nails tapping, your head rolls to rest against the chair. His body straightens, green eyes roaming over your desk. His cheeks were pink, and he sniffled before speaking.

“You have a visitor- I told him you didn’t take guests, but he was very adamant on seeing you.”

Your tongue lightly grazes your canines, feeling the sharp points. You can barely remember the last time you used them, opting for your kitchen to hunt and gather your drinks.

They, your hunter, would leave in the morning when the dew still clung to the grass. They’d gather enough animals to last the following week, put them in the freezer, and then go back to their home in the village. Of course, you offered housing here, but it only took them one look at the vine covered rocks to politely decline.

“How adamant?” You tease, hearing Benedict huff, his clothes rustling.

“He said he wouldn’t leave until he had an audience with you.”

“Hm,” you muse, using your foot to sway the chair back and forth slightly.

“Let him in, then”

Benedict nods, shaggy hair falling in front of his eyes as he backs from the room, heavy steps receding down the hallway. Miss Aileen’s heels click across the wood as she crosses the room, picking books up from the floor and setting them gently back onto your desk.

It takes a moment, but soon you can hear the incoming tap of a cane, and the hushed voices from beyond your closed door.

Hair raising, you refuse to turn in your chair as the door opens once more. Tensing, you can feel your chest clench until his voice tears through the room- assertive and commanding.

“You have to have a certain kind of nerve to accuse me of not being qualified enough to work under you.”

Your hand drops from your chin, hanging over the arm. Finger running across the tips of your nails, you refrain from sighing.

“What are you doing here, Viktor?”

“I simply find it unacceptable to push me aside and call me unqualified to work under you simply because of my status and ability to do what is required,” his tone is accusatory, anger surrounding him. Slowly, you find your eyebrows furrowing. Your head drops to the side, and you look at him from over your shoulder, chair slightly turned as to not hurt your neck.

His cheeks are flushed, eyebrows pinched together in anger as he leans against his cane. Miss Aileen stands to the side, eyes wide as she looks at him. His golden eyes falter when they meet yours, flickering between your dazzling gaze. When you turn the chair more, the sun that barely peaks through the clouds catches them, red shining through briefly.

It makes him shiver, how predatory your gaze was.

“Miss Aileen, please give us the room,” you don’t break eye contact, instead turning the chair so you face him fully. It gives him the charm to look you over, from your relaxed attire to the red tint that stains your lips.

Makeup? No, he thinks, your attire betrays the need for makeup. You were home, relaxed enough to not find the need for it. Eyes flicker to the desk, landing on the almost empty glass.

Ah, the wine.

“Say again?”

He huffs, feeling that anger flare in his stomach and he stands tall once more, why was he here? He didn’t quite know, following that gut instinct to follow you and prove that he was right for the role he still knew nothing about.

“I have worked too hard to get where I am today to simply be pushed aside due to prejudice from a person whom I’ve never even met-“

“You think prejudice is the reason for my rejection?” There’s a flicker of disappointment, a sadness that festers behind it. You sigh, rubbing at your eyes before sitting up in your chair, “Viktor, listen,” your voice is softer this time, sharp edge dulled.

“You want to create things, bring goodness to the world. My task is the complete opposite-“

“How can you come to that conclusion when you haven’t even asked me for my opinion on the matter? For a scientist, you come to conclusions rather abruptly.”

Shoulders sagging, you reach out and grasp your wine glass, the thick liquid-

Thick liquid?

Viktor watches as you take a sip, the sides of the glass stained a deep ruby red as it settles back at the bottom. It’s crimson, shining in the light and the true answer to what sits in the glass whispers itself in his ear softly.

“Is that blood?”

You smile, a sad tilt of lips, raising the glass in a congratulation before setting it back down. You push yourself from the chair, silk gown dancing around you like a breeze, it makes it seem like you are floating, gliding your way around the desk to lean against it.

“If it is? What would you do, Viktor?”

His breath catches in his throat, and he mulls over what he could possibly say.

“If I told you, my life goes against the natural order, would you believe me?”

Your hands brace behind you, feet crossing at the ankles as you regard him with a glint in your eyes. You're assessing him. Watching as his eyes flicker around you, watch as he tenses, jaw clenching. Watch as his hand grips the pommel of his cane just a little tighter, how he leans away from you.

“Since you think yourself qualified, I’ll give you my symptoms and you come up with a theory as to what I am cursed with,” you spit the words. Viktor finds himself nodding, going against his own natural order as you push away from the desk. Making your way to the tall book shelf that lined the walls, your fingers skin across the fabric spines of book after book. Shoes muted by the carpet, you move silently.

“I cannot sleep, I cannot get sick, from what you’ve just noticed; I drink blood.” Slowing, you curl your finger around the top of a book, pulling it gently from its place. It was almost fully black, silver edging flaking off. A red piece of ribbon, frayed at the end, was hanging from the top edge. A book mark ready for use, he guessed.

“I live longer than normal humans, and I cannot die.”

Silence, and you refrain from moving from the wall of books. You seem to fit in perfectly, a timeless beauty. Yet, as he looks away to gaze back at the cup of blood, he sighs.

“Common, Viktor,” you whisper, teasing, “you were so vocal earlier. What happened?”

“I shouldn’t have come here,” he murmurs, taking a step back because now you’re right in front of him. Holding that book out for him to take, “no, you shouldn’t have. Now, you have to face the consequences of your own pride.”

Hesitant, he takes the book, looking over the cover and when he registers the words sewn into the fabric he almost laughs.

“A vampire?”

“Mm,” you hum, crossing your arms as you make your way back to your desk, leaning back. He tilts the book, letting it fall open to a random page. He briefly reads over it, pictures hand drawn, cursive words in a foreign language underneath. The paper was tinged yellow, wrinkled on the edges like it’d been thrown into a bath of water and then dried again.

“An immortal scientist passing down knowledge through their apprentices, what an ambition,” he mocks your words, snapping the book shut and looking back up. You’re frowning, and after turning your upper body to grab the glass, you twist it to allow the little remaining liquid to coat the sides. Faded blue flowers in front of a wave of blood, you don't look at him anymore, shoulders slumped.

“I don’t teach them, I simply have a task for them to complete. In return, they’re given access to my abundance of gathered knowledge.”

“And what is this task I’m so unqualified for, exactly?”

“Viktor,” you sigh, eyes closing. He can feel his chest squeeze, and he breathes deeply before continuing, “how do you know I’m unwilling to help you?”

“Help me? Viktor, if you had the opportunity to create death, would you?”

“Death?” His eyebrows furrow, and when you nod he can slowly see the pieces falling into place. The book feels heavy in hand, his thumb gently rubbing across the indented words that title the front.

The Known Ways Of Vanquishing A Vampire

“I want to die, and I cannot touch the tools that will create it. I need someone to do it for me, so I’ll ask again; if you had the opportunity to create death, would you?”

His brain tells him to decline. His whole life, he’s sworn to help people survive. To bring them longer life, to cure them of the hindrance that plagues them. Yet, his gut urges him to look at you. To see what you truly looked like, he can see your fatigue. He can see how your shoulders slouch, how slow you really move. To others, you were a monster. A demon who comes at night to drink their bodies dry. To him, in the moment, he simply saw a woman cursed. Forever to wander, never to truly rest.

“Are you suffering?” His voice is quiet. Lips lifting, you nod once, “yes, Viktor.”

Fingers tapping once against his cane, his gut overrides his brain, and he speaks his decision into the air with a stern voice.

“Then I will help you.”

Although there’s hesitation clinging to you, you speak with a soft voice, “let’s get started then, shall we?”

Want to be tagged? comment or send a message! ill gladly tag you <3

#viktor x reader #arcane x reader #viktor imagines #viktor arcane x reader #arcane #viktor arcane #fluff #angst #The Apprentice #HwaWrites #arcane imagine #viktor x you

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respectthepetty · 19 hours ago

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I'm immensely grateful for all the shows that give the softest endings wrapped in love. So many shows are simply saying "I love him, and he loves me, and we are better because of it."

See Your Love had one father say to another that he was there to love BOTH of their kids as they needed to be loved and not make demands of them. Then, the side couple was beautiful even in the after credits scene, and the main couple continuously said that they loved each other which neither ever doubted it. Jiang Shaopeng, facing death, said Yang Zixiang chose him, and he knew it was genuine.

Our Youth gave us a story of two boys whose lives didn't become magically better once they were in love, but they were happier with each other. Hirukawa made sure Minase knew he wasn't going anywhere, and that his love wasn't conditional like his friends and mother's, and Minase told Hirukawa he was missed, loved, and wanted.

And finally, my Per x Win heart was healed by the 2024 remake of Love Sick. Because of love, Win found the courage to tell his abusive father that the hits weren't going to make him less gay, and Per told Win that he would love him no matter the distance his father forced between them.

It's the constant reminder that they have a safe place waiting for their return.

It's someone seeing them for all their beauty rather than believing they are flawed.

It's good endings that are really the beginnings of love stories rooted in kindness and gentle care.

The kids are going to make it.

#it's the endings for me #see your love was good from beginning to end #and most of these shows were #because they were rooted in mutual love and kindness #even when the world was cruel #they said they were going to be gentle with each other #as the song goes 'try a little tenderness'

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simmplerussiangirl · 2 days ago

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Her princess.

part two

Ambessa Medarda x Reader

Synopsis : The only daughter of the Ras family is exchanged with the Medard clan for a peace treaty. Thanks to her pride and the hard core inside her, she doesn't falls into despair and continues to live. She continues to live to take revenge on her family for literally selling her to a clan of enemies.

word count: 2.2k

cw: selfharm, hatred, aggression, death, defiant behavior, Ambressa is a sweet bun.

A/N: I wrote the second part in five thousand words, but decided it would be better to divide it into two anyway. I doubt that people will read such a large amount of text.

Walking down the stairs, I yank my arm out with force. I wish I could say I succeeded with ease, but alas, I didn't. I only succeeded because she let me.

Ambressa Medard was difficult to be around. She literally pressured you with her status and authority. What to say that any average person would feel like a bug comparing their bodies and accomplishments. Inwardly, I chuckled at the thought that she had put thousands of men into complexes with her mere appearance.

Here I was, standing in front of her and feeling like a little girl. Even in my high heels I could only reach her nose. So I had to raise my head to look her in the eye.

But there was a huge problem. She was scanning you like she was reading you. And her gaze was heavy. The kind of look that makes you want to hide or at least put your eyes to the floor to get away from it.

And I was no exception; I wanted to stop feeling it, badly enough. But my pride choked me. So I stood in front of the girl towering over me, breathing heavily, my eyebrows pulled down to the bridge of my nose.

I saw a faint smile of approval run across her face, but unfortunately I didn't have time to see it. The girl turned around and walked toward the ship. I followed, still not saying a word.

It took us about ten minutes to get to the dock, and when we finally stopped, I was overjoyed. My heels were insanely beautiful, but they were uncomfortable. They also made my feet bleed. The last few steps to the ship were the most painful, and I limped along, trying not to lose my face in any way; Ambressa could turn around at any moment. My shoulders were still squared, my head proudly up, and my face calm, as if I were not going into slavery, but on vacation in a neighboring country.

Ambressa stopped near the stairs to the ship and let me pass through. I only arched an eyebrow in surprise and rolled my eyes.

-Are you afraid I'm going to kill you from behind? - I smirked wickedly.

-No, I just don't want my soldiers looking at your scuffed skirt. - She nodded toward the stairs - The stairs are high, and your dress is already moving in the breeze. But if you want to...- she took a step toward the stairs, and I just put my hand out in front of her, blocking the way.

I rolled my eyes again, and started to climb up the stairs, holding the dress on both sides so it wouldn't ride up. Since I was now the first to walk, I could take a little break and squint endlessly, biting my lips and cheeks in pain. The pain in my heart and the pain in my legs, which already had a trickle of blood running down my ankles.

I climbed up onto the deck, and stepping slightly away from the stairs, turned to face the girl who was also standing on the ship.

- Don't expect me not to make life hell. Don't think I'll die so easily as a slave,” I adjusted my dress and looked into her face.

Under other circumstances, I would have said her beauty was captivating. Her features were enchanting, mesmerizing, and even somewhat intimidating. The scars did not mar her face, only added to her charm and memorability.

- Who told you that you are my slave? You will not be a slave in my house, nor in my state as a whole.

The woman turned and pushed me toward some kind of door. I reflexively took a step and nearly hissed at the flaring pain in my legs. Miraculously, I managed to pull myself together in time. But the girl seemed to have noticed something strange, either in my movements or in the sound I made.

- What is it? - She grabbed my chin, but I couldn't break free this time, so I just looked her in the eyes with distaste. - You look like a drowning cat. . They reach out and rescue you while you hiss and bite.

She let go of my chin and put her palm on my shoulder blades this time, not pushing. She was just laying down to guide me in the direction she wanted me to go.

We walked in silence for a long time as I ran her phrase “You won't be a slave” through my head. Thoughts were literally boiling in my head. Why am I there then? Does she really think that I would willingly agree to fight under her leadership using my magic? She can't be that naive, can she? No, absolutely not. Then maybe she thinks she can find something to blackmail me with. But I have no weaknesses; after all, I killed my father with my own hands. Only if it's through my country.,,

-Your pretty little head is about to boil. Ask me if you have any questions, child.

I snorted loudly and rolled my eyes. Is she trying to gain my trust? Does she want to make the right first impression? Why the hell is she talking to me like that? Why worry about me and my condition?

-Whatever you want, sweetheart. - Ambressa stopped in front of some door -Your room for the next few days.

The woman turned and walked back down the hallway, I watched the muscles of her exposed back roll over as she walked, as she moved further away from me. It was quite a breathtaking sight....

- No one will lock the door until the first time you make a mistake. Oh, and your maid Maria will be assigned to you tonight. Change before she comes; don't scare the poor girl with blood on your dress. There are a couple of outfits in the closet.

- You wouldn't dare lock me in!

Ambressa never once looked at me, but I bet she smiled. Because she knew she'd do it if she had to.

After waiting until I was completely alone in the hallway I opened the door and took an unsure step inside. I looked around the room. It wasn't luxurious, but it wasn't horrible either.

There was a wooden bed pinned to the floor. It was already tucked into fresh linens in scarlet and gold. And near the wall were many different burgundy-colored pillows. By the small porthole was a desk, on which were sheets of paper and a couple of pens. Also in the cabin was an elongated wooden cabinet. When I opened it, I saw dresses of extraordinary beauty. There were three of them, all lavish, in the colors of the Medard clan and richly studded with jewels. The jewels sprawled along the bodice, along the translucent sleeves and hem of the dresses. This jewelry looked very much like splashes of bright scarlet blood.

- So he wants me to be a toy... A piece of jewelry... A trophy... Fuck that. - I laughed, and my laughter echoed off the walls and rang through my quarters.

I was angry. The last few days had been stressful enough as it was. And today was the last straw of my patience. Tears of anger, resentment, and hopelessness rolled down my cheeks. I threw my dresses into the far corner of the room, threw everything off the table, and exhaled a sigh of relief. I turned to face the door with my eyes closed and breathed heavily, tears still streaming down my cheeks. As I opened my eyes, I saw the maroon pillows with the edge of my gaze and my eyes turned scarlet. Slowly limping, still standing on my heels, I walked over to the bed and used my magic to burn the pillows one by one.

When I use my magic when my emotions are strong, it turns into a truly breathtaking sight. My eyes take on a blood red hue, my hair seems to lose its gravitational force and dangles quietly in the air. It is something like a strong wind blowing on me, but my hair is not tangled in any way, but goes behind my back, where it swirls up and down in a smooth wave. On my hands at this time you can see the glow, the color depends on the degree of complexity of the spell, as well as on the strength of my emotions. The color changes from light red to coal black, as my grandmother told me while she was still alive. My glow once turned bright scarlet, and after that I was unconscious for over two weeks. I've never gone further than that, and I can't imagine what I'd have to do to turn my hands black.

Hearing someone's quick footsteps outside the door, I braided weeds around the door, making a kind of barricade. I couldn't let anyone see the state I was in, and fuck it; some of the warriors probably heard me scream.

-Princess Ros, are you all right? - A man's voice called out, but my plants were untouched.

-Yes,” I hummed and sat down on the bed, finally taking off my shoes. I saw they were drenched in my own blood - Fuck.

Footsteps were heard behind the wall again, it looked like the warrior had moved away from the door. I leaned back on the bed; arms spread, and stared up at the ceiling, digesting everything that had happened today. A tear rolled down my cheek again, and I lay in the fetal position, grabbed the white pillow I had left, and put it to my mouth and screamed.

I screamed long and hard, feeling something inside me break. I don't know how long my next scream was stuck in my throat, all the time crammed into one big pile. It might have been ten minutes it might have been three hours. It didn't matter. Even with my voice broken, I wheezed into the pillow until I was completely exhausted.

My heart was beating at an incredibly fast pace, and my throat ached unbearably, as did my head. I finally got out of bed and went to the window. The sun was already setting over the horizon, which meant I'd cried all day.

I started rummaging through my desk drawers to find something where I could look at my reflection. To my great delight, I found a large gilded mirror in one of them that was studded with red stones. It looked like this clan had plenty of money.

I looked into my reflection and was horrified. My hair was a mess, my eyes were swollen and red, and so was my nose.

��- Horrible... - I put the mirror back down - And my dress is also bloody.... I look like a ragamuffin....

“A ragamuffin...” - I echoed in my mind.

A plan instantly formed in my head. I grabbed one of the pens and used it to make a bundle on my head. With a sigh of encouragement, I wiped the remnants of tears from my cheeks, grabbed the first dress I could find, and began to create.

I finished when it was well past midnight. Placing the mirror on the table, I stepped away and admired my dress that I had altered to spite Ambressa. I knew it was unimaginably expensive, but it made me feel a little better about what I'd done to it.

I left the corset almost untouched, but I cut off the sleeves, leaving only the wide shoulder straps. I cut the jewels off the fabric and used the vine to attach them to the corset, in the form of blood splatters.

The most interesting thing I did was with the layers of the skirt. Most of them, of course, I just cut off, and the rest I cut into scraps of different lengths. It looked very beautiful, though quite inappropriate for a girl of my level and status.

I twirled around the mirror and fixed my hair, which had already been styled by magic. I smiled at my reflection. My mood had lifted after my recent tantrum.

I was good for letting those emotions out, but I shouldn't cry anymore, it wouldn't help my grief.

Removing the vine from the door, I walked out into the hallway. There I saw a young boy standing by my door. He didn't react to my appearance.

-Good evening- -I put my hand over my heart and nodded my head slightly, saying hello out of the politeness that had been instilled in me. - Can you tell me where the exit to the deck is?

The warrior answered me nothing, didn't even look at me. I furrowed my eyebrows and, squaring my shoulders, walked in the direction from which I had come here.

- If you make any movement on the ship, it is your responsibility to alert Mistress Medarda and get her permission.

- I thought you were dumb-I continued to walk quietly down the corridor, feeling the damp boards beneath my bare feet. - I don't owe anyone anything, boy.

I looked over my shoulder and saw him striding in the opposite direction from me. It looked like he was going to report back. Chuckling to myself, I kept walking.

#ambessa medarda x reader #ambessa medarda #arcane #ambessa x reader #my wife #reader fic #fem reader #x reader

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zenkor123 · 1 day ago

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Coins original plan in my fic was to send Katniss to the capitol have her killed. But Coin seeing the reports of Peeta's moment of doubt saw the footage of Katniss in the quarter quell, and then remembered how she was when Peeta was in the capitol. She justified it to herself as Katniss "abandoning" Peeta while 13 did all the work. Coin hated the "whiny bitch" and believed that the country "worshipping" an "unstable girl" was a "callback to Capitol celeberty culture" and that Katniss was a "fraud" Coin was the real Mockingjay. D13 did all the work in the rebellion yet it was Katniss rather then Coin who was its face. Katniss would be put "under control" and Coin saw something better then ruining her image as the Mockingjay, destroying it so she is known as a lunatic and forgotten about. So she and the political police came with a plan to nuetralize Katniss becuase "a threat to Coin is a threat to Panem and the revolution." She ordered the doctors to not shut down Peeta's moment of doubt but to "encourage it." Almost like a pause button while she and her aids came up with the plan to utilize Peeta and break Katniss. Coin also wanted to punish Katniss for being the Mockingjay now that she was no longer useful(because "it should have been me!" Coin also decided that Katniss didn't deserve a glorius death in the capitol but deserved a "tragic" death in an accident making Katniss's memory bittersweet. Either death in an institution or death in an accident. She envisoned Katniss as being remembered as someone who could have done great things but fell in her prime. To Coin she "failed in her performance as the Mockingjay."

Boggs asks to see me privately, I am initially relieved until he hands me a paper that says “If you keep behaving like a lunatic unable to leave your bed, scratching Johanna, you are going to the mental hospital to receive mental health help in your role as the Mockingjay. You will be banned from all military activity. And you will be sent to the mental hospital for a minimum of 20 years in light of your illness.

I know there a lot of things I would’ve liked to have seen on screen. But one I would put on there is Delly calling out Peeta anytime he’s rude to Katniss.

Delly to Peeta:

It’s also just a good parallel to Haymitch telling Katniss to try and be nice to Peeta.

Like Delly and Haymitch were fighting for their lives to save Everlark. Ultimate shippers

#delly cartwright #hijacked peeta #peeta mallark #katniss everdeen #haymitch abernathy #the mockingjay #everlark #katniss and peeta #the hunger games #thg trilogy #the hunger games books #thg #thg peeta

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stevie-petey · 2 days ago

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a cutesy fluff blurb w steve and bug for all the angst coming from the season 4 rewrite😭😭 i hate to see bug and steve go through all this but your writing is just so so so incredible that i’m just completely and utterly drawn to it.

i missed steve and bug so much so heres a fluffy blurb of everyone finding out theyre finally together <3

enjoy !

"steve and i are dating."

you hold your breath, bracing for impact. steve is frozen next to you, perched on the edge of the couch as if getting ready to run at the first sign of danger.

all week the two of you have agonized over this. telling everyone that youre now together was a given. obviously it wouldnt be a secret, but telling everyone seemed simple at first. now, with dozens of eyes staring at you: its terrifying.

especially when the news is met with complete and utter silence.

mike yawns. el and max stifle giggles.

"youre all shockingly quiet right now." you finally say, hating this immensely.

robin looks up at the ceiling, suddenly finding the wheelers basement a fascinating thing. will picks at the carpet beneath him and dustin taps his leg impatiently on the ground.

lucas, bless him, has the decency to smile at you. "thats great, y/n."

"did we..." steve scratches the back of his neck. "did we, uh. miss something?"

"why the hell is everyone acting so weird?" you butt in, now really starting to wonder if you and steve did something heinous to deserve the weird silent treatment.

jonathan shifts on the floor, and your eyes narrow at him instantly. crossing your arms, you jut your chin out at him. "fess up, byers. whats going on?"

his eyes widen slightly, and nancy, who is sitting next to him holding his hand, bites back a smile. your eyes narrow even more and jonathan finally releases a laugh.

"stop glaring at everyone, bug." he looks at you fondly. "i think we're all just wondering who won."

your face scrunches in confusion. "what...?"

dustin jumps up from his seat, sick of the anticipation. "just spit it out already! did i win? for the love of god, please tell me you guys got together on july 11th. please."

nancy raises her hand. "or july 16th. id prefer that date, actually."

"what about y/n's birthday? i thought everyone agreed my date made the most sense." will speaks up, looking eagerly at you.

an offended scoff escapes your mouth when you finally realize whats going on. "that bet seriously cant still be going on."

"answer the question, y/n!" dustin wails, practically choking on the taste of victory of the $30 that went into the betting pool. "when exactly did you and steve finally seal the deal, huh?"

"what the hell is this kid talking about?" steve looks around the room, completely confused. "why does it matter when we got together?"

jonathan explains before you can. "we all placed bets on when youd get together. lucas and max were out of the running a while ago. but me, nance, dustin, and will are still in."

"i, for one, am still personally offended that i wasnt allowed to join the bet when i found out about it." robin says, looking pointedly at him. "just so you know."

"sorry," jonathan says without any real sympathy. "rules are rules."

your face burns wildly. "y'all are insane and this is such a gross invasion of privacy-"

"screw privacy! tell me when steve found a pair of balls and asked you out." dustin stumbles in front of you and steve now, panting. "i need the money!"

"dustin!"

steve places his hands on his hips. "i already had balls, thank you very much."

you elbow him. "please stop talking."

"the kid was doubting my manhood-"

"do you enjoy having my elbow in your ribs?"

mike, no longer finding this conversation amusing, stands up and claps his hands. "alright, im bored. will," he turns to him. "clearly they didnt get together on y/n's birthday. they were locked in a death lair and not even steve is dumb enough to make their anniversary that date. so youre out."

steve wants to argue with him, but admittedly he cant.

mike then turns to dustin. "it wasnt july 11th, either. considering the fact that we had funerals to attend and we all know y/n's crippling guilt complex."

"hey!"

"hes not wrong, angel."

you elbow steve again and he doubles over in pain.

then mike turns to nancy. "and it wasnt july 16th because its currently the 27th and theres no way in hell harrington would be able to keep his mouth shut for that long."

again steve really wants to argue with mike, but, unfortunately, hes right.

mike finally turns to jonathan, sighing tiredly. "which leaves us with you and your guess of july 19th. aka: the only possible date left. wow, shocker! jonathan byers correctly guessed something about y/n henderson!" he spins around, glaring at you as if this somehow all your fault. "are we done here now?"

robin, not at all whispering quietly, leans over to max. "this kid has some serious issues."

"like you wouldnt believe," the girl mumbles. "trust me."

dustin shoves mike out of the way, inadvertently causing the teen to stumble into jonathan and fall on top of his sister. "hes wrong, right? please tell me hes wrong. y/n, im your brother. we are blood."

"well, technically mike is wrong. july 19th isnt when we got together." you begin to say, raising your voice when dustin starts to cheer wildly. "it was july 20th, so mike isnt wrong about jonathan winning."

two things happen at once.

first, dustin falls to his knees in despair, screaming in agony as max and el cover their ears and glare at him.

the second thing that happens is dustin regaining his senses and then tackling jonathan, with nancy and will right behind him.

its a mess of screams and screeches as jonathan tries to defend himself, but you simply press your back against steves chest and watch the storm unfold with slight vindication.

serves the fuckers right for betting on your private life like a game of poker.

"how much money do you think our relationship ended up being worth?" steve asks you, wincing under his breath when he sees dustin pinch jonathans nose.

"better be at least $20. if be offended if its anything less than that."

he laughs, the sensation of it sending vibrations down your own body. he kisses the crown of your head. "thats my girl."

"how did you know?" dustin has jonathan pinned now. "how do you always win?"

"get off me! it was just a lucky guess-"

"that was $30 you asshole!"

you hum, pleased. "think i can convince jonathan to give me some of his cut?"

steve laughs again. "only if you give me a percentage as well."

#ask #anon #m speaks #m's writing #come home blurb #set in between seasons 3 and 4 !#I MISSED WRITING THEM RAAAAAAAAH

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cemetegee · 3 days ago

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Does Ianthe Have a (Deadly) Disease? [Theory]

This is a theory which occured to me last night (while I was half asleep), but the more I think about it, the more sense it seems to make! Could Ianthe have a - possibly even deadly - disease? The following post will be a collection of hints my brain collected under the rubric "possibly connected to Ianthe's birth". (While I'm still not sure if all that is connected to her womb situation btw, that's just the collection title.) In this post I will talk about her Mysterious Anaemia, her Weakness (TM), her Knowledge about deadly diseases, her view on the Death, and the reason(s) her parents "risked intervention". So let's go!

The Mysterious Anaemia

The first thing that strikes me as odd in this context is... Ianthe's anaemia. Ianthe canonically has anaemia. Gideon calls her "the anaemic twin" all the time, and (what's of course the more telling hint, since Gideon has actually no clue of medical things) she is really as pale as the dead. Actually, she must have a really severe kind of anaemia, because she is described as having skin the color of "canned butter" and mustard".

(For your rememberance: this is what canned butter and mustard look like:

)

I know, it's easily to forget, and fandom artists almost never show her that way but it IS no exaggeration. White people with severe anaemia really look like that.

And it can't have diet reasons (if she doesn't have some kind of eating disorder). Harrow says that "she couldn't actually be anaemic based on her diet" (Yes, Harrow apparently doesn't know that anaemia can have other causes as well. Maybe because of her lacking knowledge about The Flesh):

Anaemia can actually have two reasons (strongly simplified):

Wrong Diet

It can be the symptom of an other disease

(Next to the obvious thing: blood loss. I actually considered if she could maybe do some permanent necromancy, maybe connected to Corona - but I doubt it, since Harrow could easily look to the Protesilaus thing, and would probably notice it.)

That's a pretty strong hint that she could have some kind of (deadly?) disease.

The Weakness (TM)

The second hint is not only a hint to that Mysterious Disease, but also another proof for the anaemia. It's the corporal weakness Corona explains (and declares to be casual necromancer Weakness):

I know nothing about you, but... To me it sounds (even for a necromancer) oddly "weak". I mean, that's of course only assumption, because we know nothing about specific about necromancer-strenght. (I mean, even Harrow can hold her arms up long enough to paint her face.) And sure, Gideon mocks Harrow all the time for the fact that she can't swing her two-händer... But that's an overmanshigh sword, which is probably even twice as big as Harrow, Ianthe's hair is surely lighter. And it's also an oddly specific (AND therefore probably true) example.

And it's also a symptom of anaemia:

But maybe it's a symptom of the Mysterious Disease as well?

PS: Another interesting thing is that Corona - apparently! - doesn't know about the exact symptoms of anaemia. It could be that she doesn't know about the (suspected!) disease as well.

PPS: As a person who made A WHOLE POST about the possibility of Ianthe having ADHD I should know that she fulfills another symptom of heavy anaemia named decreased attention. (My theory still stands though! Although there may be overlaps of "symptoms", there are still some things about her I can only explain to me with her having ADHD.)

PPPS: Her fucked up sleep rythm is also an indicator for heavy anaemia. (As well as for ADHD btw.)

Knowledge About Deadly Diseases

Another thing which strikes me as odd is her knowledge about deadly diseases. And I'll admit, indeed, at first, it seems as if she'd know nothing more than necromancer gossip.

But Palamedes chronically underestimates her. And a little later, "Dulcinea" mentions a secret of the Seventh House, connected to the "perfect death". She says this:

That could of course be a lie... (Especially since the context she says it in - about how she apparently want to have animated Protesilaus -is definitely not true lol) But it could also be true! Just because Cytherea lies about her identity, it doesn't mean that she lies all the time about everything. (I mean, it IS strange that a whole House would build up its reign on a family of shortliving people with blood cancer, if it does NOT bring any necromantic advantange, isn't it?) What offers the interesting question if Ianthe knows that secret of the "perfect death" as well... (And therefore more than Palamedes here!)

But a topic about which she certainly knows more than Palamedes - or anyone else in the room - is thanergy transfer. And she seems - for some reason - to think that an thanergy transfer of a person as sick as "Dulcinea" was possible. Even after she's been "corrected" by Palamedes before:

Why does she think that? And why has she even knowledge about this case of thanergy transfer? That's an oddly specific and very strange nerd theme - at least for a perfectly healthy person. (And regarding the fact, that she is - unlike Palamedes - NO "medical" necromancer, and therefore doesn't need that knowledge for her "job".) I find the study of such cases to be a very strong hint to her own health.

PS: I don't know how I should put that, it's also obviously no main point, but while we're on Gideon the Ninth: I find it interesting that she never discriminates Cytherea for her disability. I find that interesting, because it IS something you could expect of her. (Since she is not very sensitive with Harrow's mental health in HtN.) And we even have someone who does it: Silas. She does not. I think it wouldn't be so strange if she had a personal relationship to it. (But maybe she's only afraid of Cytherea... I mean, I understand, she is creepy as hell!)

Pain Tolerance

One other thing that makes me think of Ianthe as having some disease is her absurdly high pain tolerance... We see it in the whole second book! For example in the scene where she stabs Harrow's, but also her own hand:

She doesn't even flinch.

And here another example: I mean, obviously she feels pain during the whole arm scene, cutting off an arm, and letting regrow it is apparently a process which is very painful and which even she perceives...

(Although her reactions are of course, uuuum, interpretable. But she feels SOMETHING, okay?) BUT we have an other scene which pretty much implies that she has thought about cutting of her arm herself, and look if it regrows:

(I mean, she takes Harrow serious her. It looks to her like an acceptable option.) My point is, that you need an incredibly high pain tolerance to even CONSIDER that... (To be fair, she hasn't much choice here, but together with the other things I can still see a pattern.)

And that lets me think of something @thanergetic-hyperlinks reminded me of, when I mentioned her pain "resistance" for the first time. PAIN PATIENTS can in fact develop a higher pain tolerance. And... without the context I probably wouldn't think about it, but now I do... could Ianthe be one?

Dying as a Skill Issue

One thing that's actually pretty obvious about Ianthe is (as soon as you've noticed it once) that she... seems to think of dying some kind of Skill Issue. We see it for example in her reception of Abigal's death:

Abigail didn't die because Cytherea murdered her, but because she brought her husband. Because she did something wrong. And Ortus OBVIOUSLY didn't die because he was murdered as well, but because he was too sad.

She leds back dying to a lack of personal qualities. Dying is for suckers.

This idea is... a little bit strange to be honest, and it makes me think... could Ianthe believe that, because she has...a serious problem on the dying side? Because she's facing it, and fears to fail? Is that the reason she wants to become a Lyctor so desperately? (And maybe even some kind of God?)

She was Allowed to Survive

Let's come to the last point! This is about a talk Ianthe and Silas have in Gideon the Ninth. They talk about Ianthe's womb situation, that she'd been about to die, and that her parents risked "intervention". Silas then basically asks why her parents didn't let Corona "kill" her, because that would have made necromantically much more sense than saving her. (Rude, btw)

(Btw, now that I read this scene again I see that there's something super-off with the way Ianthe says that. Either she's lying here or she is hiding something. In any way it seems to be a VERY unconvenient theme for her! It reminds me very much of the Gaslighting scene - only in regard to the vibes.)

And I don't believe for a single second, that her parents did it for her. The Idan monarchs seem to be quite awful people. The main reason why she was allowed to survive is probably that her father wanted a Necromancer Pair as power symbol. The Third is all about show, and they did probably prefer the gleam of two twin necromancers over one more powerful one. (To their luck actuall, because whatever Corona did, it obviously didn't give her the expected powers.)

But I can't help but wonder... if the Mysterious Disease played a role as well? Especially regarding the fact that deadly sick people apparently have a reputation as "the perfect necromancers" among necromancers! Was there any reason to assume, that Ianthe would be especially powerful? Either because of a side effect of her birth situation? And/Or because of... the "promise" of a deadly disease? Why did her parents risk intervention? Silas doesn't seem to think it was a good idea...

Conclusion

Does Ianthe have a (possibly even deadly) disease? I'll be honest... It's possible. There are circumstances which are definitely suspicious, and her desperate wish to become immortal is definitely remarkable. I feel as if we'd miss an important piece. But maybe there is no disease! I wouldn't know, I'm neither a doctor or a biologist! (If you are, please share your thoughts if you have any, I'm genuinly interested) Maybe it all is some necromantic thing that hasn't even to do with our real world at all. And I don't know if it's connected to her birth, although I find a few hints to be there for that as well... To conclude, maybe Ianthe has a deadly disease, it's definitely suspicious, I love her, I love you, thanks for reading, mwah :3

#the thing with Ianthe is also: she is EXACTLY the kind of person who would be dead sick and don't tell it to anybody #even if she'd suffer TERRIBLY from it. because she never can't allow herself to be vulnerable #ianthe tridentarius #the locked tomb #tlt meta #tlt spoilers #tlt theory

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astarionancuntnin · 2 days ago

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Hello! No idea if you’re taking requests, or if they are only Astarion x f!reader, nor how dark you go.

But you think you can write a Gale x f!reader in the third person (Name is just Tav) and Gale is obsessed with having a baby that he and Tav do it every minute even when Tav is asleep?

I'll go as dark as you allow me to go bb (also thank you for your patience oh my god i swear im gonna get through all my requests eventually). fair warning that this is my first Gale fic and i haven't done his romance in game, with that being said-

Silent Night

pairing: gale x tav (fem, not decribed but its implied she looks younger than him by a few years)

rating: E

word count: 3.7k

cw: 18+. smut, mentions of pregnancy, obsessive anxious thoughts, porn with feelings, coercion, unprotected sex, drugging, somnophilia, non-con, breeding kink (and breeding), creampie, using cum as lube, cock soaking, gaslighting, this is a dark one y'all have been warned. full list on ao3.

read on ao3

my masterlist

or keep reading down below~

Ever since getting rid of the Absolute, Gale’s life had been exactly how he had pictured it, and that meant spending most of his days lavishing his wife, Tav. Not a day could go by where he and his beloved did not indulge each other. Not only did they spend every single night at it - it was every single moment they had together: out on a picnic date, while they were cooking, when they were snuggled up on the sofa reading - as if their primal urges could never be satisfied.

Especially Gale’s.

After getting married, he had made it his primary goal to make sure his wife was satisfied at all moments and Gods above did he deliver. Truth be told, his drive had only gone up since they discussed their future, and potentially having a family — a child! Gale could hardly believe it; it was one of his wildest dreams and it was now just within reach.

Growing up alone with his mother, he still struggled with the idea of being a father as he feared to not be up to everyone's expectations — moreso Tav’s — but he couldn’t deny how he hoped he could eventually get the chance to be the father he always dreamed of having. Give his mother grandchildren that she could visit, make their friends aunts and uncles, even new company for Tara; finally have a real family of his own.

They had been careful in the past, however. Tav would always drink a potion that acted as contraceptive before doing anything, and it had been Gale's greatest disappointment. Every time, he wished she'd forget or would dismiss it so he could finally have it his way with her.

Thankfully, Tav was interested in the idea, but he noticed her doubts everytime the topic was brought up.

After everything they had gone through and the uncertainty of their future because of it, she had asked for some time to think about it. Make sure they were appropriately settled in — had a house, a stable income, a place secure for a child to grow up — and yes, of course, that was reasonable, but Gale couldn’t keep his mind from picturing her, with her breasts full of milk and rubbing her belly, swollen with their child.

My, what a sight.

It was enough to get him in the mood to put a damned baby in her.

But, Gale was a patient man, he could wait. Surely, she would make up her mind and have a clearer idea soon enough. She wasn’t saying it just to waste her most fertile years away, only to watch the opportunity fly out the window, or waiting for the next best option in terms of partners. They were married, for Gods’ sake, they had vowed to stay together until death did them apart, and after what they had survived, they were assured to live until their old days; they would be together forever.

…Right?

She wouldn’t just leave him now of all time, now that they were safe and secure. She didn’t just stay out of convenience, surely not. She couldn’t have lost interest since their adventure ended and was just looking for a way out — buying her time until she could safely discard him as Mystra had done to him in the past.

Oh Gods… but what if she was?

It’s not like he was getting any younger. If anything, the stress of destroying the absolute had taken a toll on him that must’ve made him age twenty years in the few months alone it had taken them. It only struck him when he gazed upon his beloved, still the very depiction of youth, as opposed to him. She remained beautiful as time passed by and he loved to admire her, but it was a constant reminder that he wasn’t getting any younger, and the orb in his chest hadn’t helped in the matter either. Even if he figured out a way to live longer, a skill he could learn as a wizard, she wouldn't have the chance to be blessed by those same powers Gale had; he would outlive her and he would be left behind — alone.

Again.

She would have every reason to look for someone more younger, who could age with her, and less broken than he was, and the darkest parts of him couldn’t accept this reality — wouldn’t accept it.

It didn’t matter that they were married, or how many times she had reassured him, those same thoughts came back crawling like a pest.

So that night, before heading to bed, Gale prepared Tav's herbal tea as usual: with chamomile, citrus, and honey — just warm enough to be comforting — and a dose of a special potion he took care of obtaining at the market during his errands earlier, just to make sure she would sleep through the night undisturbed.

Such a good husband! The merchant had exclaimed after he had explained his wife was suffering from insomnia. Taking care of his wife and tending to her utmost care, so thoughtful!

Oh, if only they knew.

They explained in detail the exact effects of the potions, and he didn't need further convincing before dropping a pouch of coins on the table and taking off with the magic concoction.

Upon watching his wife drink the tea he had so kindly prepared, Gale could only see how right the merchant had been — Tav wasn't even halfway through her cup that her eyelids grew heavy, her head wouldn't sit straight, and her entire body screamed at her to go rest.

Gale, the caring and loving husband he is, took it upon himself to bring her to bed and lay her down comfortably, still in her night clothes, with her breathing already heavy with sleep. He pushed her hair aside, letting his knuckles brush against the supple skin of her cheek as he took in the sight of her.

His beautiful wife — almost bare as she wore a short, lilac silk nightgown, and a soft pair of lace underwear, one he would eventually remove tonight to finally take what was rightfully his.

It would be preferable if she were awake, of course, but with the way her own doubts had plagued her mind, Gale thought it fair to give her head a vacation. She could rest peacefully, and he could give her a gift she didn’t know she wanted; he would help her see reason this way and she would have no other choice but to accept it if it just happened to her.

It was for the best, for both of them — he had always been careful, always so damned careful, respecting her wishes; what about what he wanted? What about his needs?

To breed her in the dead of night, leave her with a sticky mess between her legs to wake up to, then offer her another round of morning sex to cover up the soreness he would've caused her the night prior so she could stay completely inconspicuous until her sickness shows up and her belly grows swollen with a new life and—

Oh, Gods above, no, what was he thinking?! He couldn’t do this to her — not like this; not when she was asleep, but… Hells, he couldn’t ignore the throbbing erection this vision had given him. The sheer fabric of his underwear rubbing against his cock made him groan; he wouldn't be able to let it go now… And she was right there, out cold, it’s not like she would mind it if he were to just use her a little, right?

He sighed. Fine, just a touch then, just enough to ease the ache.

He let his hand reach down and underneath his underwear, where his fingers wrapped around his length, hard and angry, and he let go of a heavy breath as he pumped himself just once. Once too many, as it only made him more desperate for what could be around his cock instead of his hand.

Just a few strokes, just enough to satisfy my needs so I can go to sleep.

His grip was strong, but he pumped himself slowly as he eyed Tav's sleeping form. His thumb moved to the head of his cock, where he found a bead of pre-come already dripping, calling out for its home that rested between his wife’s legs. He rubbed it against his tip and slid it over his shaft to lubricate himself — hoping to find some relief with his own arousal — but only found himself wishing it were from his beloved, laying right there in front of him.

Gods dammit… Fine — just a touch, then… just a little… touch…

While one hand kept stroking true, his other one found comfort in the softness of her warm breasts. Small compared to what they could be if she were carrying their child, gorged in milk, but nothing short of delicious, as he remembered their taste in his mouth, his tongue circling around her plump nipple…

Oh, the taste of her–

As she moved in her sleep, he let go, afraid that he had woken her up, only for her to have simply slightly moved her legs apart, naturally lifting her nightgown up above her thighs and allowing Gale a clear view over her beautifully wrapped entrance — all of this without him needing to even lift a finger.

He chuckled nervously, thinking only for a moment she might have been awakened by his lewd touches. Still, she remained unconscious, and he remained painfully aroused by the sight of her barely covered cunt, with her legs wide open. She was right there, ready for the picking, just for him.

Hells, why was he second guessing himself, he had already spiked her tea, it's not like she would know either way; in for a penny, in for a pound, right?

Okay, okay, just a finger, just to pick up her moist and apply it over myself. That's all I need. Nothing more.

He pulled her legs together, just to slide her underwear off, only to be hit with the scent of her arousal completely coating the silk he had pulled away from her entrance.

By the Gods, my love. You're positively soaked. What have you been dreaming of, I wonder?

He brought her underwear to his nose, breathing in her aroma, and a shiver ran down his spine as he let his thoughts wander once again to his original plan. As he looked back to her, legs spread open and slit glistening wet, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind anymore; by the time he would be done with her, her womb would finally be claimed by his potent seed, and she would bear his child whether she wanted to or not.

Hells, forget the finger, I must taste you.

Letting go of his night robe and sliding down his underwear completely, he crawled over the bed and between her legs, settling comfortably with his face right besides the warmth at the apex of her thighs. He wrapped one arm around her soft thigh, while the other hand slid up to her wet slit, squeezing her puffy lips to push her juices out and admiring it drip over their bedsheets.

“Heavens above, my love,” he whispered against her cunt, his low, raspy voice carrying the lust he was done denying himself. “You look simply delicious.”

Bringing his face closer, he pulled his tongue out and pressed it flat against her entrance, swiping up along her slick ever so slowly to collect her essence. A shudder ran down his spine at her taste as he swallowed down her juices.

He murmured, against her core, “Not even the Gods could rival your taste, my heart.”

Using his thumb and finger just below her clit, he spread open her lips to expose her fully to him; pussy wet and enlarged by her arousal, almost as if she knew he was there, as if she subconsciously liked it.

Wanted it.

He breathed heavily over her slit, his mind hazy with lust as he finally dipped his tongue deeper into her folds, working his skilled tongue in and out of her. He took his time to collect her arousal in his mouth and tasted everything she had to offer him; he wanted to please her more than anything else, even as she slept through it all. His tongue circled around her clit and his mouth latched onto it to suckle, until he felt her reaching her first orgasm as she whined faintly in her sleep and her legs twitched — but she remained unconscious through it all, allowing Gale to eat and drink his fill of her.

Pulling back with his chin coated in her essence, he licked his lips with a smile. If this continued to go just as well, he would need to go back to the seller to thank them again.

Satisfied with her taste, and with his cock practically begging for her as he had smeared the bedsheets with his precome, he sat up on his knees and lifted her legs to bring them up and around his waist, then pressed his length over her cunt with a breathy sigh.

“There, there,” he purred as he rubbed his cock along her flushed and wet lips. “That’s a good girl, lying still for her husband. I just need a bit of you, love; you can rest. Just be good for me.”

If there was any doubt of her arousal, now it couldn't be ignored. Despite Gale’s assault of his mouth on her and the certitude he had drank every drop of her come as she climaxed in her sleep, a faint line of her juices dripped down from her entrance as he coated himself with her wet and stained the bed just below them.

I'll just slide the tip of my cock against her entrance, just enough to feel her— Gods, I need to feel her warmth.

No bed sheets or underwear in the way between her and him anymore, which made it all the more simple for him to align her waist with his and push her legs apart as he leaned against her with his arms on each side of her head. His length easily found its way around her warm lips, as he slid between them.

So very soaked for me, fuck— so wet and warm. Just stay like that love, your husband just needs you a little more.

Carefully moving his hips back, he pushed his tips against her entrance, and it didn’t take him long to come to a dreadful realization.

I can't wait any longer — I need this, please forgive me, Gods, I need this.

Slowly, he pushed himself all the way inside of her, and a broken gasp escaped his throat as he hit the end of her channel, filling her completely with his cock. Despite having completely sunk inside of her depths, it still wasn’t enough. He would only be satisfied when she would be filled to the brim with his seed, burst after burst of his cock spilling inside of her until she was leaking with his cum.

He picked up a rhythm — slow and careful at first — but it quickly fastened as he lost himself in the feeling of her tight walls around him, squeezing him even as she was sleeping.

“You little vixen–” he whispered, his voice breaking as he spoke to her as if she were conscious. “Ahhh… Just take it, take it for me. That's right, just like that… Oh, you little tease— you've wanted me to do this, haven't you? Have your husband come and fuck a baby into you as you slept? Are you truly this depraved, love? Are you this much of a whore for your lover?”

As she turned her head around and her arms moved up to touch his chest, Gale thought of the worst right away and slowed down his thrusts once more, but never stopped completely; he couldn’t find the strength within himself to stop now that he had gone this far.

He brought a hand up to softly cup her face and stroke her cheek, “Shhh, please don't make me do this, please, my love.” He whispered, pleading. “Don't fight it, just let it happen, you were doing so well.”

She whimpered, either from a nightmare or the potion wearing off, and brought her floppy arms up to weakly push against Gale's chest. Asleep or not, he couldn't allow her to try and stop him, not now. He picked her wrists and pinned her to their bed as he picked his rhythm back up, pounding into her.

“None of this now, dearest,” he growled. “Your husband is fulfilling his rightful duties to you, and I know you want this, your cunt has been begging me to put a baby inside of you for weeks now. This is for your own good; our own good— fuck—”

When her eyes began to flutter open and she mumbled his name half-asleep, he didn’t need to think twice before casting a sleep spell on her to make sure she would remain calm and docile. He wouldn’t back down now, the best he could do was minimize the damage on her.

His head fell forward, with strands of his hair falling from his messy bun to cover his face and tickle hers.

“I'm sorry my heart,” he pleaded as she slept through his assault, and he wasn't sure anymore if he tried to convince her or himself the most. “You gave me no other choice, I need to take you tonight. I need to make you mine and mine alone. It's for your own good, I promise.”

As if his words had slipped past the veil of her consciousness the moment those words left his lips, he felt her cunt clench around him.

“Oh Gods, even asleep your cunt wraps so tightly around my cock.” He moaned, biting his lips to muffle the desperate sounds fighting to leave his lips. “It's okay, you don't need to use that little head of yours, your body speaks for itself with how it's milking me.”

He wrapped her legs back around his waist and cast mage hands to keep them locked in his back. There was only one way tonight was ending, and he wasn't going to back away until his job here was done.

Despite the sleeping spell and the potion, Tav whimpered as Gale fucked into her recklessly, with a rhythm nearly desperate.

“Fuck, you moan so prettily when you take my cock, I might just burst yet—”

His thrusts started to become sloppy, losing his clean rhythm to replace it by one borderline animalistic as he pressed himself wholly against her body, her breast crushed against his chest with each push of his hips. In the dead of this warm, silent night, the only sounds keeping them company were the sloppy splashes of his hips against hers, his balls slapping against her tight little asshole, and his breathy moans that grew only louder and out of control, barely noticing just how loud he was getting.

“Please let me give you the life we deserve,” he begged, not caring for the sound of his voice anymore. “Let me breed you, bear my children, make me a father– fuck!”

His body pinned Tav down, his cock completely buried into her as he spilled himself in the depths of her womb. With his concentration faltering, she started whining through her sleep spell as if she had fought through it to wake up. With his cock still pulsing his white, hot come inside of her, he brought his lips over hers to muffle her sounds with a one sided kiss.

“Shhh, it’s okay my love, it’s over. You’re okay, I’m right here. I’ve got you. Shhhh…” Gale ushered in her ear as he kept his body pressed against hers, his breath hot against her skin, and brushed away the hair from her face. “Let’s just stay like this for a moment. I need… I need this.”

He stayed inside of her for a few long minutes, until his breath came back to him and his cock went soft inside of her, only then allowing himself to pull out and lay back next to her; it was all too soon when he lost the warmth of her walls around him, and even soft, he knew his cock was missing it's home as it rested sadly over his belly in a puddle of his cum and her essence.

Making sure to avoid any doubt from her, he got up to slip his briefs and her panties back on before sliding back into bed and pulling the covers over both of them, then turned away to pretend to be sleeping. As he finally broke the concentration on his spell, Tav slowly woke up to a sweaty, but very much seemingly asleep Gale.

She shook his arm to take him out of his daze, “Gale? Gale… wake up!”

He turned around as if just woken up, “Gods, Tav,” he mumbled, feigning his fatigue. “What time is it?”

“Did you…” Her voice is sleepy and confused. “Did you fuck me while I was asleep?”

“What?” He exclaimed, raising himself up on his elbows and rubbing his eyes. “Gods, love, who do you take me for? I would never impose myself onto you like that, you must've had a nightmare. Are you quite alright? Come here–”

He brought the back of his hand to rest over her forehead, as if to check her temperature, and pulled back with a worried look.

“Poor thing — you're burning.” He brought her head to rest over his chest as he pet her head, trying to soothe her back to sleep. “Hush now, you're safe, I've got you. Shhh… You’re okay…”

Within minutes, if not seconds later, she slipped back into a restful sleep, with her head moving to the beat of his chest rising, and Gale couldn't help but admire her, chasing away the guilt of his actions as he realized the necessity of it.

The faint light of the rising sun exposed the glistening laying between her legs and pooling over the bedsheets past her panties, and he instinctively licked his lips at the mere thought of it.

Now, there would be no doubt in their future, only a certitude swirling around in his mind.

In time, she will be the most amazing and caring mother.

He just knows it.

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hannahssimblr · 3 days ago

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The air is burning rubber and grill smoke. Hot, like a damp blanket wrapped around us. Wet, if not from the rains, then the air itself. We bike along the black veins of Bangkok. Loud and fragrant, bright with lanterns glowing through the night. An entire world, a million lives under the awnings, darting across the street in random leaps of courage. Tuk Tuks and cars and bicycles weaving in anarchic sequences. As it rains, wet umbrellas catch the lights. Red, yellow, purple, green.

The bike is hot, purring beneath me, slick tarmac and the splash of dirty water over my shoes, as Jonas, behind, curses in English. He is diligent about using my language around me, including when getting hit by a van. His bike slides and crashes to the ground underneath him. I pull my brakes and wait until he’s up again while the traffic weaves around me. He’s fine, as always, only for another scratch on his leg, bleeding, but hardly. His blood is washed thin, then yellow, then away. We say something to each other about how he should have seen it coming, moved quicker. There are no rules here but one: the biggest will go first. We, and our dinged up hired motorbikes, are far from the biggest, and so, as they say, we must get the fuck out of the way.

It’s Brandon, the American from the hostel we arrange to meet at a tiny bar at Khao San Road, a circus of neon I wish I could paint. “Mathematics at Oberlin,” he said when he introduced himself, as though defined by the supposed prestige of his degree. He was visibly disappointed, then, when neither of us had heard of Oberlin, and pivoted to defining himself by his Adderall habit. It isn’t a genuine medical need. He just likes it.

“I’m going to out-drink the Irishman tonight,” he announces to the crowd we’ve gathered amongst. Twelve or more of us, with varying English abilities, huddled under an awning and dodging sheets of rain that spill over the edge.

“Best of luck,” I say, though he will out-drink me, no doubt. My half-Irishness has done nothing to aid my ability to drink without being violently ill. Like the time I tried a pint of Guinness in the smoking area and promptly regurgitated foam down the front of my sweatshirt. I try anyway, drinking things put in front of me with abandon, like a man who doesn’t fear death.

A few hours of this, then several of us do shots of something mysterious served from an old three litre water bottle that is so incredibly strong it instantly activates my gag reflex.

“Deep breaths,” Jonas tells me, his hand on my shoulder out the front of the bar as I fist the back of my hair and suck in lungfuls of air that is too humid to be satisfying.

“I think I’ll probably get sick every single day we’re in Thailand,” I say, quivering with despair over a puddle with my own distorted reflection.

“Maybe you should take a night off, then.”

“I don’t want to.”

He pushes his fringe away from his forehead. It is milk white against his tanned face. “Just because everyone else is doing something doesn’t mean you have to. You’re no less of a man because-”

“I’m not the kind of person that gets peer pressured. I can say no.”

A pause. “Well, yes, I can see that.”

“We’re here to have fun, not to be tucked up in the hostel bunks by ten every night. We’re just-” I fight back a wave of nausea. “-making the most of it.”

“I see. You are enjoying vomiting on the streets every night.”

“Please don’t say that word to me.”

“Okay. You should take a break. Maybe no more drinking tonight.”

I shrug him away, irritated. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”

“Sorry,” he says, and leaves me to gag on my own, though I’m lonely without him there.

I am actually fine after a few minutes, and hours later as the night continues, I find myself with Brandon as he is going on about something, talking at me in a way that is not exactly annoying, yet persistent and unending. I let his words wash over me, that familiar manic cocaine cadence.

We do bumps with him, Jonas and I, every twenty minutes, trips to the bathroom, and then eventually when the bar is so full, and we are squeezed into our corner by dozens of bodies, we do bumps off the hostel key cards and the tips of our fingers. Then I’m talking at Jonas, and Jonas is talking at me, and Brandon at us both while we all pretend to listen, and enjoy so much the feeling of it, the fleeting flames in our blood, the world better and brighter for the few minutes before it fades, and we start all over again.

“What’s better, coke or sex?” Says Brandon, and I get what he’s going for, but this is a stupid question.

“You have an addiction if you’re asking me that.” I remember it is time to call Astrid. I need to tell her something. Slipping my phone from my pocket, I go to outside the bar among the percussive hammer of the rain.

“Hello?” Her voice is sharp and sober.

“Astrid. I’m just calling because I was thinking of you, and I need to let you know how much I love you. Like, seriously love you and I’m so lucky that your my girlfriend, and that you’ve decided to be with me. I miss you so much when I’m here and I can’t wait to come home and be with you again, and I just-”

“Jude, you phoned me an hour ago to say this.”

I rear back, offended. “No, I didn’t.”

“You did. We had this exact conversation.”

I don’t think Astrid really understands the weight of what I’m trying to tell her. I love her. She’s so special to me, and has to know the way I feel about her right now, or I think I might explode.

“I miss you.”

“I know you do, but it’s seven in the evening in Germany, okay? This is not a conversation I want to have with you now. I’m on the way to have dinner with Elias. We discussed this earlier, remember? You called me as I was getting dressed and ready to go out.”

I chuckle and lean my weight against the wall. “Oh. So, what are you wearing?”

“A dress and some sandals.”

“Which dress?”

“It’s green.”

“Hm. Do I know that one?”

“I doubt. It’s from my summer wardrobe, and I just unpacked it.”

“You think I’d like it? Can you describe it?”

A sigh then. “I’m about to go into the station, so I can’t really talk like this with you with so many people around.”

“Astrid,” I whine. “I just feel-”

“You feel the way you always do when you are on drugs. You’ll call me tomorrow and we’ll have this conversation again, I’m sure, but now is not the right time.”

“No, I need to tell you now-”

“That you love me. I know. I love you too.”

“You do?”

“Of course. Let me hang up now.”

“Okay, have fun with Elias.”

“I will. Be good.”

“I promise,” I say, but she’s already gone. I rest my head against the wall, then, and think about Astrid and the way she is, and the sort of complex torture it is to be with her. Her, someone so completely unromantic and sharp and blunt and then me, her polar opposite, and how we still actually love each other despite our differences, and even though it was hard at various times at the start of our relationship — a car drives by beeping its horn very loudly which is quite obnoxious, actually, and I wonder was he beeping at me, like, for a joke, or if there was some traffic situation I am not aware of — we overcame it together and actually learned how to make things work, which is probably the most adult thing I have ever done, if I really think about it.

I think I’ve left a pretty grotesque path of destruction in my wake in the past, in terms of girls and relationships especially, but being with Astrid now proves that I’m able to grow and learn and be a better person, and actually a proper man who acts in ways he could genuinely be proud of, and these are things I would be saying into Jonas’ face right now if he was unlucky enough to be standing here. He wouldn’t like it but he’d probably take it, waiting for his turn to say something long and rambling into my face, too, like, about hiking trails or the deep fried scorpions he saw at that market that we didn’t try because I insisted they were too disgusting for humans to ingest, but he regrets not tasting so he’ll probably go back and get one if they’re still there, even though he can’t remember exactly where the market was anymore because Bangkok is so big and everything is unfamiliar and completely at odds with what we are used to.

Someone rolls down the window of a taxi and takes a picture of me on a phone, which is one of the regular happenings I meant to tell Astrid about before I was overcome with my love for her and went off on that deranged tangent about her dress, and as I watch the taxi tearing away, I wonder if I already told her about all the people who take pictures of me during the blank spot that is our phone call an hour ago, and that today this random woman got me to hold her baby at a temple and took a picture of us together, like I was its dad, or uncle or something, and it was so weird that she trusted me to just hold him and, I don’t know, not run away revealing myself to be a kidnapper of babies, not that I would do that, but anyway, once I agreed to take that one shot like a dozen others came up to me and Jonas and forming a queue and asking for pictures, and it was this weird feeling that I was a celebrity against my will, like I got a taste of what that would feel like, and honestly it was torturous and I hated it so much and I genuinely think if I was famous I’d be one of those that killed themselves or went mad and bought a big castle to live in on my own, like Enya.

Jonas and I eventually fled the gathering crowds, and they took pictures of us doing that too, which was pretty hilarious, to be honest. I wonder if they will put them up on Facebook like, “and lastly, here are the tall men running from us!” Jonas has come out of the bar now, ready, I’m sure to share more regrets and lament about the deep fried scorpions, but his face is stricken, like, in such a way that I understand the topic is more important, and not about scorpions at all, but I’m so busy thinking that I don’t hear his first sentence when he says it to m-

“What? Sorry.”

“A girl. She wants me to go home with her.”

“Oh. Well, you should go if you like her.”

He lets out a shuddering exhalation, standing there in the middle of the dry patch beneath the awning, the knee length khaki shorts, the scabs on his legs. “I’ve never done that kind of thing before.”

“Had sex?”

“No, of course I have. I mean go home with a girl on a one-night stand kind of thing. None have ever asked me to do that.”

“Well, they usually don’t. She obviously fancies you. What are you out here talking to me for?”

“I thought you might have advice.”

“About one-night stands?”

He nods, and I feel a surge of sympathy toward him, this protective emotion that is likely a chemical affliction. The image of him running away from that poor woman without saying a word to come outside and strategise with me is adorable. The urge comes to hug him, but I resist it.

“I’m flattered you think I know a lot about one-night stands, but it’s not like I’ve really done that kind of thing either. I’m a long-term relationship kind of person as a general rule.”

“I sense you know what you are doing more than I do. Even if it is many times with the same woman, you know? At least you know in some way how to–” he breaks off, and I nod, because yes, I know how to– but stand there deliberating over how I can explain to him that nothing about the sex I have with Astrid is normal or replicable in ordinary environments. Not the kind you have with a girl you just met in the bar. Imagine that, like, “yeah, nice gaff. Here, just wondering, when we get into it d’you mind if I spit in your mouth?”

“Ask her what she likes, and do that,” I tell him. “Worst thing you can do is guess.”

Nodding, he says. “Okay.”

“And just be nice. You’re a nice person. Try to, um, project that. Which one is she?”

He directs my attention through the window to the lively scene around the bar, and points out a short brunette in a pair of denim shorts. A non-intimidating presence, a pleasant face. I would probably sleep with her too, not that it indicates something exceedingly wonderful or unique about her, because I would sleep with most women under the right circumstances.

I miss Astrid. I hope she takes a photograph of her green dress and sends it to me, as she sometimes does. “OOTD” she’ll type. As in, “outfit of the day”, and attach a picture of her in a mirror, or the reflection of the U-Bahn door, standing with her knees turned inward in such a way that makes the gap between her thighs appear large. Allegedly a desirable feature.

Maybe later, when I’m alone in the hostel and Jonas is off gently making love to this brunette somewhere, I will succumb to my worst and most desperate version and send Astrid about four messages one after another begging for more pictures, minus clothes this time, and she’ll say no, because it’s still too civilised an hour in Berlin to send nudes to her boyfriend, coked up and wired sleepless for the fourth night in a row in a Thai hostel bed.

Jonas enters the window scene. Under the warm lights, he speaks to her. There is nodding, smiling, shy laughter. She puts her drink onto a table and slings her bag over her shoulder. And I feel like I am watching someone collect a person they barely know at the airport.

The door swings open and noise from within spills onto the streets as they emerge together. Jonas’ hand hovering near her, unsure of whether he should touch her, and then for one moment we meet eyes, and nod, and then he huddles under her umbrella, disappearing into the night.

It only strikes me afterwards that I should have asked him where they were going, in case the girl, whose name I didn’t even ask for, turns out to be some sort of deranged killer. Jen would be aghast at my carelessness, but anyway. He’ll come back in some shape or form. Good for him, really.

Pummelled by rain, the walk home is a slog. My hair, far too long now, shaggy well past the collar of my shirt, sticks to my face and sends rivulets down my cheeks. There is so much water I am constantly blinking it away. Somewhere, in the seedy part of town with the boarded up businesses, red light pours from a doorway. A woman calls to me, knowing by the look of me I speak English.

“Hello, baby, you’re all wet,” she says. “Come inside. I can make you happy.”

I’m happy already, actually. A deeply, sincerely happy man. I round a corner and get sick onto a pile of loose rubbish, watching the semi-digested remnants of my noodle dinner rinse away in a stream of rainwater.

I am soaked to the skin, my socks wet inside my shoes, my t-shirt stuck to my body and heavy with the bulk of the rain. This is rain, I think madly. Real rain. Back in Ireland, it was never like this. It pissed rain, or you’d get that little misty spit, pretending to be rain but refusing to commit. No, this is catharsis. It’s what the Irish weather wishes it had the stones to be.

As I check my phone, no messages. The clock has turned over to tomorrow. June the twenty-first. Midsummer’s day. God, I think, sloshing indiscriminately through a wide, ankle deep puddle. This day last year it rained, too. That day on the beach, when the heavens opened and unleashed a mighty torrent over the coast. Pock marks in the sand. It drove in sideways and washed the beach house windows with salty water that left residue for the entire summer. That boy, the Jude lazing on the sofa watching it, in dry socks and those tracksuit shorts his mother loathed, barely feels like me anymore. I wonder what he’d think if he could see the future, exactly one year from then. Here, man. I’m in Asia. I turned out mostly fine. Life is a journey of discovery and I am… discovering myself.

And I think of her, then, too. That inevitable thought. It’s been nearly a year now since we’ve seen each other, and eight months since I stopped emailing. I forget her sometimes, but then alone on nights like this, she floats into my mind, drifting by on the surface of the sea. The blue of the sky, and her light brown hair floating hypnotically beneath the waves as she laughs, silvery and joyful with the seagulls' caw. A yearning grips me, a sort of gasping desperation to return to that place again, to the simplicity of CDs whirring in the stereo, murmuring together in the sunlight, the crunch of gravel beneath bicycle tyres and sand in the lines of our hands.

That was it. The most romantic time of my life. Nothing complex, only the things I made that way in my head. It was the electricity of my leg touching hers, the intense, whole body sensation of just looking at her, turning to jelly when she looked back. The soft curves of her face in my hands, how just kissing her lit my blood on fire. Then, when kissing meant something to me. In Berlin, I did it just to do it. A thing I did with my lips, a preamble, but it was never a preamble with her. It was the apex. I would have died kissing her.

I shoulder through the hostel door and leave a puddle on the tiles. There is nobody to apologise to, and nothing dry to clean it with, so I leave it there and trudge upwards to the room, where the Nepalese backpackers are snoring in their bunks. They do it so loudly that sleep would be impossible even if I were capable. Luckily, it is not my priority. I strip my clothes off and lie in my bunk. I find my phone and type a message to Astrid.

Outfit pics?

A fruitless endeavour. She’s probably cracking into a crème brûlée with Elias and talking about something intelligent. I go back to my messages and scroll, scroll mindlessly, doing at least a decent job of pretending I am. I go back through the months, dozens of chats, friends, arrangements, happy birthday messages. Back to territory I have never revisited for dread of what I might encounter. Stop.

Evie.

One tap, and my thumb trembles.

17th August 2010 Yeah, so basically you just get the bus to Clontarf. I live on Vernon Ave so you can either get off near the shops or Seafield road. Okay, sounds fine. I’ll probably leave soon. Text me if you have any problems. See you in a few hours.

Weird. I thought we might have said something else, showcased more personality, or given more away about our feelings, but I have discovered an uninspiring chat, revealing nothing about us and who we were. Another tap then, on the text box, like adding a chapter to an unfinished novel.

Hey, do you still think about last summer?

Paragraph.

Because I do, to be honest. Been thinking about it tonight. How are you?

Tap. I send it, and my nose runs. I wipe it with my finger and it comes away dark, thick. The back of my throat tastes like iron now. I curse under my breath and sit up. Blood drips on the sheets and I quickly block my nostril with my thumb. It’s fine. This happens sometimes. I go to the bathroom and stuff a wad of toilet paper up my nose, pinching the bridge for a while until it slows. My face in the mirror is insane, my hair curly and half-dry, blood crusted around my nostril. I wet the toilet paper and clean it away, then flush it down the toilet, brilliant red, circling, circling, then gone.

Back in the bunk, my phone glows. A red exclamation mark beside my last text.

! Not Delivered

I stare at it. I hit the power button. Fuck it. For the best, I think, then roll over and try to sleep.

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#lucky boy 2011 #happy new year friends I have returned #this one was a big one and i was putting it off #but i think it turned out so good!#visually and also in terms of the content #he's finally thought about her out loud are you happy #prob not #drugs tw #blood tw #vomit tw

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