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writing-intheundercroft · 6 months

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You're Gonna Go Far - O. Gaunt

AO3 Link

Word Count: 10,956

Rating: E (The boys are in a fraternity, Smut, Oral Sex (F receiving), Unprotected Sex, NSFW, MDNI)

Summary: It's the night before graduation, and Ominis Gaunt is moving to New York City next week. There isn't much time left to say all the things that have gone unsaid over the past seven years.

A/N: I'm in the loveliest Ominis server on Discord, and this is dedicated to @grandeoatmilklatte, who inspired frat president Ominis. I hope you enjoy!

You walk up the steps of the splintered porch, taking great care to not slip on the beer a freshman has dropped on the stoop. Graduation ceremonies start in the morning and the spring chill has broken, giving way to a gorgeous May evening. It’s just warm enough that you’ve got the slightest glisten on your collarbone from your fast pace walk, abandoning the bar scene for your best mates’ last frat party ever.

“Very nice,” a voice purrs behind you. “You do always look pretty when you polish up.”

You roll your eyes, swatting at a sweaty Lucan Brattleby as he dodges your aim. “Buzz off, Luc. Have you seen Sebastian and Ominis?”

“Sebastian is somewhere getting his face sucked off by Cressida,” Lucan chuckles, brushing back his curly mop. “And I haven’t seen Ominis all night, except when he yelled at me for trying to get into his room.”

You raise an eyebrow, resting a hand on your hip as you bounce your heel against the porch. You swallow away the lump in your throat, hoping Ominis isn’t off getting slobbered on by a girl. Whatever liquid courage you’ve consumed this evening is already wearing thin, and the sight of Ominis with a stranger might shatter you.

“And why were you trying to get into his room?” You ask, trying to pry.

Lucan shrugs. “Well, the president’s room gets passed down to the next president,” he jerks his thumb back to himself proudly. “And I wanted to measure for my furniture next semester. I think I could fit a wet bar in there.”

You try to stifle your snort, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “I’m going in to find him,” you announce, stepping through the threshold. With the door open, the music bleeds out onto the porch.

It’s so loud, you can feel the bass from the music thumping in your stomach. Garreth is in the kitchen, peddling some of his tonics; Amit and Andrew are in the living room, scolding some younger students for touching the large telescope situated by the windows. You spot Sebastian leaning against the stair railing, a cup of beer in his hand. You have to wade through a sea of bodies just to reach him.

”It’s about time you showed up,” Sebastian teases, swirling his beer. Your freckled friend has his shirt unbuttoned quite low, and you notice several young ladies shooting jealous glances your way. It's laughable that they'd be envious - Sebastian has never been anything more than a pesky brother to you, growing even closer in the years since Anne's passing.

”I thought you would be getting your face sucked off by Cressida,” you mock Lucan’s words, and Sebastian groans.

“I’ve been trying to escape her all night,” he tilts his head, appraising your outfit. Sebastian can be a touch overprotective when you go out on the town, and you wouldn’t put it past him to say something about how cold you must be in your slip dress. “Bar night with the girls go well?”

”Imelda had to take Poppy home before she puked in another planter. Think she has a few of Garreth’s brews before we even hit the town.” you laugh as you talk about your roommates, crossing your arms over your chest. “And if you’re going to criticize my clothes—“

“I think you look beautiful,” Sebastian offers. “Ominis is going to think so too.”

You blush. “Ominis doesn’t care for clothes.”

”Ominis cares for you ,” Sebastian points out, lifting the cup to his lips. “Have you seen him yet?”

You shake your head. “I was going to check his room, but didn’t want to stop him if he was…er, busy .” you wave your hands erratically, hoping Sebastian would get the gist of your implication.

Sebastian snorts, grinning over the edge of the plastic cup. “Definitely not. Tell you what, head up to his room—I’ll send him up when I see him.”

You swat at him, but head up the stairs to the third floor anyways. Passing by throngs of students enjoying the last weekend of term, you push your way to the door neatly labeled O. Gaunt, President.

The door seems to know you’re one of Ominis’s welcomed guests, so it unlocks itself for you. Ominis has always been nifty at protective spells, his door clearly charmed to only let in select visitors. And much to your relief, the room is empty.

You walk around the room, the door left ajar behind you. Ominis is a simple man, not keeping much more in his room other than a bed, desk, and the textbooks stacked neatly on his dresser. The suit he’s been planning to wear to graduation is draped across the back of his armchair, but that’s not what catches your eye. What calls your attention the most are the two graduation gowns hanging in the closet–from afar they look identical, but you know better than anyone the implication behind both.

“I thought you were out for girls night.”

“I couldn’t miss your last party ever, could I?”

You hear Ominis’s familiar breezy laugh. “I’d much rather be at a bar myself right now. It’s an absolute madhouse downstairs. I've been trying to keep it civilized.”

You don’t turn around; instead, you remain standing in Ominis’s closet, dragging a finger over the thick robe, trimmed with black and green velvet. Ominis had originally planned to wear the same plain polyester school-issued robe as Sebastian, but a large box arrived on the front porch of the house earlier in the week. You, Sebastian, and Garreth lingered in the living room as Ominis carefully unwrapped the parchment paper, revealing a box with a gilded Gladrags logo. Inside was the luxurious robe, accompanied by a satin stole. It had the Gaunt family crest embroidered on the chest, the family motto dancing around his neck in metallic silver thread.

Ex auro purissimo sanguinis. The purest of blood.

It was the first he’d heard from his family in almost six months–the note from Marvolo had stated if Ominis was going to represent the family in an official capacity, he needed to dress the part. Ominis immediately set the offending notecard on fire, the fancy box quickly thrown out their window and into the dumpster below. It was only after you’d gotten back to your flat that Sebastian texted; the box was empty in the trash can, but both the fancy robe and stole were hanging in Ominis’s closet.

“Which one will you wear?” You ask, turning your gaze over your shoulder.

Ominis smiles, pushing a stray strand of blonde hair from his forehead. Your devastatingly handsome best friend leans against the doorway, a red cup resting in his hand. Ominis has never been one to dress down–his version of a party outfit is a pair of neat, chino pants, an ironed button down layered over a tee shirt emblazoned with his fraternity letters. He fiddles with the handle of his wand in the other, the tip glowing a soft hazy red as he made sense of your placement in the bedroom.

“I think you know,” Ominis muses, swiftly moving from the doorway to his bed. “Wasn’t nearly as difficult of a decision to make as I thought. The boys are my family now. Have been for a while.”

He sits atop the rickety full-sized bed, the springs of his mattress creaking beneath his weight. You nearly laugh; Ominis is so tall, he looks comical perched on the misshapen bedframe. He’s never been good at transfiguration, but he’s too stubborn to let anyone else help him with his furniture. Despite the odd furnishings, the rest of Ominis’s bedroom is neat and tidy. His striped sheets are pristine, the duvet folded at the edge of the bed. It’s a far cry from Sebastian’s room, which is littered with papers and broken quills, or the room that Andrew and Garreth share at the end of the hall. The two have nearly come to blows several times in the last semester over who would take the trash out.

“You still haven’t packed,” you hum, moving away from the closet and back over to his desk. He hasn’t returned his books to the library yet, his magical ethics and muggle studies textbooks are still cracked open from finals.

“I’ll get around to it,” Ominis shrugs.

“Lucan’s been bothering me about you packing,” you perch yourself on his desk chair. “Something about him wanting to get in and measure, so he can plan his furniture layout. Said he wants to put a bar in the room.”

Ominis rolls his milky blue eyes, lifting the red cup to his lips. “Lucan isn’t president yet,” he reminds you. “I’m not sure when I’ll fully move out of the house. And he cannot build a wet bar in the bedroom, that’s unsanitary.”

You snort, spinning around slowly in the chair. “It’s nearly two o’clock. You’ll have bags under those pretty eyes of yours if you don’t get to bed soon. Should I kick everyone out?”

Ominis laughs, setting the cup on the floor as he leans back in bed. “Let them have their fun,” he says fondly. “Sebastian needs one last party before he starts his rotations at St. Mungo’s. Besides, I bet Garreth is making a fortune off his potions tonight. Might as well clear out his entire stock on graduation parties. ”

You smile faintly as the music from downstairs bleeds up into the bedroom. As far as fraternity houses go, there are certainly more posh ones on campus. Ominis had been a legacy of the richest fraternity at school, one mostly of fellow purebloods and former Slytherins. They’d spent the whole of first term trying to recruit him, baiting him with lavish dinners, free entrance to the clubs, and all the illicit beverages and substances one might desire. But that wasn’t Ominis–unknowingly, they drove him even further into the opposite direction. You can still remember bid day, and the shock on everyone’s faces when Ominis turned down their bid to join a humble off campus house with Sebastian. His family had been furious, specifically Marvolo–you can still remember the shouting match the brothers had gotten into, Marvolo slamming the dorm room shut after tearing Ominis to shreds.

Whilst most of the student body had expected Ominis to fade into obscurity after his controversial choice, quite the opposite happened. Ominis truly flourished without the influence of his family, instead patching together a group of unexpected brothers. He surprised everyone when he became president his second year of uni, bringing some order to the rowdy gang of brothers with his natural born leadership skills. What felt like a mishmash of random Hogwarts alumni suddenly became a little family, held together with Ominis as the glue.

All in all, the shy, skinny Slytherin you once knew has really come into his own.

“Knut for your thoughts?” Ominis asks, breaking you out of your reverie.

“Nothing,” you shrug, fixing the strap of your dress as you spin around once more. “It’s just weird, that’s all.”

“What’s weird?” Ominis asks softly, playing with his wand. The tip has stopped glowing; he’s comfortable enough around you to not need his guide.

“That tomorrow, you graduate.” you utter. “And then, you’re gone.”

“Ah,” Ominis bites his bottom lip. “ That .”

It’s a subject the two of you have been avoiding for a while. Ominis had spent the last few summers interning for the Wizengamot, fully expecting to work for them after graduating with his law degree. Again, to everyone’s shock, Ominis had announced his intentions to apply for a position in the foreign office, working for MACUSA. You can still recall the doubt on Ominis’s face, brows furrowed as you and Sebastian helped him fill out his application before the deadline. It had taken nearly an entire night, Sebastian snoring in an armchair while you sent the application off with an owl in the dark sky.

“We don’t even know if I’ll get it,” Ominis had said.

“You’re going to get it,” you assured him. There was never a doubt in your mind.

Ominis received news of his placement with MACUSA at the end of fall term. He was offered his first choice, a position in the foreign relations office, his first day of work being June 1st. The celebration had lasted an entire week, until Garreth finally ran out of fizzing whizzbeer. The night was especially memorable, considering Ominis had also broken up with Nerida in the middle of the party. He was unphased by both her screams and the beer that had flown in his face, Andrew and Garreth having to drag her out of the house. When asked about it the next morning, he’d merely shrugged it off. They hadn’t been dating longer than a month , Ominis pointed out. Besides, he would be off to America soon enough. Best to leave without baggage.

That thought sank in your stomach like a hot ball of lead.

“We really should start packing,” you remind him. “Unless you plan on arriving in New York with just a suitcase.”

“Maybe I’m thinking of not going,” Ominis mumbles. He leans back on the bed, unseeing eyes blinking up at the ceiling as he fumbles with his hand. “I know it looks bad on my part to decline a job this late, but–”

“Excuse me,” You gasp. “No buts, Ominis Gaunt. You’re going to New York.”

“But what if they need me?” Ominis blurts. “Sebastian will be in London on his own, and you know he hates being alone now that Anne is gone. And Lucan is still a little shit, he may need more experience before he’s ready to be president. I worry he’ll bring his little dueling betting ring into the house, and I won’t stand to see the boys gambling their lives away.”

“Ominis,” you warn him. “You’re going.”

“And what about you?” Ominis asks softly. “You still have a year left here, I hate the thought of you being here by yourself.”

You pull yourself closer to the bed, the wheels of his desk chair squeaking on the floor. “I’m going to be okay, Ominis.” You promise him. “You know, if you’re this anxious about it, we should probably get you a better cell phone. I know how you feel about those muggle devices, but Sebastian and I really do find them useful. Not that owls aren’t efficient, but a transatlantic journey would take them quite a bit–”

Ominis’s hand is on yours, the sensation knocking the wind of your chest.

“You’ll be fine,” he murmurs. “It’s me I’m worried about.”

You stare at him, thankful he can’t see your gaze.

Ominis has been your best friend for years now. You can still remember him yelling at you the first time you left the Undercroft, his ire quickly fading away as soon as Sebastian forced the two of you into close proximity. You’d shared more in common than you thought–a love for pranks, warm naps in the hallways, and an oddly similar affinity for banoffee pie. It wasn’t long before the three of you had become a package deal, hardly ever seen without the others. It only made sense the three of you would go off to uni together after Hogwarts, you becoming somewhat of a house mother to Ominis, Sebastian, and the rest of the boys.

With that, you’d also spent the last four years of university watching Ominis date other girls. There had never been anyone too serious, most of them being old acquaintances from Hogwarts, or pretty girls who’d stumbled into their parties. They usually only lasted for weeks at a time, Ominis claiming he was far too busy taking care of his own brothers to handle a girlfriend as well. Usually in the end, the ladies would come sobbing at your doorstep, all wondering why they couldn’t get Ominis Gaunt to commit.

At the same time, you’d had your fair share of fun and trouble at university–bad boyfriends, a few failed classes, all distracting you from your independent study on ancient magic. Enough so, you needed an extra two semesters under your belt to catch up on your dissertation.

“Are you scared?” you ask, voice soft.

“Maybe,” Ominis admits, and it’s the first time in a very long time you’ve heard him express doubts. “The idea of being alone in New York is scary. I’ve had you and Sebastian by my side for the last seven years, and I won’t know anyone.”

“You’re going to be great, Om.” you remind him. “You’re going to make a name for yourself in New York. What would make you think otherwise?”

Ominis is chewing on his lower lip, thumb running over the back of your hand. “Marvolo called the this morning,” he admits, pointing to the little brick of a phone you and Sebastian had bullied him into buying. “It wasn’t good.”

“Oh, Om.” You sigh, pulling yourself closer. From this distance, you can smell the cool musk of his cologne, one of the little luxuries he maintains for himself. “What happened?”

Ominis hangs his head low, shaking out his dirty blond hair. He normally has it gelled back, tidily done, but it seems a bit messy and disheveled. Out of character for your best mate.

“Said I was an embarrassment to the family,” Ominis mumbles. “That I should’ve taken the opportunity to work at Mulciber’s firm, and that Mother and Father are astounded I’d work for the government, let alone the Americans .” he says dramatically.

“Your brother is an arse as usual,” you say defiantly. “And he has no idea how hard you’ve worked for this. Ominis, you’re the greatest treasure your family has ever lost, and I look forward to watching you prove them wrong.”

Ominis offers a small smile. “See? What am I going to do without you as a voice of reason?”

Affection is nothing new for you. The minute Sebastian and Ominis began bringing you around their brothers, it was made blatantly obvious that you were off limits. Sebastian had threatened everyone, reminding them that you were practically their sister, and anyone who tried to make a pass at you would be dealt with swiftly. The first time one of the older boys had tried to kiss you, Ominis challenged him to a duel on the spot. Within seconds, Ominis’s opponent was arse down on the floor, your best friend wrapping an arm around your shoulder to see if you were okay.

Nights spent in the library, sitting shoulder to shoulder as you studied. Movie nights at the house, your legs tangled on the couch while Sebastian complained about sitting on the floor. The two of you dancing around the kitchen, cooking up dinner while Lucan and Garreth played exploding snap at the table. You can feel the thick lump forming in your throat as you try to imagine the next year without him.

“Remember what I said,” you swallow away your sadness. “If you want to go far–”

“You’ve got to go far.” Ominis repeats. “I know, you’re the one who told me to apply.”

You place your hand on his cheek, which is still rosy from the beer he’d been drinking. “You’re going to go to New York, Ominis. And if you want to come home, we’ll be here. Sebastian and me, we’ll be here.”

Ominis holds your hand to his cheek, blinking up at you through his thick lashes. Something about the moment is far too intimate–you know you should leave, go back to the party downstairs. There’s music still playing in the distance, your friends are still dancing, yet you’re here, alone with Ominis in his room.

“Can I ask you a question?” Ominis asks.

“Ask away,” you whisper.

You can see the way he moves his hand, dropping his wand onto the nightstand next to his bed. His right hand is still on top of yours, keeping it glued to his warm cheek. The other hand hooks behind your knee, fingers dancing over the soft skin. He’s taller than you, and his knees slot between yours, legs knocking into each other.

“Have you ever–” he clears his throat, eyes fluttering as he tries to verbalize his thoughts. “Have you ever thought about us?”

“What about us?” You ask dumbly.

To your despair, Ominis pulls away. He hastily tugs his hands from your body, pushing the desk chair to put distance between the two of you. It’s faster than you could’ve imagined; your brain is still processing his question while he’s already got his wand in hand, hastily making a way towards the door.

“Ominis, stop!” You demand.

“It’s dumb,” He ignores your words, wand lit red as he stomps across the room. “It was just a thought–”

“Ominis,” you repeat, standing up.

“We should go back out to the party–”

“I have,” you choke out. “I have thought about us.”

Ominis has his head pressed against the cheap pine door. One hand is on the door knob, the other fondling his wand. You can sense his trepidation as he slowly stows his wand in his back pocket, turning to face you once more.

“You have?” he croaks.

“I have,” you parrot back the words to him.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Ominis demands.

“Because,” you’re shaking now. “Because if I told you, you wouldn’t have applied. And we’re best friends, Ominis, who knows what we’d be getting ourselves into.” the words tumble out of your mouth.

The idea of life with Ominis had never crossed your mind–not until Poppy had proposed it earlier in the school year, pointing out how he doted on you. The first to offer you a drink, always free to walk you home at the end of the night. If you were going through a breakup, Ominis would drop everything to be at your doorstep, a bottle of wine and takeaway in hand. He’s sat on your couch listening you rant about horrible dates at least a hundred times now.

He’s perfect for you, Poppy had said.

But he’s my best friend, you’d argued back.

It was only after that conversation that you’d began to see Ominis differently. The way his eyelashes fluttered when you brushed hair out of his face, or the way a warm blush would creep on his cheeks whenever your skin touched his. On more than one occasion you found yourself biting the inside of your cheek whenever his shirt roved above his waist. Worst of all, you couldn’t help the bile that would rise in your throat whenever you saw him chatting with another girl, the acrid taste coating your tongue.

Ominis is perfect, every inch of him being boyfriend material. There’s no mistaking that. Your fear lies in the fact that Ominis is your closest confidant, one of your best friends. While painful, it almost seems easier to hang in the balance of not getting to love him rather than losing him.

“What would we do if we realized we were no good for each other?” you blurt. “You’re my best friend, Om. I wouldn’t be able to bear it.”

“Bear what?” Ominis muses.

Oh, it’s cruel the way he looks so handsome. His lips are curved in somehow both a smile and a grimace, dancing around the inevitable question.

“Don’t make me say it,” you feel weak already.

“Please,” Ominis asks, voice teetering on the edge of politeness and desire. “Say it, please.”

“I wouldn’t be able to bear it if we didn’t work out,” you confess. “Because it’s you, Ominis. I love you.”

You’ve told each other you love one another plenty. The first was at the end of fifth year, when the three of you were departing for separate summer holidays. Again, when you graduated and you cried about how much you were going to miss Hogwarts. Both of you with Sebastian, at Anne’s funeral the summer after freshman year. Throughout all of university, through texts, phone calls, kisses on the cheek before you leave the bar at the end of the night.

Hiya, love you. Love you, get home safe. You’re annoying, but love you.

This time, it’s different. It’s no longer a statement, it’s a confession.

“You love me.” Ominis says slowly.

“Ah, fuck.” you swear, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “This is so not how I thought tonight would go.”

“If you love me,” Ominis asks, voice shaky. “Why did you tell me to apply for the MACUSA job?”

“Because it’s what you want,” you whisper. “And you’re going to be so, so good at it, Ominis. It’s a fresh start where no one will care who your family is, and that’s what you need.”

“Even if it means I’m going to live far away?” he asks, cheeks reddening.

Your fingers curl into your palms, nails pricking skin. “You always talked about getting away from your family. It sounded like the best option for you–you’d get to do something you truly love, something you’re good at. You’re going to help people, and you’re going to be more than a Gaunt. It’s the best thing for you, Ominis.”

“But what if I wanted you?” Ominis asks, voice strained. “What if I wanted to stay?”

“I wouldn’t want that.” You admit. “If you’re going to stay, it has to be for more than me. Not that I think you’d stay for me, specifically–I mean, I’m sure Sebastian would love for you to stay home too, and Garreth would miss you–”

Ominis pauses for a moment, his mouth opening and snapping shut as he thinks. Part of you is curious at what he might say, the other is so embarrassed you’re ready to chuck yourself out the window of his third floor bedroom. You might land in the rose bushes, which will undoubtedly hurt, but a broken bone will hurt certainly less than rejection from your best friend.

“Say something, for the love of Merlin–”

He doesn’t.

Instead, Ominis launches himself off the door, closing the distance between you in four quick strides. The desk chair is practically thrown out of the way, tipping onto its side as Ominis slinks a hand around your waist. You can feel his breath on your cheek, head tipped against yours as he presses your back against his misshapen desk.

“Ominis!” you shriek, watching him swipe everything off his desk and onto the floor. His heavy books clatter against the hardwood floor, landing with a loud thud. He wastes no time lifting you onto his desk, tugging your legs closer to the edge as he slots himself between them.

“Tell me,” Ominis pants, his forehead pressed against yours. “Tell me you’ve thought about this before.”

You groan as his mouth descends upon yours. Your hands are tangled in his thick hair, his fingertips pressing into your waist as he kisses you with a bruising force.

“I have,” you moan into his mouth.

Ominis moans in return; it’s a sound you’ve been trying to imagine for the last six months, and it sounds so much better in real life. Your hands slip under the edge of his well worn t-shirt, feeling the warm skin underneath. Ominis has always been long and lithe, and his toned muscle feels just as good as you’ve thought it would. Feeling your nails scratching his skin, Ominis pulls away to mark kisses up and down your throat.

You surge forward, hips trying to close the little distance between your center and Ominis’s body. You can feel his clothed erection throbbing against your thigh, his head tilted back up to kiss your lips. A large palm settles on your breast, tentatively swiping over a clothed nipple. At your gasp, Ominis pauses; he leans his forehead against yours, breathing heavily as you both register the current state of events.

“That was our first kiss,” Ominis groans. “And I acted like a complete boor.”

You snort. “Took you about two minutes before you had your tongue in my mouth and a hand on my chest. Not one for subtlety, are you?”

Ominis snorts too, leaning his forehead against your shoulder as he rests his hands on the desk behind you. “To be fair, I’ve been thinking about your breasts for the last six years. Didn’t want to waste any precious time I have left with them.”

It’s funny and romantic, and also heartbreaking. If you think about Ominis leaving, you may burst into tears.

“Hey,” Ominis whispers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to kill the mood–”

You press your mouth against his; he’s unprepared, so your teeth gnash together. Ominis quickly adjusts, letting you dominate the kiss.

“Let’s just focus on right now,” you plead. “We can talk about New York after—but not now.”

Ominis pulls away slightly, a small smile growing on his lips. He’s blinking rapidly, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

“What?” you demand, running a hand through your hair.

“Just happy that it’s us, finally.” Ominis admits. “You and me.”

His little smile is everything, you think. And while you love the sweet expression, you want to see the faces Ominis makes under more amorous circumstances.

“Ominis,” you coo gently, taking his hand and placing it on your chest. He’s fully red in the face, mouth agape as you guide him at palming your breast. He gets the message, taking control as your hands rest on his shoulders.

“I’ve never told you, but I love it when you wear these dresses,” Ominis muses, his free hand trailing up your thigh. “They’re soft, just like you.”

Your breath catches as his hand snakes upwards, squeezing your bottom. The edge of your short dress is rucked up to your waist as Ominis feels the lace, hovering dangerously close to your center. It’s so intimate, a lengthy departure from your normally buttoned up, proper friend who hates kisses on the cheek. Your head tilts back, a moan on the tip of your tongue as the hand once squeezing your behind starts tracing the edge of your thong.

“No fair,” you wheeze, tugging on his shirtsleeves. “If I’m arse out, you’ve got to take some clothes off too.”

Ominis lets out a loud laugh as he removes his hands from you, letting the button down fall to the floor. Your hands pull at his t-shirt, helping him take it off. The second the letters fall on the floor, your hands fly up to his chest, roving over the pale planes.

“You’re vulgar, too.” Ominis chuckles. “One of the many things I admire about you.”

“Oh yeah?” You ask, lacing your fingers with his. Your nose bumps into his chin, helping him make sense of your position. He tilts his face down, hot breath fanning your cheeks. “Soft and vulgar, two very different words you’re using to describe me.”

“At first it irked me,” Ominis confesses. “When we first met. But after I got to know you, I realized you’re just loud because you’re having fun. And life didn’t need to be so stuffy.”

“That’s sweet,” you admit.

“You make everything better,” Ominis says, lips hovering closer towards yours again. “You always have.”

“I’d say the same about you.” you whisper, lips brushing against his in a chaste kiss.

Ominis has no more restraint left in him. He surges forward, hands cradling your cheeks as he kisses you. You’ve never seen him kiss anyone like this before–Ominis is always polite and tender with his conquests. This Ominis is pure hunger, making up for lost time.

You drag your nails up and down his back as he kisses you breathless, only stopping when he pulls away.

“Are you okay with this?” He asks, voice tinged with desperation. “Because there’s no going back.”

There’s no mistaking what this is–you’re crossing the boundary with your best friend, making love while you still have time to do so. If it were any other occasion, you might blame the alcohol going to your head, but no decision has ever felt more sane.

It’s Ominis.

“Yes. I want this,” you utter, and that’s that.

Ominis tugs you away from the desk, fingers slipping under the thin straps of your dress to pull it down. The slinky fabric pools at your ankles while his hands rove over your body. His fingertips dragging over every curve, while you work the buttons of his pants. He spins you quickly, pushing you onto his rickety bed as he steps out of his pants.

“I hate your bed,” you groan, bouncing on the springy mattress. “You should’ve let me help you with the spells.”

Ominis lets out a breathy laugh as he hops towards you, kicking away a pant leg. “It’s fine . I don’t understand why you’re complaining, it’s a bed.”

It’s your turn to snort, chuckling as Ominis feels around the bedspread for you. You tuck your knees up to your chin, darting away from his touch. You can tell just how frustrated he is, blonde hair falling in his eyes, patting around the bed.

“I want to feel you,” he complains, sinking into the mattress across from you. “I want to take my time with you tonight.”

“Then feel away,” you breathe, letting him catch hold of your ankle.

Ominis licks his lips, eyes fluttering as he presses a searing hot kiss to your ankle. The kisses start trailing up your leg, stopping intentionally every few seconds. His teeth graze the inside of your knee, and the whimper that comes out of your mouth is downright embarrassing.

“Now I want to taste you,” Ominis murmurs, hooking your legs over his shoulder. Before you can respond, his teeth are dragging against the flimsy fabric of your thong. One hand pulls it aside, the other bracing your hip. Without warning, the blond takes a long, deliberate lick. With your taste on his tongue, Ominis loses his self control and tears away the scrap of fabric, tugging it off your body and tossing it.

“Ominis!” You shriek, head tilting back to his pillows.

You can tell he’s smiling from the way his cheeks lift, eyes squeezing shut as he presses a kiss to your clit. His pace is maddening, lazily lapping as he pins your hips down. Ominis shakes his head, his tongue finally circling against your clit again once you’ve whined enough.

“You taste so good,” he groans.

“Just like you’ve imagined?” You utter between the sharp gasps he’s eliciting from you.

Ominis doesn’t respond, instead sucking hard on your clit to express his answer. He’s clearly turned on by your gasps and the sound of your wet cunt, the auditory stimulation driving him to grind his hips against the squeaking mattress. At this rate, his fingertips may leave bruises in the crease of your thighs. Never did you ever imagine Ominis Gaunt’s head between your legs, but now you really can’t imagine going the rest of your life without his mouth on you.

“Ominis, please,” you strain, reaching out to grasp his hair. The sharp tug has him growling against your skin, still relentless in his slow, thoughtful method. His tongue darts into your cunt at an excruciating tempo.

“I told you,” he hums, sinking teeth in your thigh as he gives you a momentary reprieve. “I’m going to take my time with you. And if that means I’m here, all night–then so be it.”

In your daze, you hardly notice the fact that he’s now slipped his fingers inside of you, slowly pumping them as he kisses your clit again. With every stroke you feel the band tightening in your stomach, the overwhelming urge to snap coming any moment. You paw at his head, anything to express how close you are, but he relents with his pace. When his fingers curl inside of you, you slam your head back against the pillows again, a ragged cry tumbling off your lips as you come.

Ominis pulls away, your slick glistening his chin as he gives you a smug smile. Your heart is hammering in your chest at the sight of him, cheeks red and panting from giving you the most glorious head you’ve ever received to date.

“Did I do well?” He asks, almost a bit shy.

You try to get up, but your quivering legs fail you. “You’ve rendered me boneless,” you laugh, pressing a hand against your chest.

Ominis pulls himself up over you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You can still taste yourself on his mouth, flooding your head with filthy ideas.

“Your turn,” You murmur, mustering the strength to pull yourself up. You push Ominis over, and he falls against the bed. Somehow, your bodies know just how to move around each other–there is no awkward fumbling. When you’ve known someone for years, spent half your school years cuddled up together in naps, you just know how to maneuver around one another.

Ominis sits against the headboard, the pillows propped behind his back. When he feels your hands touch the waistband of his boxers, he instinctively lifts his hips, letting you drag them down his legs. His aching length springs free, slapping against his stomach as you crawl towards his lap.

“How does this feel?” You ask, adjusting your legs to straddle him. You know he can feel how wet you are, dripping against his cock. While your hands rest against his shoulders, Ominis’s arms wrap against your waist, all but pulling you down to grind against him. Waiting for his answer, your eyes scan every inch of his face to commit each beauty mark to memory.

Ominis presses a quick kiss to your nose, eyelashes fluttering in the way you love. “You feel so warm.” He groans, his cock twitching against you. The feeling of him against you sparks a familiar ache between your legs. His jaw hardens when you slip your hand between your bodies, gripping him to guide his blunt head to your center.

“I love you,” Ominis chokes out as you sink onto his length. His hands fly from your waist, now roving all over your body. He’s consuming you, touching every single surface he can manage. You both gasp as you bottom out, his head tipping back against the headboard with a thud.

“So good for me,” Ominis garbles out in broken syllables. “You’re...you feel so...”

You surge forward, lips pressed against his. His kisses melt against your mouth as he tries to rock upwards into you.

“We could’ve been doing this for ages,” Ominis complains, his nimble fingers tangling in your hair.

“Instead we’ve been just friends,” you chuckle, rolling your hips. Your hands are gripping the headboard behind him, forehead pressed against his as you grind against each other.

“Idiots,” Ominis mutters, catching your lower lip with his teeth. “We’re idiots.”

You shift your feet underneath you, bouncing up and down on his length. Ominis’s breath hitches against your breasts, his hands shifting down to your waist. The feeling of his thumbs roving over your hip bones is enough to drive you harder, and you realize he’s admiring every single dimple, every curve. He could go faster, fuck up into you if he really wanted to, but Ominis stays true to his word. He’s taking his time to savor you, to commit your body to memory while he has you in his arms.

“Enjoying yourself?” You ask breathlessly, as Ominis’s hand trails up and down your spine for the umpteenth time.

He grins, baring his teeth as he surges forward, pushing you off and onto your back on the bed. You yelp as he slithers over you, hovering just inches from your face as he presses back into your warmth.

“Immensely,” Ominis whispers, kissing you as he starts rocking into you. Without thought, you wrap your legs around his waist, locking him in as tightly as you can. When he pulls away, his forehead resting against yours, you flatten your hands against his cheeks. You fit against each other like puzzle pieces; it’s silly to have been so worried, you realize. Slotted against each other, chasing one another to your mutual climax, you know only Ominis could’ve ever made sense.

“I love you,” you blurt as Ominis digs his face into your neck.

“I love you too,” Ominis mumbles into your neck. “I think I always have.”

“You have?” You squeak, thoughts punctuated by a moan as he snaps his hips at just the right angle.

“It’s you,” Ominis admits. “Of course I love you. I– oh shit –I’ve always had feelings for you,” he pants. “God, at least since we were sixteen.”

Ominis’s confessions, punctuated by an elusive curse word, melt your heart. You shift your hips upwards, meeting him with every thrust. The wet slapping of his skin against yours, the slamming of the headboard, coupled with Ominis’s babbling and your breathy moans echo off the walls. You hadn’t bothered with a silencing spell, not knowing that this is where the night would take you. It’s likely everyone in the house knows what’s going on between the two of you, and that almost turns you on more. After all these years, Ominis is yours, claimed by your loud coupling.

“I’ve dreamt of touching you here for years,” Ominis confesses between open mouth kisses. “Always thinking about how soft you must feel here,” his lips close around your nipple, tongue flicking against the surface. It draws a shriek out of you, which has him grinning. “Just as I thought.”

Just the confirmation that Ominis has thought about you naked in bed just like you have stokes the fire within you, threatening to burst. He feels too good inside of you; while you’d take the sweet torture of being edged all night just to keep him close, your body is teetering close to the edge.

“Come for me,” Ominis murmurs in your ear. “I want to feel you come undone.”

“I can’t,” you utter. “I don’t–I don’t want this to be over,” you choke out, clutching his shoulders.

The sex, this night, this season of your life, together. You’re not quite sure which one your sex addled brain is referring to.

Ominis snakes up a large hand, cradling your cheek with his palm. His thumb brushes over your swollen lips as little gasps escape your lips.

“We have tonight, all night.” Ominis whispers, each syllable met with a roll of his hips. “You don’t think it’ll be just once, do you?”

“Ominis,” you garble out, his thumb dipping into your warm mouth. You’re not sure if you’re scolding his vulgar language, or warning him of the impending release.

“Come with me,” Ominis pleads.

An urge to finish what you’ve started together, or perhaps a plea to join him across the sea. Either way, the three words have you coming, Ominis choking out a moan as his hips stutter against yours. He shudders as he comes inside of you, not stopping his thrusts until he’s trembling, falling at your side.

The two of you are silent for what feels like ages, just the ticking of his bedside clock and the soft hum of music from the party downstairs filling the background. As you stare at the ceiling, you feel his warm hand entangling his fingers with yours, and you’re both quiet for another few minutes as you collect your thoughts.

“I meant what I said,” Ominis breaks the silence.

“Which one?” you ask, tilting your head to look at him. He’s still flat on his back, his free hand resting on his chest as his head tilts towards the sound of your voice. His gorgeous blue eyes crease at the corners as he smiles.

“All of it,” Ominis muses. “That I love you, that I’ve always loved you. That I thought you didn’t love me, because you were encouraging me to go, to take the MACUSA job. But turns out, it’s just because you know me better than anyone. You know what I need to do.”

“I love you too,” you whisper.

Ominis turns to you, his hands tracing up and down your naked torso. “I never thought we’d get to do this,” he confesses. “And even if it took us until the last night of school, I’m glad we did.”

You press a fervent kiss to his lips, melting against him. You only pull away when he laughs, blond hair shaking as he falls back against the bed.

“We are actual idiots,” Ominis says sheepishly. “Our very first time should’ve been more romantic.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “There’s something incredibly romantic about a last chance confession.”

“I wish I’d told you sooner,” Ominis says, a pained expression painted on his face. “We could’ve had so much more time–”

You press a finger to his lips, silencing him. He quirks his brow, questioning your actions.

“We have the rest of tonight,” you remind him, rolling onto your stomach. You trace your hand against his cheek, your fingers dancing against his lips. He opens his mouth, indulgently sucking on your fingers as they dip inside. “Besides, I think I have to reciprocate the mind blowing head.” you joke, your now wet hand trailing back down to his length.

Ominis is hard again in seconds.

The music ended hours ago, and the house is calm. You wouldn’t know if anything was going on outside of Ominis’s door anyways; after your second round, Ominis had the good sense to cast a silencing charm on the room.

Ominis slips out of you after fucking you on your side, his slow thrusts driving you to the brink of insanity. Both of you are thoroughly spent; he knows that, reaching for his wand to summon a cloth. He's attentive and gentle as he cleans you, murmuring praise of how well you've taken him and how incredible you feel. Once the two of you are semi-decent, he gathers a fresh tee shirt for you to slip over your head. It’s well worn, letters stitched into the chest, and it smells like his cologne. You hold the collar to your nose; it’s very likely this shirt will be coming home with you.

Ominis tucks you into his arms as he pulls the duvet over your bodies, his warm breath tickling your ears as his breathing slows.

“I’m not sure how you’re going to walk across the graduation stage,” you joke, stifling a yawn.

“Will probably need Andrew to throw me across the stage at this point,” Ominis says. His voice sounds thick with sleep, and you know he yearns to shut his eyes. You’ve known him for so long, watched him nap in the hallways enough to recognize the tell-tale signs of Ominis Gaunt’s sleeping habits.

“I’m proud of you, you know that?” You whisper, hoping to catch him while he’s still awake. “You’re gonna go far, do amazing things. I’m so proud of you, and I love you.”

“I know,” Ominis lets out a sleepy sigh, heavy eyelids drooping. “I love you too.”

Before long, Ominis is softly snoring in your ear. Blinking your bleary eyes, you can see the dark sky turning lighter and lighter through the curtains. It’s graduation day; in a few hours, Ominis will walk across the stage and move on to the next phase of his life.

Merlin, you hope to be part of the next chapter.

You jolt awake when you hear the door knob to Ominis’s room jiggling. The blond is still fast asleep, a smile on his face as he dreams.

“Ominis, wake up,” you groan. “It’s morning.”

“It was morning when we fell asleep,” he swats away at you, digging his face into the pillows.

“Well, it’s graduation morning.” You warn him. “We have to get ready–I have to go home, I have to change and shower. You have to shower.”

“Shower here,” Ominis complains, tugging you back against his warm chest. “And you can shower with me.”

“I can’t go to your graduation wearing a bloody mini dress,” you scold him, rolling out of bed. You tug open his dresser, pulling out a well worn sweater and some sweatpants. “There’s someone at the door too.”

“It’s me,” a muffled voice yells. “Wakey wakey, lovebirds!”

Ominis flips back over in bed as you tug the sweater over your head, swinging the door open. You’d recognize the Scottish lilt anywhere–it’s Sebastian, grinning broadly with a garment bag in hand.

“What is that?” You gape.

Sebastian pushes his way into the room, hanging the black bag between Ominis’s graduation robes. “Had a feeling you wouldn’t be going home last night,” he winks, unzipping the bag. “So I asked Imelda to pull together some options for you. Picked them up this morning; there’s some bagels and coffee downstairs too.”

You’re embarrassed but thankful for your friends–Imelda has packed some tasteful day dresses, all appropriate for the event in mind.

Sebastian drops another bag onto the ground, sinking into the now up-right office chair. “She packed more appropriate heels. Oh, and a bra and underwear. Thought you might’ve lost yours.”

“Get out,” Ominis groans, tossing a pillow at Sebastian.

The freckled bastard lets out a laugh, his whole body shaking as he dodges Ominis’s throw. “Best get in the shower, Mr. President. Can’t have you walking across the stage to get your diploma with sex hair.” Sebastian waggles his eyebrows, and even though Ominis can’t see, he knows the expression on Sebastian’s face.

You hear your name from the doorframe, and both you and Sebastian turn to see who it is. Lucan and Garreth are standing with bagels, idly observing the scene before them.

“Amit owes me ten galleons,” Garreth says, his mouth still full of his poppy seed bagel. “He said you’d never admit how you feel to Ominis–”

“That’s not what I said!” You hear Amit’s voice from down the hallway. “Garreth, don’t twist my words.”

Lucan pushes his way into the room, holding his bagel between his teeth. “Can I get in to measure now?” he asks, pulling his wand from his pocket. “I do think I could fit a nice little bar in the corner here–”

“Everyone out!” Ominis roars, standing up in just his boxer shorts. “Everyone who isn’t my girlfriend can fuck off.”

Instead of scattering, everyone freezes in place.

“Girlfriend?” You squeak out.

Ominis’s furrowed brow softens, his cheeks heating up as he scratches the back of his neck.

“I assumed,” he said sheepishly. “When we said we loved each other.”

“Alright, nothing to see here folks. Everyone go back to your knitting.” Sebastian says hastily, pulling Lucan into a headlock to drag him out of the room. He pushes Garreth in the chest, and you hear several pairs of feet scrambling in the hallway–no doubt Amit, Andrew, and the others have congregated outside of Ominis’s door to eavesdrop.

Sebastian shoots you both a knowing look as he shuts the door behind him, leaving you alone with Ominis once more.

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay.” Ominis croaks. “I understand. I’m leaving in a few days, it makes sense.”

You tiptoe over to him, placing a hand on his chest. You can feel his heart hammering beneath you, one of his hands resting atop yours to keep it in place.

“What would being your girlfriend entail?” You ask slowly, nails dragging across his skin.

Ominis offers you a small smile. “Nothing has to change, not really. Just that I get to tell you that I love you out loud.”

“And perhaps there will be space for me in New York.” You say slowly, chewing on your lower lip.

Ominis’s face lights up, tugging you in with a firm arm around your waist. “There will most definitely be space for you in New York,” he announces. “It’s only fitting that I make room for you, considering you’re the person who convinced me to go.”

“Your girlfriend,” you enunciate.

“My girlfriend,” Ominis repeats back to you. It isn’t long before he’s kissing you, his tongue snaking its way into your mouth. You have to pull yourself back, eyeing the clock on Ominis’s desk.

“We have to shower,” you remind him, hands pressed against his chest. “Otherwise, I’ll be late to my boyfriend’s graduation ceremony.”

Ominis grins, pressing a quick kiss against your cheek. He maneuvers over to his dresser, pulling out two clean towels. Wand in hand, he slings the towels over his shoulder, his other hand outstretched to grab yours.

You fold your palm into his, following him out the door without a word.

The last week almost seems like a blur to you.

That Sunday, you watched Ominis graduate university with honors, several stoles draped across his shoulders. One from the honors college, another for his outstanding leadership. The third looks a bit hodge-podge, but it’s the most important to him–a stole crafted by Sebastian and the others, crudely decorated in a way only twenty-something boys would do.

The satin stole with the Gaunt family motto is promptly burned in the celebratory bonfire Lucan sets that night, all of you sitting around the fire pit with beers in hand.

Every day since then has been bliss. You’ve only gone home once, packing a bag with a week’s worth of clothes while Imelda gives you smug looks. You’ve effectively moved into Ominis’s bedroom for one last week together. It’s for practical reasons, you tell the others. By day, you’re helping Ominis pack his belongings and bring whatever items he needs to donate to the university charity shop. You even help him pack a cardboard box with any Gaunt family memorabilia, slapping a label to ship the useless trinkets back to Marvolo. Ominis doesn’t need to rely on his family name anymore, at least not where he’s going.

The others come and go, but soon the new graduates start to move. Amit and Andrew are the first to leave, off to start their ministry jobs. Garreth follows shortly after, moving to a cottage in Cornwall to start his bulk potions business. Come Friday, it’s just you, Ominis, and Sebastian left as the rest of the underclassmen have left for their summer holidays.

You enjoy one last night cooking dinner with your two best boys, tears pricking the corners of your eyes if you think too hard about how this might be the last time the three of you are in a room together for a while. After dessert, Sebastian leaves the house to visit friends; more likely, he’s giving the two of you the house alone for your final night together.

You’d expect last night together to be frenetic, but Ominis’s love making remains slow and deliberate. Ominis meant it when he said he wanted to remember every bit of you, his hands exploring your body as he makes you come several times in the night. You cry out the last time, exhausted but pawing at him for more.

More, more, more. More time, most of all.

Both of you cry a little, murmuring promises to each other before falling asleep.

When you wake, the air is melancholy. The two of you move in silence, Ominis showering and packing the remnants of his suitcase. You put your dirty clothes from the week in your bag as well, and the two of you say goodbye to his little bedroom for the last time. Ominis swallows thickly as you both get into the car, Sebastian choosing the passenger seat so the two of you can sit together in the back.

The airport isn’t too busy, which affords you time for a long farewell. Ominis’s wand is safely concealed in a cane, and Sebastian slips a pair of sunglasses over his eyes so he fits in better with the muggles.

“You have a new phone now,” Sebastian reminds him. “So don’t give me any excuses for not calling or texting.”

“I will,” Ominis promises. “Thank you, Sebastian. I–” his voice cracks, and his eyes flutter as he swallows. “I’m glad I met you when I was eleven.” It's a simple sentence, but the words impart just how much Ominis loves Sebastian.

Sebastian whimpers, pulling his best friend, his brother into a hug. You have to turn away, dabbing at your eyes as the two men say farewell after living together for over a decade.

“Alright, sod off,” Sebastian blurts, wiping at his nose. “Your turn to say goodbye, I can’t do this anymore.”

Ominis lets out a watery laugh as Sebastian meanders away, giving the two of you some time alone. You don’t want to waste any of the precious seconds you have left with Ominis waffling, so you tug him into a tight embrace, your arms locking around his neck.

“I love you,” Ominis says against your hair. “I love you.”

You’re kissing him all over his face, leaving tears in your wake. “I love you too,” you murmur. “Remember what I told you.”

“If you want to go far, you’ve got to go far.” Ominis mutters. “I’m doing this for me–for us.”

“Better save a drawer for me,” you whisper.

“The very best one,” Ominis whispers back. “It’ll be there for you, next year.”

Sebastian nearly has to pry the two of you apart, reminding Ominis that his plane leaves within the hour and he still needs to get through security. The steps the blond takes towards the line are rigid, his subconscious fighting the physical act of leaving. But deep down, all of you know it–Ominis is going to do great things, and he’s going to do it without his family breathing down his neck, trying to force him to conform to their ways.

You feel a hand grabbing yours; it’s Sebastian, squeezing you tight as you both watch Ominis move through the line. Minutes later, he’s waving goodbye, disappearing into the departures terminal.

You and Sebastian stay until Ominis’s blond head is no longer visible over the crowd.

Finishing your dissertation is eating up all your free time, but you reserve an hour at the end of the day to talk to Ominis over his brand new phone. The time difference is a bit jarring; sometimes you find yourself staying up well into the twilight hours to listen to Ominis ramble on about his job and the work they’ve done to protect international magical affairs. He asks you how his brothers are doing, if Lucan has stirred any trouble yet. You tell him all about how they still invite you to parties every weekend, and Lucan decided against building the wet bar in his room. You talk about Sebastian’s rotations at St. Mungo’s and how the two of you still try to have dinner at least once a week despite your busy schedules.

You tell him to save his money, but Ominis isn’t one to skimp out on gifts. He still sends owl post, care packages from his tiny apartment in New York. After you tell him his fraternity letters are starting to wear thin, he sends you a New York t-shirt that smells like cool musk. You start wearing it to bed every night; once the smell wears off, Ominis sends a bottle of his cologne as well.

Phone sex isn’t half bad either, you decide. You come every time Ominis tells you to, gasping when you hear him touch himself on the other end of the line.

One day, Ominis sends you an e-mail about job requisitions at the MACUSA headquarters. They have their own department of mysteries, Ominis explains. If you’re interested at all.

You apply and wait to hear back. I hope it’s not a conflict of interest that my boyfriend is the newest hot shot solicitor in the office of international affairs.

It isn’t, it turns out. You’re offered a job interview over the winter holidays if you can make it to New York City in time. Ominis sends you the ticket in your email, assuring you that he’ll pick you up from the airport. He does exactly as he’s promised, and you laugh at how much he’s bundled himself up against the New York City snow. When you leave the airport you laugh a little less, snow already getting into your shoes. Ominis is a gentleman through and through, and carries you from the car up the stairs to his apartment lobby.

You think your interview at MACUSA has gone well, and you start enjoying all the walking you have to do to get around the city. Ominis takes you to all his favorite restaurants, and he shows you the drawer he’s been saving for you. His apartment feels like home, even if you have to squeeze past the dining table to get to the bed. The two of you Facetime Sebastian from bed, the brunette recounting his shifts at St. Mungo’s in great detail.

“Say, do you have a hospital in the city?” Sebastian asks. “If she’s going, I want to come too. We’re a package deal.”

Ominis rolls his eyes. “Of course there’s a hospital here, Sebastian. It’s not a primitive land. It’s New York, for Merlin's sake.”

You laugh, trying not to shake the phone as you try to keep Ominis in frame.

The week passes by too fast. Ominis brings you back to the airport, and this goodbye is even harder than the one after graduation. You find it nearly impossible to take your hands off him, his lips pressing kisses to your face.

“It’s just a little while longer,” Ominis reminds you.

“We don’t even know if I’ll get it,” you shrug.

“You’re going to get it,” Ominis assures you. It feels like deja vu, as if you’ve had this conversation before.

About a week into the second term, you receive your job offer from MACUSA.

May arrives quicker than you thought it would. You get a few less calls with Ominis during your finals week, and he promises to make it up to you somehow. Even though you have a job offer, it’s contingent on you passing your final exams. Ominis quizzes you through the phone while Sebastian brings you dinner between his shifts. It’s a group effort to get you across the finish line.

You pass, and you finally get to breathe a sigh of relief. The week of your graduation is filled with parties and celebrations, Lucan inviting you to come back to the house. It doesn’t feel as right without Sebastian or Ominis inside, so you don’t stay long. Sebastian promises he'll try to be at your graduation, trading shifts with other healers. On the other hand, Ominis is stuck in the middle of an important case. You tell him not to worry, and that you'll see him in a week when you move.

Come graduation day, you’re standing in front of the theater, your diploma in hand. You feel your phone buzz in your pocket, and you pull it out to read your texts. You have one missed message from Sebastian.

Sorry I missed your ceremony. Got called in to cover someone’s shift this morning. I promise I’ll be at your dinner later tonight. Oh, and I hope you enjoy your grad present xx

You furrow your brow, typing back a response. You don’t remember anything about a present–

“Congratulations, darling.”

You look up, nearly dropping your phone in the process. A tall lithe blond clad in a three piece suit, a MACUSA pin on the lapel.

Ominis smiles at you, a bouquet of sunflowers in hand.

#ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt smut #frat ominis gaunt #modern au ominis gaunt #listen here there's a lot of creative liberties taken with college frats and magic here #but frat ominis wouldn't leave my mind

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am-i-interrupting · 7 months

Text

Velvet— One Author; Two Show Hosts Headcanons

One Author; Two Show Hosts is a Vox x Alastor’s Child Reader series. Essential knowledge: you and Vox are married by the point Velvette comes to Hell. Reader is a POC with curly hair.

Bonus: Playlist

Velvette started off her time in hell working as a costume designer. She starts off with a small business and a couple of workers, mostly overworking herself to stay on schedule.

You figure out about her while looking for a new designer for your theater.

For several months, you’re Velvette’s highest paying client.

Over time she realizes that you’re actually a fun person to bitch and gossip with. When she lets something slip about Hell being behind on technological advances, you introduce her to Vox.

This leads to Vox trying to contract her but she wises one up on him and suggests they be business partners instead.

She doesn’t do much with the technology programming and whatnot but she does have at least a general idea on how things worked and gives that information to Vox.

Soon she goes from a small business to having her own distinguishable fashion brand.

You’re still her favorite costumer though.

She makes all the costumes for your shows herself and makes sure everyone knows it.

It doesn’t take long for her to move into your and Vox’s tower.

She has a love hate relationship with Vark.

Sometimes they get along swell and are cuddled up on the couch together. Other times he’s drooling on her clothes or chewing on them and she does not respond well.

Speaking of clothes say goodbye to your wardrobe freedom. She is going through it and everything she hates in a kindle.

She will not get rid of your true vintage unless it’s absolutely atrocious. She’s a fashion girlie. She knows everything comes back in fashion eventually and with the rise of social media, that time comes around quickly.

She will collab with you in order to make you fashionable but you clothing.

Beauty is pain but she doesn’t want you to hate what you wear. You only look like a bad bitch if you feel like it.

Better practice your runway walk because you will be modeling your exclusive line.

If she catches you wearing clothes someone else made (with perhaps an exception if it’s vintage or made by Rosie because she, unfortunately, has to accept that you’re friends with Rosie) prepare for an Edna Mode type blow up over it.

Also, your privacy? Yeah, that’s a bit gone too.

She’s not outright mean but she is willing to playfully embarrass you on social media.

You know that “Hey, wake up, sleepy head!” vine? She’s done that to you and Vox.

She will throw shit at you and Vox if you’re being too lovey dovey.

Makes constant old people/old married couple jokes about you and Vox.

Vox makes short people jokes in retaliation. Then gets something thrown at his head from behind. Looks back, remembers you and Velvette are close in height. Shuts up real fast.

Velvette is absolutely soul crushed the first time she sees you have curly hair because. . . What the fuck? It’s so pretty! How dare you!

She vlogs your entire curly hair journey, undoing years of damage.

Vox just lets you do your thing on hair wash/styling days. Does not get involved because you both become so focused he’s kind of scared what will happen if he breaks it.

Doing each others hair while watching shitty Hell-a-Novelas.

Yelling at the TV when people do something stupid.

Absolutely gossiping and shit talking people all day. Like no one else’s business.

Velvette taking so many pictures to post when you’re done.

Overall, Vox gets a new business partner, you get a new bitching partner. Win win, right?

#velvette x reader #Hazbin hotel Velvette x reader #one author two show hosts #vox x reader #hazbin vox x reader

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sommerregenjuniluft · 7 months

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@jegulus-microfic 21, 23, 24 feb - attack, alley, hungry - 1786 words - cw: blood (nothing violent though)

1920s New Orleans vampires <3 [part 1 vampire microfic, happens after this in the timeline though]

James flashes a blinding grin at the giggling young women he lets out the door before he ducks in after they’re gone. He nudges his glasses up his nose and straightens his fitted waist coat for the Christ knows how many-th time, sucking in a steadying breath as he lets his eyes sweep over the inside of the bar room.

He can do this.

He can hunt, it’s in his nature now—Barty had said so. Besides, James has always prided himself with his chivalry and charm, and now that it’s only amplified he should have no issues chatting an unsuspecting, innocent person up and taking them somewhere more private for James to be able to feed without getting caught.

The thought alone makes his teeth itch horribly and James slides his tongue along his fangs behind his lips before he makes his way farther inside.

James stops for a drink at the bar and then settles in one of the corners, slowly nursing his glass of whiskey as he browses the crowd for possible prey.

The dark-skinned woman under the spotlight is gorgeous as she sings into the microphone, golden band with white and emerald feather adorning her curly haired head.

None of the people enjoying the show spring into James’ eye, not one poor soul piquing his interest.

That is until James’ eyes settle against the other side of the room where a young man is propped against the railing of the elevated patio section of the establishment, not even pretending to watch the singer as he lazily swirls the dark liquid in his tumbler with slow circles of his wrist.

His suit is sleek and expensive looking, snug against his lean body. The pants fitted and hinting with stripes, and a plain, black fly sitting impeccably against the collar of his throat. The waistcoat seems to be velvet and there’s a silver chain disappearing into one of the pockets, evidence of what is most likely a pocket watch in the value of James’ monthly rent.

What makes James’ breath catch though is the inherent beauty of the man. Porcelain skin, perfectly rosy lips, a jawline that could cut glass and the lightest eyes James has ever seen. Unlike most men, he didn’t slick his hair back, instead choosing to wear his natural curls though they look artfully perfect like he spent hours in front of the mirror tugging each and every one neatly into place, even the one falling into his forehead, right over dark brows. Especially that one.

Before James realizes the man moves to straighten up, gaze drifting farther back into the room and snagging suddenly when he catches James already looking his way.

He keeps the eye contact up challengingly for a dragging moment and James slips into a grin, letting his head loll back and to the side against the wall. James watches the stranger’s gaze wander lower shamelessly, making his upper lip twitch with the desire to sink his teeth through pale skin and muscle.

The other man seems to be making a tch sound before turning and sauntering away but not without throwing another glance at James over his shoulder.

Oh, and how James likes them feisty. Always has.

He pushes off the wall in an instant and follows the dark head of curls through a curtain of beads leading into a random, dimly lit hallway. When James steps into it, it’s empty, obviously leading towards another room, door is open and letting James glimpse several pool and poker tables.

His teeth throb with the promise of being able to feed again as he steers for the room, though James draws up short at an alcove right next to the threshold where the man now leans.

“Looking for something?” he drawls, a strange expression on his face and James momentarily wonders if the veins around his eyes are showing without him realizing. He’s seen them pop out occasionally in the mirror when he’s particularly hungry.

Still, his mouth tugs into an easy grin as he steps closer, “Think I just found it.”

One eyebrow arches, “Did you now?”

“Mhm.”

“And what would that be?” he tips his chin up with arrogance. James wants to devour him.

But first, manners, ”Your name.”

“Regulus,” the beautiful stranger answers and James feels spit pooling under his tongue with the urge to taste him. Regulus links his hands behind his back, neck tilting to the side when James doesn’t continue, “Just that?”

Now James definitely can feel his eyes morphing. “And a little donation,” he replies, voice rough, then more darkly, “Don’t scream, don’t be scared. Everything is alright.”

“It is,” the other replies and James’ mouth tugs harder at the corners, mouth opening.

An excited chuckle punches out of him as he closes the distance, cradling the man’s jaw gently and exposing his fangs to the humid air.

It happens quickly after that.

“Fool,” he hears, a hair width before James’ teeth would have been grazing skin, and then his back is pushed into the unforgiving wall, hard stone cracking under the inhuman force of the shove and James groans. Hisses at the intake when he feels the entire length of his spine give a throb.

James‘ lurches forward instinctively, a feral snarl ripping from his throat and then he blinks when he stares back into Regulus’ unbearably pretty face marred by the same intense bloodshot eyes and violet pulsing veins. His fangs a pearly white and so long it makes James draw in a shuddering breath.

He feels that by the strong forearm still pressing into his chest and James licks his lips, stunned and breathless, “Oh, hi.”

Something blooms in his chest, unfurling and making him feel even more drawn to the other man, inexplicably reeled in, much more intensely than before.

Regulus simply rolls his eyes before pressing off him and James already mourns the contact. Craves it. Wants it back desperately, hunger and bloodthirst completely forgotten.

He’s about to open his mouth when the other vampire beats him to it, eyes narrowed calculatingly, “What is your name?”

“James,” he answers eagerly.

Something flits over Regulus’ expression for a fleeting moment and with that he turns on his heel, “Follow me.”

James blinks, shakes his head and quickly catches up to Regulus’ fast strides. His legs are miles long and James can’t quite help himself when his gaze wanders below the hem of his jacket for a few moments.

Regulus takes the few steps to the patio two at a time and James follows dutifully, taking in the lounge with wide eyes. The multiple plush armchairs and loveseats, couples entwined in each other or people talking animatedly, coy grins on their faces.

Regulus comes to a halt near the spot James first found him, a curvy woman in a knee long dress perched on the legs of a man, obscured by the woman’s curls.

“Crouch,” Regulus says pointedly, no nonsense. Right before kicking a man in the shins.

An annoyed sound, “What?” and then James’ knees nearly buckle when he smells blood.

“That one seem familiar to you?” Regulus bites out, placing a possessive hand on the back of James’ neck.

James’ mouth drops open around a quiet sound, skin prickling intensely at the contact and sending a strong tremor through his whole body.

The man lifts his face from where he was immersed, head tipping back and suddenly James is face to face with Barty, a trail of blood dripping down his chin again. Just like when he first found him a few weeks ago.

He cocks his head with a chuckle, curiously eyeing the hold the older vampire has on James. He absentmindedly licks a drop of blood from the woman’s neck, and James keens, before Barty gives a feeble shrug, grin unbearable smug. “I might.”

“Oh, you might?” Regulus spits.

James goes a little rigid at his tone, insides fluttering.

He steps forward, tugging James right with, “Barty, why does he smell like mine?”

James’ jaw drops, head whipping around and staring at Regulus’ side profile. A silent moment goes by, neither of them budging and then Barty’s brows knit with suspicion, “Like yours?”

“Yes, like mine, you fucking idiot,” he snarls and James shivers from where the other vampire’s fingers clench. “You sired him!”

Barty levels him with a look, “I sired him…to you?”

“Well, I sure as hell didn’t do it,” Regulus snaps back.

“What’s going on now?” another voice says and James swivels his head to watch a tall blonde man sidling up to them, whiskey in hand and eyeing them all warily.

With a sigh Barty mumbles something to the woman in his lap, wiping messily at the wound on her neck before tugging her scarf back in place and sending her on her way.

“Barty’s gone and sired someone,” Regulus replies and James can’t help but be endeared by the petulant tone and pouty twist of his mouth. He looks so put together and intimidating it’s just sort of…cute like that. Ridiculously cute, really.

“What?” the blonde blurts. His features harden immediately, snapping around at James like he’s going to rip his heart out of his chest right then and there.

In a split second Barty is up and holding him back with a palm against his sternum, “To Regulus, Evan, not to me.”

Evan, apparently, rips his eyes away from James, gaze boring instead into Barty’s face, restlessly searching for something as his chest heaves heavily.

Barty tugs his lower lip between teeth, taking him in appreciatively, “Pipe down, loverboy.”

The blonde bats Barty’s hand away with a sneer, poising himself before he turns back to Regulus. “How’s that even possible though?”

Regulus shoulders slump with a shrug—James hadn’t even realized how rigid he had gotten. Or when he had stepped in front of him.

Barty throws an arm around Evan’s shoulder lazily, making a dismissive sound, “Dorcas’ll figure it out for us. She always does.”

“I hope you’re right,” Regulus says, turning a glance over his shoulder and James follows it to see the attention directed towards the pretty singer from before.

A touch at his elbow has him turning back though and Regulus is suddenly much closer than before. “In the meantime,” he starts, lips spreading into a predatory smirk that has James suppressing a noise deep in his throat, “I bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?”

He nods stupidly, hands itching to reach out and swaying in again.

Regulus hums appreciatively, hooking a finger into James’ belt loop to tug once, and then promptly swivels, expecting to be followed.

James doesn’t miss the risen eyebrows and surprised expressions on the other two faces as he passes them.

#regulus is so drunk off james ppllllssss #evan was ready to pull james apart limb by limb i'm hsjfh #jegulus #jegulus microfic #starchaser #sunseeker #james potter #regulus black #jegulus fic #vampire au #tvd au #the vampire diaries au #slytherin skittles #rosekiller #lune’s tiny fic

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bettyfrommars · 1 year

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it’s the a7x anon 😘

imagine stripper harlot reader and eddie falls for her (obviously) and he follows her to a club one night. it’s an underground club (got me thinking blood rave from blade) but shes deadly, she sucks the soul out of men in the clubs, poisons them for fun, the club is filled with different types, vampires, wolves, ghouls, but none are more desired or feared than her.

Sympathy for the Devil

eddie x demon!fem!reader

It's the mid-90's and Eddie has moved to Seattle with the rest of Corroded Coffin to get in on the music scene. He sees you one night dancing at a bachelor party and can't seem to stop thinking about you. His hunt for you takes him to a dark part of town where only monsters dare to go. wc: 2.5k

18+ONLY, grunge!eddie, descriptions of monsters, eventual smut, star-crossed lovers, Gareth, reader described as having thick hips and tattoos, exotic dancers, alcohol consumption, breathing fire. Readers dad is basically Hellboy.

Part 1: Great Balls of Fire

Part 2: Mark of the Beast

Part 3: Burn it Down

A/N: There is just so much I want to explore on this topic, I had to turn it into multiple parts. No smut in this chapter, but there will be in the next two, if there are people who want to read it. I love any reason for a good Blade blood shower. I love this anon, and I hope I did some justice to your idea.

-----------

Eddie dropped down into the dark venue on a wing and a prayer, hoping you were working that night. He didn’t know your schedule, he only knew you from that one night two weeks ago when he was there for Jeff’s bachelor party.

Out of a sea of beautiful, scantily clad women, you stood out like a flash of lightning in a pitch black night.

“I can’t believe we’re here again, man,” Gareth complained, swiping his hair out of his face.

“What are you afraid of?” Eddie shouted over his shoulder, hoping to be heard above the throbbing, electronic music. His eyes scanned the crowd for you, or any one he remembered seeing you talk to that first night. Ahead of them, down the shadowed alcove of the venue were several dancers gyrating on poles and spreading their legs out wide for customers at the rack to hook dollar bills into their g-strings.

“I’m afraid my girl will cut my nuts off if she finds out I came here with you,” Gareth responded.

Gareth's hair was shorter than it had been when they were in high school. It was just long enough to tuck behind his ears, but still so full and curly that he had to slick it back. Eddie’s hair was much longer now, almost to his nipples, and he’d grown his bangs out, so it was more grunge rather than early 80’s metal.

“We went to see Mudhoney at the Crocodile,” Eddie confirmed. “That’s all you need to tell her. We only came here to look for someone.” They had done exactly that, and the Mudhoney show had been amazing. Corroded Coffin’s relocation to Seattle was the best decision Eddie had ever made, and he was grateful his band made the journey with him. They were all renting this old house on Capitol Hill and getting paying gigs a couple times a month—it was a dream.

But since he’d laid eyes on you—he could barely function.

You had bewitched him in the best of ways.

So, there he was---dragging Gareth back to the same strip club to look for you. He honestly didn’t expect to get your number, or even talk to you—he just needed to see you again.

Once he reached the dimly lit red cocktail bar, Eddie froze. “She’s not here,” he wet his dry lips, getting on the balls of his feet to scan the crowd. “I mean, I don’t see her.”

“Okay, great, "Gareth tried to avert his eyes from the women on stage so that he wouldn’t feel guilty. “Can we go now?”

But Eddie wasn’t ready to give up that easily.

“Hey,” he called over to one of the servers he remembered from the last time. She was about to carry a tray of drinks over to a table when she caught his eye and her face lit up.

Eddie was awkward when he didn't want to be, but on every other occasion—he possessed a decent amount of charm. Plus, this particular server was a fan of his band, he just didn’t know it.

Eddie stroked some hair behind his ear and leaned closer, giving her your full description, right down to the color of your eyes, and the details of a few of your tattoos, and then asked if you were working that weekend.

The server shook her head, her cheeks burning hot under Eddie's attention. “Sorry, she’s not here. I think she’s at the Devils Den tonight.”

Eddie squinted at Gareth and the both of them mouthed “the devils den” with a question mark, like they had never heard of it in all of the 2 years they’d been there.

The Devil’s Den did not advertise. You could not find it in the phone book. It was a word of mouth or friend of a friend only, and security was tight.

“Be careful,” the redhead server offered a warning, passing Eddie her phone number on the inside of a gum wrapper with a wink. Gareth rolled his eyes and headed for the door.

Eddie drove Gareth back to his car first.

“You sure you don’t want me to go with?” Gareth asked Eddie over the hood, strumming his fingers on the metal.

“Nah man, I’m good,” Eddie assured him, twirling his keys on his finger as he walked backwards. “You go home to your girl. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He remembered the directions the redhead told him as he sucked down a cigarette with the window open, blowing smoke out into the crisp city night. It took him down through the east end of town, along a tunnel, and then shot him deep into the industrial district. Vacant buildings loomed like faceless gargoyles as his van rolled along the dismal expanse, void of human life.

The building was unmarked, but the address was correct; he checked it with the numbers inked on his palm several times. He parked a block away and walked over with his fists shoved deep into the pockets of his leather while scraps of paper and leaves skidded across the pavement. His long hair flew across his lips and clung there until he peeled the strand back and tucked it behind his ear again.

He could hear the music now, thudding low from inside the building as he rounded the corner.

There was a purple light coming from the open doorway, and a minotaur man with a thick tail and broad shoulders sat on a stool blowing smoke out his nostrils. Eddie heard him ask the couple ahead of him to see their IDs, so Eddie got his ready.

You just happened to be on your way out for a smoke when you saw him—-

Him.

The one you couldn’t take your eyes off of two weekends ago. The grungy boy with the long hair you couldn’t stop thinking about.

What was he doing at a monster bar? Did you want him to see you like this?

Self-consciously, you spun around, ducking your head so he wouldn’t see your horns, wondering if you should try to cover them with your hood and retract your claws.

Eddie handed the Minotaur bouncer his ID.

“What the fuck you want me to do with this?” The bouncer asked, aggressively standing up to his full height which was close to 7ft. His voice bellowed, “no humans allowed, can’t you read?” Sure enough, there was a black and white sign on the door that said: NO UNAUTHORIZED HUMANS ALLOWED.

Eddie tucked his ID back in his wallet, about to offer to try and pay the guy off when he saw you appear in the doorway.

“Oh shit,” Eddie whispered to himself. You were even more stunning than the night he first saw you. Now you have horns? He hadn't noticed them the other weekend at the club; maybe you had them tucked under your wig. He could tell you were different, but he had no idea you were what was known in human circles as a Beastly.

“He’s with me,” you told the enormous Minotaur man, and Eddie watched him cower before you. He sat back down on his stool and bowed his head, muttering his apologies.

He had to remember not to let his jaw hang slack as you walked closer, swaying your hips as you did so, plucking a cigarette out of the pack to pop it into your mouth. He noticed that what he once thought were tattoos were actually designs that seemed like they were burned into your flesh; they glowed orange in the night as if there was lava flowing in your veins.

Eddie patted his jacket and his back pockets, forgetting where he put his lighter. Once he found it, his hand was trembling, but he took a breath and cupped his palm over the flame, leaning forward to offer it to you.

You hesitated, searching his rich brown eyes. His very human eyes: you wanted to watch them sparkle. “Do you want to see something cool?”

Eddie lowered his hands and poked his tongue out between his teeth. “Always.”

“It might freak you out,” you warned.

“I love getting freaked out.”

You held the cigarette out and blew on the end of it, producing a string of fire from your lungs. It was a soft, blue flame and Eddie watched the tip of your smoke light up and crackle with embers just as the fire disappeared behind your lips again.

“Party trick,” you took a drag, squinting one eye at him playfully.

“Can you do mine?” Eddie opened the top pocket of his jacket to pull out a smoke from his pack, while a few more bodies shuffled by on their way to the door. Two had chalk white skin with fangs, one had the snout of a pig and a green mohawk, and the other looked like she could’ve passed as human, until she stuck her tongue out at one of the other men and it was long and forked, falling almost to her chest.

They each gave Eddie a suspicious look, but when they saw you standing there, they quickly jerked their stares away.

Eddie gripped the cig between his full lips, and his eyes never left you as you leaned in. You could’ve produced a flame long enough to reach him where he was, but you decided to step in close, so that your mouth wasn’t far from his.

Your eyes met as you breathed a steady stream of fire. The thought occurred to you that you could take him right then; you could suck his soul out like juice from a Capri Sun and he’d never know what hit him. You could drink his essence like oxygen and fill your stomach with his charming warmth—but then you wouldn’t have him anymore, and your heart was screaming louder than your hunger.

“That’s so rad,” Eddie chuckled. He took a drag and then blew the smoke out sideways. “What other tricks do you know?”

“I think it’s your turn to do a trick,” you raised an eyebrow.

“What could a human possibly do to impress you?”

“I’m sure there are lots of ways you could impress me,” your smile was coy, and it made Eddie’s pupils widen with admiration.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

But then one of the ghouls with skin that looked stapled on stepped out of the doorway and said your name.

“What is it?” You snapped. Your demeanor changed—your eyes narrowing on her.

“Sorry,” the ghoul stammered. “Um, it’s Drucilla—she says there’s a phone call for you.”

“I’ll be right there,” you grumbled, waving her off, but when you turned back to Eddie, your face softened. “I have to go. If you’re around later we can—-”

“Yeah, I’ll wait,” Eddie said quickly. He didn’t know how long the wait would be, and he didn’t care.

You motioned for him to follow you inside, and as he entered, the Minotaur bouncer grumbled: “Sorry about earlier, man.”

“It’s all good,” Eddie clapped him on his big, beefy shoulder.

There was a band at the back of the venue playing something that reminded him of Alice in Chains, and Eddie felt right at home. Everyone turned in his direction, and he followed close behind as you traveled down a few carpeted steps to the long, low-lit bar along the wall. Your tail flicked from side to side as you walked, and he smiled to himself when he noticed it.

You swatted the bar with your hand to get Danny’s attention. The wolfman bartender stopped the conversation he was having mid-sentence and rushed over, a furry hand swiping hair away from his beard.

“He’s with me,” you told Danny, motioning over your shoulder to a bewildered Eddie. “Anyone fucks with him, and I’ll rip their head off.”

You meant it literally, and Danny knew that.

“I’ll keep an eye on your pet,” Danny nodded as he cleaned a glass with a towel. He made eye contact with Eddie and ran his tongue over his sharp canines.

Eddie sank down onto a stool at the bar and watched you go, his heart hammering in his chest. There were two exotic dancers in cages on either side of the dancefloor, and one looked like she had reptilian skin with an alligator tail. The action on the main floor was more of a mosh pit than actual dancing, and he knew the guys from his band would dig this place. He wondered what you would think of his music if you saw him perform; maybe he could do a few tricks for you on stage. He wanted to look out and see you in the crowd and know you were his.

“What can I get you?” Danny asked, flipping a coaster in front of Eddie with a flourish.

Flustered at his choices, Eddie ordered a beer, and then he leaned in. “Hey, what is her story? Why does everyone seem so…afraid of her?”

“You mean you don’t know who she is?” Danny raised both bushy eyebrows at him as he popped the cap on his beer.

Eddie shrugged, eyes dancing over the wall of bottles. “I have no idea, man. This isn’t my scene.”

Danny came forward and put his hairy forearms on the bar. “Yeah well, her dad is the head Devil in charge of all of this,” he gestured around. “He runs the underground Beast Mob, and everyone is scared shitless of him.” Danny scooted Eddie’s beer forward, giving him a pointed look. “And you should be too. He hates humans.”

Eddie swallowed hard. “I’m pretty good with parents,” he mumbled.

He sat there for a while and sipped his beer, taking in the scenery and the other monsters, when he caught sight of you weaving your way back through the crowd. Everyone you walked by seemed to beg to touch you or talk to you; a couple of them even bowed. He wanted to have you on his arm, to feel the fire from your lungs burn his skin.

“Hey,” the person behind Eddie tapped his shoulder, and Eddie spun around to find an orc-looking guy with two tusks jutting up from his bottom teeth.

“Yeah, man, what’s up?”

The bartender glanced over Eddie’s shoulder at you, and then regarded him with a nod. “Be careful with that one, son. She will feast on your soul and drain you dry.”

Eddie turned to see you watching him from across the way, and you offered a shy wave. Your short horns looked sharp and ready for battle; the marks in your skin glowed like neon.

Eddie sighed wistfully. “Damn, I really hope so.”

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson x reader #fem reader #Eddie Munson monster #monster fic #Stranger Things #Stranger things fic #monsterfucker #monsterfucking

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katerinaaqu · 2 days

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The Why never asked and the Because that never mattered

This is a fic I was planning for quite a long time but I wanted to post for the birthday of @dionysism !! Happy Birthday!

Helen was being pulled. That was what she knew because what she felt was an absolute mess inside her like a skein of red wool that was given to a cat to play with and that cat had tangled the thing beyond recognition; it could be that several threads were already severed and yet they were tangled again and again and there was no way of whether they were indeed cut off or not. Helen of Troy, former considering herself Helen of Sparta was feeling a similar way. She was being pulled by the steady hand of her husband covered with his crimson chlamys, not being able to see anything around her but the dirt beneath her feet and yet the sounds that came to her ears; cries of pain mixed with wild triumph wouldn’t let her calm. The smell of fire was also apparent and the metallic scent of blood. She had taken a glimpse of that before and yet Menelaus had chosen to cover her from this. When she was driven to his presence Menelaus was silent. His eyes; those flaming eyes she had missed so much to see from up-close were only staring at her as if he aimed to burn holes into her soul. Helen would stare at him for hours. He had prepared herself for the reunion almost the full decade that she spent at Troy, somehow she knew her husband would come for her; she knew it deep down her soul, knowing his pride, his honor… The moment she lay a foot to the holy city of Troy accompanied by her then new husband Paris, she knew that moment that Menelaus would want to see this city burn. Somehow he had succeeded. She had heard also the plan created by her previous suitor Odysseus. Menelaus and Odysseus had showed up in Troy to negotiate, after arriving at their doors with over 1000 ships. Helen knew. She didn’t need the intelligence she had to realize that if her husband had called upon Odysseus that it didn’t matter what the elders would say. Menelaus would burn the city! Odysseus would help him and do what it would be necessary for victory regardless the price! Seeing the two so mismatched men (one of tall and royal structure with blondish-red hair and honey eyes like the sunset and the other shorter yet immensely structured, hairy and curly like a ram, black of hair and eyes like the night) looking towards her she knew. She knew that these two would make the world burn. Ever since she was preparing herself for the inevitable confrontation with her previous, her true husband… But nothing truly helped when she saw those flaming eyes of his, framed by the blood that had splattered his face, staring at her; blood dripping from his bronze sword.

Helen was looking at him and he was looking at her. Those eyes that belonged to a lion staring upon a beautiful doe in the forest; was something Helen could barely handle. She stood steadfast like the queen she was. She was dressed in a very simple dress without any makeup to her beautiful face and her tresses cascaded down her sides like a waterfall of gold. She had no jewelry on her or anything else to prove her royal status but her fierce eyes; those fierce dark gray, almost black eyes with the small irises of gold that made Menelaus weak at the knees once. However now Menelaus too was staring deep in them and his eyes seemed to be unmoving. Helen had hoped to manipulate some sympathy into her husband so that she could at least save the life of her daughter, Helen, the last daughter she had left from her marriage with Paris. She hoped her husband would see her as a woman now; not as a casus belli. He hoped that at least her daughter would escape his rage. She had never seen Menelaus so enraged before. Never.

“Helen…”

That voice was a throaty growl. It wasn’t human! She looked at his face; she memorized every new wrinkle that the 10 years of warfare had placed upon him. She could truly see him for the first time after a decade. Oh, how changed and how same he looked at the same time! His mouth was tight; the lips that kissed her so passionately before, now were like a tight line, playing and twitching in fury.

“Menelaus…” she forced her throat and lips form the name

Right there and then her voice broke a spell in the air. Her husband had also not seen her in a decade, hadn’t heard her voice in a decade. Then she saw the true meaning of his name before her; The Rage of the People! It was as if the rage of the entire Sparta was gathered in his gaze! His hand clenched upon the sword he was holding and slowly raised it. Fear twitched in her eyes.

“Please…” she croaked out

Menelaus made a step. And another. And another.

“Please!”

For once second her previous courage left her; it was the instinctual fear of every creature before the face of doom. Menelaus raised his sword over his head and then she just felt her knees buckle.

“NO!”

Her scream was unhinged; raw. She threw herself at his feet, getting to grab onto his knees the last second. Menelaus stiffened. He tried to break free but she held him close.

“Please! I beg of you! Have mercy! Have mercy! Let me at least explain myself! Do not do this before I have the chance to explain to you!”

Menelaus growled and tried once more to kick himself free but he knew he couldn’t. His reaction was weak! She realized it was the first time she touched him and, by gods, it was hugging his legs that were splattered with dirt and blood from the city that sheltered her from his rage!

“What is there to explain?!” Menelaus roared, “How can you explain what you did! Ten years, Helen! Ten bloody long years!”

“Please! Have mercy! I beseech you! In the name of our daughter!”

“Don’t you DARE to mention MY daughter!” Menelaus roared, “You left her behind! Like a beast of the forest who leaves their offspring behind to heal your passion! You have no right to bring her name to your wrenched lips! Damn the moment she was born to see the shame of her own mother! You have no right to speak the name of MY Hermione! Not anymore!”

Helen wailed once more as every word he spoke was a knife to her heart sharper than the sword that was now ominously threatening to take her life.

“Don’t…please…!” she cried, “Have mercy…don’t kill me with your words like this! Don’t be so cruel to me! Don’t say this about my daughter! There was not one day in my life that I didn’t think of her! That I didn’t wish she was there to hug her and apologize to her! Please Menelaus! I beg of you…give me one last chance to explain! That’s all I ask! Please!”

“Say what you have to say!” Menelaus growled, “Get up! Get up, woman!”

He practically raised her back to her feet in a violent, bruising grip and yet Helen was intelligent enough to notice the shift in his voice. Her pleading had reached some part of his heart that he dressed in stone. She knew his touch and he knew hers. He knew she was telling the truth. She tried to collect herself and her thoughts.

“I didn’t…I didn’t wish for this to happen, Menelaus. I…the gods have played a cruel game to me…to you…to this city and the Greeks! It was Aphrodite! She promised my hand to Paris! She sparked this cursed feeling inside me! I never stopped loving you, Menelaus! Never, I swear! I swear it upon the life of my children! I have no more sacred oath than that!”

The shadow that passed over her husband’s eyes made her heart stop. It was as if her words only sparked more anger inside him; the anger he was accumulating and nourishing for over a decade of war!

“How DARE you!” he whispered dangerously, “The gods?! Aphrodite?! How DARE you use the gods to mask your sins and infidelity! How DARE you use the name of my daughter for this!”

“Menelaus…stop please!”

“I should have known!” Menelaus ignored her, “The spawn of a woman who felt her passion being sparked by a beast! I should have known better than falling for such a charm! I should have known better than hoping that such a spawn wouldn’t be happy news for me! Cursed the moment I met you! Cursed the moment I married you! Cursed the moment I lo-…”

The word choked in his throat. Her heart clenched. He hesitated to declare his love for her. He hesitated for the first time she ever knew him. That chocked word shocked her much more than his half-blasphemy to her divine father; much more than his sudden action. He grabbed her arm in a bruising grasp, turning to his soldier.

“COME HERE!” he ordered, “Take this woman outside where she will be stoned to death! She will pay for the lives she took upon her! She will pay for the lives she DESTROYED!”

“NO!” Helen now shrieked

Adrenaline gave her probably strength beyond her human capabilities for she broke free from her husband’s painful grip with one violent yank of her arm. Not this, she thought! Any form of death was welcome now that she failed to break through her husband, but not this! She couldn’t die like a common traitor.

“NO! PLEASE!” she begged, “If I am to die, let me die with dignity! Let me die by your own hand! Let me end my own life if you have to! Let me die like a queen! Not like a traitor! Please!”

She violently tore her dress apart. Her naked breasts came in sight. Menelaus’s gaze fell upon them; the way this chest hosted her beating heart; the heart he had rested his ear against so many times, feeling her breathing soothing him! Her breasts remained youthful and beautiful like the day he met her! The years hadn’t withered her divine beauty away!

“RIGHT HERE!” Helen cried, tears running down her cheeks, “Put your sword here right now! I’d rather die by the hands of the man I love than this! Please! Let me die with dignity! You owe me this! Please!”

Menelaus looked at her; the violent palpitations of her chest…and then he looked at her face; her beautiful face scarred by tears and despair; her face that remained divinely beautiful despite the years, no, the years of sadness and agony seemed to have transformed her even more beautiful than before. It was as if her sadness, her GENUINE sadness that she had felt all these years, the suffering and longing, had made her even more beautiful in his eyes. Her hair was messed up, her face pure without any paint or cosmetics; her natural scent that didn’t need any perfumes or aromatic oils to make him longing for her; her body and heart and spirit. How could such a beauty go to waste? How could he destroy this divine creature? How could he destroy the woman he loved?

“ARGH” he roared throwing his sword away, “DAMMIT!”

“My lord?” his soldier asked, “Shall we proceed?”

“No!” Menelaus yelled, “I can’t! I can’t!”

Yes, he realized he couldn’t. He couldn’t kill her, he couldn’t watch her getting killed, and he couldn’t order her death. He couldn’t part from her again!

“I can’t! Damned be my name and my weakness but I can’t see this through! Zeus and the immortals forgive me, I can’t destroy this woman! If I do, I am destroying myself! If I kill her I die with her!”

Helen felt her tears increasing but this time the warm tears were coming straight from her heart; this organ that was pumping her blood steadily but also this wrenched tool that betrayed her after goddess Aphrodite clouded her judgment. She saw Menelaus now; the man she loved and chosen as her husband! Taking a bald step she took his hand, the hand painted in blood and tar. Wetting it with her own salty tears she kissed it. She was placing her life in his hands. There was nothing else she could do; nothing else she wished to do. She felt him stiffen but it was not unpleasant this time. Not like before. As she was bended down, she felt the chlamys covering her head like a veil.

“Dammit!” Menelaus cursed again, “Let’s get the hell out of here!”

She felt her husband pulling her away and fast. Helen didn’t know what her fate would be; what her position would be now and she didn’t expect much but she felt like she could trust Menelaus. More than just her love for him was her trust to his heart.

That had happened quite a couple of hours prior, however it felt like an eternity to Helen. They reached his tent, that much she knew, judging from the sounds of the soldiers around. Beneath her fit she could be the ends of the Achaean tents that were set up very fast just enough so they could pass the night; obviously not like the organized camp they were before thanks to the ploy by Odysseus to pretend they were leaving. Quite frankly most soldiers didn’t even have their tents ready. Just the kings and lords were having some shelter for the night (which was getting over anyways). He saw the material of the tent open and Menelaus pushed her in. Only then his chlamys left her head. Menelaus had spoken no word to her ever since that encounter. She heard him yelling orders hither-thither but not one word had reached her ears that was addressed to her; no words of anger but neither words of encouragement either. She was at least relieved that some of the orders he made were concerning her little girl, making sure she came with them. That seemed enough for her. They entered the cozy environment of the tent. Helen clenched her dress closer, covering herself the best she could. However her husband, half staggered inside, removed his helm and let it fall somewhere. He was feeling crushed and tired; too tired to even bother himself with his armor. His hair was matted, painted in blood. Helen even noticed some white strands coming out of it. How much had he suffered too? How much had the longing and waiting cost him? Menelaus, the king of Sparta, even tiredly half-tripped against his own helm, ignoring its existence on the tent’s floor. A slave rushed to pick it up.

“Leave it!” Menelaus roared, “Out! Everyone out!”

She saw them all run out, terrified by his sudden yell. She stood her ground. She watched him struggle with his armor as if it would choke him but she didn’t dare to come closer to assist him. She felt like he needed his space; what had happened that night was not easy for anyone. Helen still mourned the city; the people who didn’t judge her. She mourned herself too; for feeling happiness being with her husband again even with such a terrible price to pay. Menelaus, finally free from the leather and bronze, he let the armor fall to the floor with a clang. Helen couldn’t remember seeing him this exhausted; this burnt out before. He moved his head, hearing cracking sounds from his nape. He silently went to a bronze bowl of water and splashed plenty on his face and over his hair, in some attempt to make himself presentable. With some of the blood gone, Helen clearly saw the gray hairs in his reddish head; like snowflakes on top of dry leaves. Menelaus…her Menelaus seemed drained and prematurely old despite his face being as handsome as she remembered. She watched him dry himself with a towel, which he also abandoned on the floor. She saw the blood stains on the towel and she cursed herself for thinking “Thank gods! This isn’t his blood…he is not hurt…” The thought brought tears to her eyes. She didn’t want to know how many people’s blood he was carrying on him. Menelaus poured a glass of wine for himself and drank deeply from his golden cup. How strange, she thought, gold and jewelry; how insignificant these seemed now before the face of war and death! How much death had they brought upon this earth! The silence was choking her. She couldn’t stand it!

“Menelaus…I…”

Her whisper was cut off by one move of Menelaus’s hand; a silent order, perhaps a silent pledge. She obeyed. Menelaus once more finished his drink and then he sat upon his couch, or perhaps it was his bed now. Helen saw how, despite the fact the tent was cozy and wide; she noticed the difference of her life and his all these years; Menelaus lived in a military camp for more than 10 years while she was living in the palace. No wonder he was so older than his age now; the sorrow, the guilt, the longing in combination to the conditions he lived in, could have their toll at any man. Menelaus seemed to be taking a breath to speak; as if to collect his thoughts.

“For ten years…” he finally whispered, voice hoarse and tired, “During all these years I had dreamt of this moment, Helen…”

It was the first time he addressed her so softly after a decade. Helen felt her heart palpitating and shivering. His rage before was all forgotten to her. His voice now was making her weak at the knees; the softness of her husband she had missed so much.

“I have played it in my head so many times that I had thought I knew every word I wanted to say or reply to you…” he scoffed humorlessly in self-sarcasm, “But, by gods, now I cannot even find a single word to say! The only thing I can say now -the one thing that tormented me all these years- is… Why, Helen? Why?”

His eyes locked with hers; her almost dark and yellow ones; the eyes that looked like stormy sky plundered by lightning.

“Why did you do this to me? Why…?”

The pain! The seer agony! She could almost see the tears down his cheeks even if he heroically was holding them back.

“Menelaus…I…”

“Yes, I know” he interrupted her, “Aphrodite… By gods, Helen…I don’t know what to believe! However that is not what I am asking…”

She waited. She didn’t even need to speak again to know his intentions.

“Why did you…for ten years, Helen…you waited there for ten years… You saw me nearly slaying your precious Paris…him being saved by gods… You still chose him, Helen…even then…you chose him…”

Then she saw it. One single tear ran down his cheek. His voice broke.

“Why, Helen…” he repeated like a mantra, “Why did you push me to the edge? Why did things have to go this way?”

There were a million things she would want to say; many excuses and true reasons. She could have said how she was still under the influence of Aphrodite. She could have said that she had a family she wanted to protect; her precious children that were not at fault, the children that died so unfairly in an earthquake and the children she mourned. She could have said how grateful she was to king Priam for understanding and protecting her, to Hector who supported her, to Andromache who accepted her. She could speak on the years she spent with these people. She could speak on her daughter, her little Helen, that remained alive…on the fact that they chose a new husband for her against her will. However none of this seemed useful now. Her tears ran down her cheeks again, her throat burning and feeling tied in a knob.

“Does it matter now…?” she whispered, “Would anything I say make things better now after so long? Will this give back the lives to all the Greeks that fell or the Trojans that got slain? Will anything I say undo this disaster we did…?”

Yes, she included him. She knew he would have too. Menelaus called upon the greatest army in the world, he agreed upon a bloody war, he agreed upon a scheme to take the city at night and the slaughter of innocents. She knew he knew he was not innocent; just like she wasn’t.

“No…” Menelaus whispered, “No, it doesn’t…”

His honey eyes locked in hers. She didn’t know what to make of it. His stare was as intense as the needle that pierces through the skin when the healer closes a wound. As if being self-conscious, she clenched her dress close to her chest again. Menelaus followed the movement with his eyes. Then his arm extended.

“Come here…”

It was a soft order; a pleading. Helen moved slowly, taking his hand in hers; eliminating the distance between them. She followed his lead as she slowly knelt before him, looking up at his face. His hand softly touched her cheek. She shivered. The night was cold but his hand was so warm! His fingers traced her cheek; phantom touch against her skin. His thumb trailed her lips. Helen felt more tears running but this time it wasn’t despair. His hand slowly went down the side of her throat, slowly slipping in her dress to caress the flesh of her shoulder. She turned her head by instinct, kissing his wrist. She felt him shiver. There was a soft squeeze on her shoulder; en encouragement to make her stand again. She did. His hands then opened her dress again to reveal her chest. He looked at her for a few seconds and then she saw him come undone, like a dam collapsing, filling a lake with water fast!

“Gods!” he whispered

And his arms pulled her close. It was a desperate embrace! It was the type of hugging a dying man would do to their deity, begging for a few more seconds upon the land of the living! His face buried in her bosom and she felt his wet tears on her skin; his arms, strong and secure, fisting upon the material of her dress and her back. Her own arms by instinct flew around him; around his head and she pulled him in her even further as the king of Sparta sobbed. This time Helen’s eyes were dry. It was as if she needed to be strong for him; allowing him to be weak now, to be with her! His shoulders were shivering from sobbing but he made no sound. He half raised his head only to kiss each one of her breasts. His lips were burning! Her heard raised her pulse. The last kiss was placed right in the middle; right over her heart, hammering against her ribcage.

“Please…” he begged, “Hold me, Helen! Hold me like this…”

“Yes…” Helen whispered hugging his head again, “Always…always…”

The man she loved more than life itself looked up and softly pulled her on his knees.

“Kiss me…” he begged again, “Please…kiss me…!”

The encouragement was not needed. She cupped his cheeks with both her white soft hands and her lips landed on his. She heard him whimper. His hands desperately clasped her hair and the other around her body. He kissed her like his life depended on it; like her soul was being transferred inside him. After ten long years! Finally Tears escaped his eyes. It was as if he was dying. The lip locking lasted a few seconds before Menelaus pulled back and half-fell behind. One of his arms was still holding her but the hand that clasped on her locks so tightly before, flew behind him as if to stop his fall. It was as if his heart had stopped for a small second.

“Menelaus!” she worriedly held onto his shoulders

“I’m fine…” Menelaus panted softly, “I’m fine…”

She used the edge of her sleeve to mop the droplets of sweat off his forehead; suddenly his skin feeling cold to the touch his breath coming out harshly. She could tell something was wrong with him; worry biting her soul like a snake. He tried to stabilize his breath as he looked up at her.

“Don’t look at me like that…” he begged weakly, “Please…not you…not like that!”

Tears burnt again in Helen’s eyes. The daughter of Zeus shook her head negatively, placing a kiss on her husband’s forehead, curling against him like a dove. His arms embraced her tighter than before. Her ear caught the sound of his heart; it was irregular! Only to stabilize bit by bit. She held him tightly as if she wanted to transfer her health to him. She wouldn’t let him go again! Never!

“Hold me, Menelaus…” she now begged back, hoping transferring her need for him would help, “Please...never again! Let me stay like this with you…never let me go again!”

Her palm rested against his chest; against his heart. She thanked all gods of Olympus that the heartbeat had stabilized. She could tell by his breathing and temperature too.

“Promise me…” she urged, “You will not let me go…you will not leave me! Never again!”

It was a foolish wish, she knew, but the deteriorating of his health alarmed her. She wanted him, only him, she would never marry another man again but him. She made a promise to herself that even if it cost her, her life, she would keep this man on this earth. He deserved it! Menelaus softly sighed and held her tighter.

“I promise…” she heard him whisper

There was no more need for words between them. No more reasoning was necessary.

***

Sooo yeah I feel lke we do not have so many Helen x Menelaus fics out there and is a shame given how much of a couple they are and how they have been through so much together! And how their love was enough to forget the years they spent apart!

Menelaus trying to kill Helen but being moved by her beauty or her pleading for her life is a detail mentioned in later sources, also depending on the source he wanted to kill her himself or have her stoned to death! As usually I decided to combine sources! Hahaha! Hopefully this works!

For the scene in Menelaus's tent I was severely inspired by an amazing Greek composer named Kostas Kapnisis (Κώστας Καπνίσης) who created soundtracks for some greek movies including an amazing movie for the greek revolution and one of the heroes taking part in it, Papaflessas. In the movie of 1971, one of the pieces of the soundtrack is called Erotiko (Ερωτικό) aka "erotic" or "of love" or "of eros" and on my word is was just perfect in my head!

youtube

Just listen the soft melody! TT-TT So them!

I also wanted to show Helen's strength and intelligence but also the fact that all characters were broken in sadness at that time.

Also Menelaus collapsing, you can see my headcanon of Menelaus suffering from his heart. I had made a small analysis on it you can find it here

Now I can memorize many good blogs here that create really beautiful Menelaus and Helen art. Some of those that I know and follow are @thehelplessmortals for some more historic style and others like @smokey07 in a more anime-like style. I must say Menelaus definitely needs more love out there! Both for his friendship with Odysseus as well as for his relationship with Helen and the reconsiliation they had!

Now the design for Helen I had in mind was blonde woman due to beauty standards plus how it is generally much rarer color especially for south Europe also Dares the Phrygian elleged account also names her as such but honestly I have seen great designs of hers looking amazing in red or brown or black hair! The eyes of hers (dark gray with sparkles of yellow) was a totally random thing in my head maybe to connect her with Zeus. Just a random idea I had this morning!

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dwobbitfromtheshire · 7 months

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Steve's leg was shaking as the thunder sounded outside. It wasn't the only thing that was making him nervous, though. What were they watching again? He couldn't focus. Nancy was tucked into his side, her head pressed against his chest. He couldn't believe he was getting another chance with her. He didn't want to screw this up, but he also wanted to be honest with her. Suddenly, Nancy's hand was on his shaking leg, squeezing his knee gently.

"Hey, it's okay," Nancy said softly. "I get scared during thunderstorms, too."

"No, it's not that. It's not just that. There's just something about myself that I want to tell you. Or rather, show you. It's just that not everyone is okay with it. My parents certainly aren't, but Robin is more than okay with it. Jesus, her rambling is rubbing off on me," Steve sighed.

"Whatever it is, I'm here," Nancy said softly.

"Okay, well, I need to go upstairs to do it," Steve muttered.

Nancy followed him upstairs and waited patiently outside the door of his bedroom. After several moments, Steve called for her. Nancy went in and found him sitting at his dressing table. Make-up was spread across the table. Steve was wearing a casual, off the shoulder blue dress. He was wearing a long, brown wavy wig. Nancy was caught off guard by how beautiful he looked, and she had a hard time not looking at his red painted lips.

"Steve. . .," Nancy trailed off.

"I know it's probably weird, and I understand if you - ," Steve started to say.

"I think it's great!" Nancy said quickly and took his hands. "Has this always been you?"

"I always felt this way. Sometimes, I feel like a girl, sometimes a man, and sometimes neither," Steve said.

"Do you feel like a woman today?" Nancy asked softly.

"Yeah," she replied.

"Do you have a name, or do you still go by Steve?" Nancy asked.

"I actually do have a name for when I'm a girl, I like going by Stevie and sometimes Eve," she replied. "But Stevie, I really like."

"Stevie," Nancy said and cupped her cheek.

"So, you're really okay with this?" Stevie asked.

"I'm more than okay with this," Nancy said and placed a hand on her chest. "I always thought that this was more important to me than what someone's gender is. I fell in love with your heart, and since this is who you are, I'm going to love that too."

"I love you," Stevie said.

"I love you, too," she said and grinned. "I have the prettiest girlfriend in all of Hawkins."

"You called me your girlfriend," Stevie giggled bashfully.

"You're beautiful, Stevie Harrington," Nancy said.

She stood behind Stevie, looking at her in the mirror. Nancy wrapped her arms around her neck and leaned down to hug her, kissing her cheek.

"Thank you," Stevie said, gazing lovingly at her in the mirror.

"I'm here for you, always," Nancy whispered.

"I want to tell the others. I mean, not the kids yet but our friends," Stevie said.

"I'll support you and be there for you if you want me to," she said and paused. "And if they disrespect you in any way, I'll shoot them."

She turned Stevie's head and kissed her lips. She grinned when she felt Stevie sigh happily.

A few weeks later. . .

"You sure you still want to do this?" Nancy asked.

"Of course," Stevie said. "No doubts."

"You look pretty in yellow," Nancy muttered, her hands on her hips.

Stevie was wearing a pleated yellow medium length skirt, a white button-up blouse, and white ankle boots. She had gone with the long curly brown wig instead of the wavy one. She had half of it pulled back with a hair clip.

"And you look pretty in purple," Stevie said as Nancy wrapped her arms around her from behind.

"Those colors go pretty well together, don't you think?" Nancy asked, and before Stevie could answer, there was a knock on the front door. "I'll get that. You give yourself a minute."

She kissed Stevie's cheek and headed downstairs. She opened the door for Robin, Vickie, Eddie, Chrissy, Jonathan, and Argyle. Nancy smiled when she saw Argyle and Jonathan holding hands.

"So, that finally happened, huh?" Nancy asked with a smile as she followed them into the living room.

"Yeah," Jonathan said, blushing.

"He made the first move," Argyle said, beaming. "Can you believe that, man? Gave me a rock. I had to kiss him."

"Smooth, Byers," Eddie grinned. "Where's Steve?"

"Speaking of that, do not say Steve. It's Stevie today," Nancy said.

"Oh, so that's happening today?" Robin asked.

"Yes, and if you guys say anything disrespectful of Stevie, then you should know that I did bring my gun," Nancy said and paused with a sigh. "I know I can't control how you feel, but I really hope you guys are open-minded when Stevie comes down."

"Aw, that's love," Robin said and paused. "I fully support her right to shoot you if you're rude about your opinion."

"Is everyone ready?" Stevie's voice floated from upstairs.

"Yeah," Nancy replied.

Stevie started moving down the stairs, her nails painted red. Nancy was pleased to see she was wearing her glasses. She loved it when she wore her glasses. Everyone stared at Stevie when she walked into the room.

"You look great, Stevie," Eddie said with a grin, and he turned to Chrissy. "Don't be jealous, babe."

"The only thing I'm jealous of is how pretty Stevie looks," Chrissy said. "And I mean that mostly platonically."

"Okay, now I'm jealous," Eddie grinned.

"Stevie does look great in that skirt. I could never pull off yellow," Vickie said.

"Flirting with Stevie right in front of me and Nancy," Robin said. "Brave."

"I wasn't!" Vickie explained.

"You look beautiful, Stevie," Argyke said. "Your energy is screaming with delight."

"So, are we going to be seeing more of Stevie?" Jonathan asked.

"That depends on how I feel. Sometimes, I feel like Stevie, and sometimes I don't," she replied.

"Either way, I think it's great," Jonathan said.

"Thanks, Jonathan," Stevie said. "So, you guys are okay with this?"

"Yeah, in all seriousness, Stevie, you're still our favorite badass babysitter," Eddie said. "We love you."

Stevie grinned and held out her arms, waving at them.

"Okay, group hug," she demanded.

Robin laughed and dove in first, hugging her best friend tightly before everyone followed suit.

"Proud of you, dingus," she whispered.

"Thanks for not treating me any differently," Stevie said and paused. "Okay, there's supportive, and then there's overly supportive. Who's hand is on my ass?"

"Sorry, that was an accident," Nancy replied.

"Oh, well, that's okay, you're allowed to grab my ass, Nance, we're dating," Stevie said.

"I swear it was an accident," Nancy blushed.

"It's okay, Nancy, Vickie likes to grab my ass too," Robin said.

"Robin!" Vickie laughed.

"Yeah, Chrissy gets a little handsy herself," Eddie said. "Nothing to be ashamed of."

"It's true," Chrissy beamed.

"It was an accident," Nancy laughed. "Trust me. You'd know if it wasn't."

"We're just fucking with you, honey," Stevie said and ducked her head to kiss Nancy.

Stevie had been relieved to know that it had gone well with them. She welcomed any and all questions that were posed to her. When it came time to tell the kids, her friends were there for her. They loved him during his Steve days and her Stevie days. They loved her when she felt like a masculine woman and a feminine man. They loved her when she was caught in between, and they loved them on their genderless days, too. They were loved.

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bubblespalace · 8 months

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My Original Character in Diabolik Lovers//💋🤍🕊️

TW// mentions of not having enough food or rest.

🩸Name: Bella Wayland

🥀Race: Nephilm: Half angel, Half human.

🕊️Age:19

🌬️Appearance: Bella has super long, curly black hair. She's always super pale and thin because she doesn't have time to eat. She wears a black dress, fit for battle and is always carrying knifes and daggers on her that are marked with runes to help her kill demons. She's tall, 5'9, which makes her intimidating. She has golden eyes, that shine in the light. Strong Italian accent, and speaks Italian and English.

🖤Personality: Calm, Intelligent, Powerful, Cocky, Flirty, Focused, and Caring all at once. She really is good at matching other people's energy. She's an ambivert. She's very closed off around people and doesn't trust easily.

🤍What she calls the diaboys: Shu-Golden Boy/Shoe, Reiji-Four Eyes/Smartie, Ayato-Christmas Eve, Kanato-Puppeteer/Kid, Laito-Christmas, Subaru-Car/Emo

🌹About/Backround: Bella was raised in the beautiful city of Idris until the Circle attacked the Nephilms leaders, The Clave. Her parents died in the battle and she was taken in by a man, who started her harsh training her when she was only two years old. However, her father was a bad man, he was the Leader of The Circle, Valentine Morganstern. She changed her last name to Wayland to separate herself from him.

-Bella and John, her mentor, moved to Milan. She lives in the Milan Institute for Shadowhunters when she is not battling demons. She is one of the strongest Shadowhunters to exist, due to the fact that she has extra angel blood.

-Due to this, she is severely overworked by The Clave. She is used to only getting a meal a week and not getting a lot of sleep. She doesn't know what a lot of things for leisure are, like movies and TV shows. But she knows music because she has had to go to an opera undercover more than once.

-She's been fighting almost all her life. She's very hardcore and doesn't really even know the definition of the word "relax".

-Because she has strong angel blood, her blood is some of the best tasting on Earth. It can also give vampires special abilities, like being able to use runes. It can also enhance the abilities they already have. That's why she is weary of vampires. She doesn't want them to drink her blood and go power-crazy.

-Men fall for her left and right because of her mysterious ways. She's used to having to deal with simps.

💌How she met The Sakamaki Brothers.

-Bella was on a mission in Japan, trying to kill a wanted demon, when she stumbled onto their property accidentally. She ran into Kanato, who smelt her blood quickly and knew just what she was.

"Ah, Teddy? Do you smell how sweet her blood is? I'm quite tempted to take a bite... But then I would ruin her porcelain skin... Fufu... What a shame, I might just have to drain you first, then make you into my new doll."

-It was then that Bella realized he was a vampire. Bella fought Kanato off well until Subaru walked out of his rose garden to see what all the yelling was about.

"Tch, found a new prey, haven't you Kanato-kun? She looks like a Nephilim... She better taste good."

-Bella was malnourished at the time. She may have been strong enough to fight Kanato, but Subaru knocked her out in 30 seconds flat. They dragged her inside and brought her to the living room. Shu, who was lying on the couch as always, opened one eye and glanced at her and the other two men. He seemed almost shocked by how pretty she was. He closed his eyes again.

"As long as she's not noisy, but Reiji might take an interest in her, he's always wanted to experiment on a Shadowhunter before."

-Then, Ayato and Laito walked in, probably on their way back from Yui's room. Laito looked at the passed-out woman in Subaru's arms.

"Fufu, she's quite pretty Subaru-kun~ I might just steal her from you~ Her blood smells delicious."

-Subaru blushed and studdered out his tsundere response. and set her down in the other armchair. Ayato looked at her closely, smirking.

"Tch, she isn't flat like Chichinashi, that's for sure. She's at least a C."

-Reiji walked out of the shadows, looking annoyed because of another unannounced guest, but he perked up when he realized she was of angel blood.

"Although she is trespassing, I suppose we can keep her, but she will be on thin ice."

Bella soon learns that these are The Sakamaki Brothers. When she does, she knows better than to run for it quickly. She's buying her time, when she sees the right moment, she will escape.

She makes friends with Yui, who becomes like a little sister to her, she always directs the boys away from her when she can. However, she may start falling for the six vampires in the process, and they might start falling for her.

🤍🥀

#diabolik lovers headcanons #my ocs #oc #diabolik lovers #diabolik brothers #sakamaki brothers #diaboys #reiji sakamaki #kanato sakamaki #subaru sakamaki #shu sakamaki #laito sakamaki #ayato sakamaki #Bella Wayland

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magici-if · 1 year

Note

I'm honestly so looking forward to this! Question about the ROs, may we know what their physical appearance is? Best of luck!

thank u so much! <3 here it is:

Martin is 6'4", the definition of a gentle yet intimidating giant. He has a slightly grown out raven black buzzcut, matching his dark eyes. His fit physique reflects his disciplined nature, and he has no problems showing it off by wearing tight compression shirts or turtlenecks matched with baggy sweatpants. He has a burn scar on his right shoulder that he got from a stupid incident when he was a kid, making him look even more intimidating.

Demetra can only be described as beautiful, she has locks of wavy midnight black hair, which complements her tanned skin. She has smart grey eyes, always seeking to know more. She smells like jasmine and iris, but she won't let you close enough for you to notice. She has black painted nails and several silver rings adorning her fingers. Demetra mostly wears all black, her staple pieces being low rise jeans and fitted zip hoodies.

Evander is 5'7" and skinny, always looking unbothered. His bleached yellow hair always looks messy and uncombed. They have several tattoos adorning their olive skin, their favourite being the intricate vines-and-flowers piece on their back. He has monolid black eyes, with a surface piercing under his right one, as well as a spiked labret piercing. They often wear black tank tops, ripped jeans and leather jackets.

Harley is 5'2", almost swallowed by the baggy clothes she usually wears. Her brown curly hair reaches her shoulders and you'll always spot a pair of sunglasses on top of it, or covering her hazel eyes. She has freckles, short white painted nails and a nose piercing on her right nostril. She usually wears shoe inserts to appear taller, don't tell her you now know her secret. She loves ear piercings, she has several on both ears as well as an industrial on her left side.

Echo looks like she could be the muse of a John Singer Sargent portrait. Wavy light brown hair flows gracefully down to her shoulders, often styled in a chignon. She has sky blue eyes that look often away, reluctant to hold eye contact. Her short painted pink nails match the tiny pink semicolon tattoo on her wrist. Her style can be summarised with Vivienne Westwood, baggy jeans + tiny tops, and hidden tattoos.

Dominic is an intimidating, stern-looking man with slicked-back black hair, a groomed goatee, and dark brown eyes. He stands at 6'2" tall, his strong nose and two small scars on his left eyebrow from a past piercing add to the feeling that this man isn't here to play. Lastly, tailored suits accentuate his broad shoulders and slim neck, completing his refined 'should-be-a-lawyer' look.

#if wip #interactive game #interactive fiction #magici: dominic #magici: echo #magici: evander #magici: demetra #magici: harley #magici: martin #askbox #inbox #asks #magici

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imnotoverlyobsessive · 4 months

Text

Return to the Water

Chapter Four: Only For a Moment

AO3 one two three four five six seven eight nine

I know we shouldn’t start, but baby, I’m a slave to the rhythm of your heart.—Marianas Trench, Rhythm of Your Heart

“You want me to bathe wearing panties and a bra?”

“No,” Tim said patiently. “I want you to wear a swimsuit while I teach you how to bathe.”

“I know how to bathe,” she said, defensive.

“You know how to comb and condition your hair so it doesn’t frizz up when it dries?”

Lea pursed her lips. “Okay,” she admitted, “I dunno how to do that.”

“Uh huh.”

He gave her two articles of azure-colored clothing in a strange fabric, and by the time she was done putting them on, he had… removed his shirt and put on those same shorts he’d been wearing when he fell in the ocean.

“Okay,” Tim said as his gaze raked over her body. “C’mon.”

He held a bag of items as he led her out of the bedroom and into what she now knew was a bathroom, and then into a fairly large chamber with blue tiles. “This is a shower,” he explained. “Here, I’ll show you how it works.”

A shower, as it turned out, was essentially a rain chamber. He instructed her on how to turn it on and off and adjust the water to her liking.

“It’s warm,” Lea observed, bewildered.

He stared down at her for a moment. “I… guess you wouldn’t be used to warm water, huh? But yeah, people like varying degrees of heat when they bathe.”

It was several seconds before Lea declared, “Humans are weird,” for the bazillionth time.

“Uh huh,” he said, having heard this plenty of times. “So first, you get your hair wet.” He closed his eyes and put his head under the water. Once his stupidly beautiful curls were plastered to his stupidly beautiful face, he grabbed a small tub off a shelf. “Okay, so this is shampoo.” Tim put some goop from the container on his hand and lathered it into his hair. “It cleans your hair, see? You try.”

Lea hesitantly took some of the goop and put it in her hair, the same way he did. “It smells weird,” she decided.

“Uh huh, most shower stuff is scented,” he explained. “Okay, so make sure you get your scalp really good, and get all the way through your hair. Which must be crazy because yours is so long, but— yeah.”

She tried to do as he instructed, and once she’d done so to his satisfaction, he grabbed a strange metal rod off the wall and pressed a button on it. To her astonishment, a stream of water came out. She stared, bewildered, as he leaned his head back—holy fuck, his jaw when he did that, and water was dripping down his body in rivulets, holy fuck—and rinsed his curls out. “See? You start at your scalp and work your way down.”

“Right,” Lea said slowly, hesitantly accepting the metal rod and trying to do the same. It took much longer, as her hair reached her knees, but she managed it.

“Okay,” he said with a grin, grabbing another tub. “Time for conditioner. You’ve got curly hair, so I apologize for how much of a hassle this’ll be for ya.”

He put the conditioner in his hair, and she mimicked him carefully. The conditioner was the color of gold, and it made her hair look interesting.

Once she’d done that, Timothée smiled at her, and she could’ve sworn her heart stopped. “So we leave that to sit for a little bit,” he explained. He grabbed a cloth. “This is a washcloth,” he told her. “You put soap on it and scrub your body.” When Lea nodded her understanding, he grabbed a bottle and poured some of what she assumed was soap onto it. He gave her a washcloth and encouraged her to rub it over her skin, nodding when she did so in a way he deemed satisfactory. Lea did her best to be quick about it, but when she washed the cleavage between her breasts, he stared at the area as she did, his mouth hanging open a bit.

“What?” Lea said, confused by the way he was staring at her. “You’re looking at me like you want to eat me again. Are you sure humans don’t eat each other?”

Timothée’s mouth snapped closed, and his gaze met hers again. “It’s not exactly a common practice, no,” she said slowly. “Anyway, you’re, uh.” He swallowed and cleared his throat. “You’re doing a good job.” His gaze traveled back down to her breasts again.

“Human men are weird,” Lea observed.

“I imagine mermen are just as weird,” he countered with a small smile.

“There are only mermaids. We don’t have males.”

He blinked down at her in surprise. “Then how do you reproduce?”

“Humans,” Lea said easily, bending over to wash her new legs.

Behind her, she heard Timothée swallow.

Lea couldn’t sleep. She hadn’t slept for more than half an hour at a time since she became human. She knew why; her mother had told her that when her and her sisters’ father was alive, she couldn’t sleep without touching him, if he wasn’t holding her. But what could she say, how could she explain such a thing to Timothée? ‘Hey, Timothée, so I can’t tell you why, but I can’t sleep unless you’re holding me. Don’t ask questions.’ Yeah, no.

The only way she could get any rest was in the little bit of the ocean that was down a ladder by the outdoor bathtub. The villa had.

She was laying there in the sand one night, her body swaying in the ocean, when suddenly, she was ripped from the shallow water.

“What the—?!”

“What are you doing, trying to kill yourself?” Timothée demanded, panting. “You’ll drown!”

“What?” Lea said tiredly. “No, of course not. I was trying to sleep.” He looked confused, so she explained, “Just because I lost my tail doesn’t mean I can’t breathe underwater still.”

His lips parted, and he frowned slightly, considering this. “Oh.”

“Now go away and let me sleep.”

“R— right,” he muttered, presumably going to dry off. Though why humans wanted to get rid of the seawater, she’d never understand.

What helped her sleep that night was the memory of his touch, even though it was only for a moment.

Big thanks to my beta @lilmaymayy

Tag list:

@ellamaianderson @shika1200 @blackqueenstarseed1 @gatoenlaciudad @esmaada @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @softhecreator @timolaurence @timmymyluv @oddlyenoughiamweird @leecrunchybones @s-we-e-t-t-ea @almostg @leespparker @bubblebuttwade @glizzymcguirex @starberry-cake @camille-1019 @lixzey @shycreationdreamland @gossamer19

To be added, please ask 💗

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esters-notepad · 4 months

Text

In which Zeus goes to the club and is confronted by a bunch of nerds

Inspired by some recent discussion on @irishironclad's tumblr. Thanks to @catkin-morgs-kookaburralover for coming up with the deciding plot twist!

The Sky-Father, Optimus Maximus, the Hospitable, the Protector of Armies, the Protector of Friendship, he of the Rains, the Storms, the Thunder and Lightning (commonly known as Zeus) yawned and stretched his shoulders. He felt like he had slept for a long time. Years, even. He checked the time, and promptly shot bolt upright. One thousand four hundred years??? That couldn't be right... except it was. At least his follower count was up to a four-digit number again. More than enough to get out of bed and perform some minor miracles. He'd beat that usurping half-godling yet. Zeus snuck a glance at his nagging old battleaxe Hera, but she was still deep in a coma, follower count so low that she was actually slightly transparent. Ha! Nobody loves a party pooper. Time to go out and have some fun with the mortals.

Marina had been dancing for several songs, when she suddenly noticed another dancer following her. He looked like a classical statue with his curly hair, elegant nose and buff body. His colours were perfect too: hair so dark it bordered on violet, skin olive-brown and clear, teeth white as snow. She threw herself into the beat, relishing the experience of having such a beautiful and skilled partner. The people around them even drew back a little, forming a circle for them to show off in. When the song ended, she made a flourishing curtsey, overdone to Gibraltar and back. He returned the favour as a small, ironic bow. Marina looked towards the bar, feeling out of breath. As if he could read her thoughts, he grabbed her elbow and steered towards a quiet corner where one could drink and talk. "That was awesome!" Marina said. "Are you a professional dancer, or something?" The unknown man looked almost affronted. "Certainly not! I employ them! ...or I used to." "You must be older than you look, then." He drunk deep from his wine glass instead of replying. Marina sipped her mojito, slightly uncomfortable with how openly he was looking her over. Sure, she had a good body and she knew it. Yes, she had made an effort to look sexy before coming to the club. But he didn't have to be so crass about it! "Who are you?" he asked abruptly. "Eleni", Marina lied with practised perfection. "And you?" "You can call me Dias." "All right, Dias, it was fun dancing with you." Marina left her half-drunk mojito on the table and went for the dance floor, trying to lose Dias in the crowd. Somehow, he stayed right beside her. The man seemed positively incapable of taking a hint. Marina danced her way back to the bar - not the quiet table of before, but the middle of the main bar, in plain view of everyone - and took out her cellphone. Before she could even pull up her sister's number, there was a small electrical shock to her hand, and the machine died. Marina looked up. Barely an arm's length away stood Dias, smiling cruelly, lightning playing around the fingers of his right hand. "Who are you?" Marina said breathlessly, without expecting an answer.

Stavros moved around nervously on his seat. Something was different tonight, he could feel it. Something was making it difficult to concentrate. Konstantin and Dimitrios seemed distracted, as well. Thomas was reciting their usual evening prayer, but without the usual presence of spirit. At the point where they would normally have segued into the Lord's Prayer, Thomas instead said: "Holy Spirit, please guide us. Holy Spirit, please lead us. Holy Spirit, please show us the way." Outside, Stavros thought. That back alley two blocks away. Something's wrong there. "The back alley behind the club," Konstantin said. Dimitrios stared at him: "You felt it too?" "Me too!" Stavros almost shouted. "We should probably go there," Thomas concluded. "Holy Spirit, keep guiding us. God, keep us safe. Amen. Let's be careful."

The summer night was hot and oppressive, with a hint of upcoming thunder. Stavros hung a little back, content to hide his slight form behind those of his brawnier friends. Neon signs flashed. Taxi cabs cruised the street. People walked by, most in flashier dress than their little boardgames-and-prayer-group, most talking and laughing out loud in the grip of intoxication. The little back alley seemed deserted by comparison. Closed and locked doors, shuttered windows, parked cars, some overflowing garbage bins. Directly behind the club was an unhealthy-looking oak tree, and beneath it they could see a man kneeling over a woman, pushing her down on the ground, lifting his hand as if to rip her dress off. "Stop!" Thomas called, and his voice seemed to echo between the walls of the narrow alley. The assailant didn't let go of his victim, but he twisted around to look at them over his shoulder. Pure beauty, Stavros thought. Pure hate. Pure evil. He immediately scolded himself: no human being is purely evil, just as nobody is purely good except Jesus. But his impression remained. "Get lost," Thomas said. "Leave her alone." The assailant sneered. "And who are you to command me?" he said. "I am Thomas, a servant of the Lord Christ," Thomas said simply. "I am Konstantin, a servant of the Lord Christ," Konstantin repeated. Dimitrios added his voice, and Stavros hurriedly stepped out of the other's shadow to face down this ancient evil would-be rapist. A corner of his mind insisted that he and his friends were being ridiculous, that they should attack the guy or call the police or something, not recite corny lines. Stavros repeated it anyway, and the guy fell back a little, as if he'd been struck. The woman took the opportunity to wiggle out and run away. Stavros didn't blame her. "And by that name you command me to be gone," the man said mockingly. "You said it," Thomas said calmly. "By the name of Jesus Christ, we command you to be gone." "Damn your Lord to Hell, and you with him!" "He's been there," Thomas said. "Now he rules it," Dimitrios added. The man in front of them let out a frustrated scream. Lightning struck the oak tree, and Stavros jumped back in surprise. When he'd recovered, the unknown man had disappeared. "Where did he go?" Stavros asked. "Behind these cars?" Konstantin suggested. "No, he's not here. Strange. He must have gotten away somehow." "Guys, that was wild," Dimitrios said. "We faced down a bad guy, and won. Woo!" "Where did the woman go?" Thomas said. "We should make sure that he doesn't catch her again." "I don't think he can," Konstantin said. "She ran past us towards the street, right? And he could hardly have gotten past us - he must have gone deeper into the alley." "And even if he got past us..." Stavros said. "Even if he did, she had time to get away into a taxi, or a restaurant, or something." "You're probably right," Thomas said. "All right, I know it's late, but how about we all go back to my place anyway? Have some more tea, give proper thanks to God, calm down a little. What do you say?" "Best idea you ever had, man," Dimitrios said. Stavros just smiled.

#ester writes

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the-real-housewives-of-waterdeep · 10 months

Text

Prologue: Waterdeep, 1482 DA

Summary: As the heiress apparent to House Selemchant of Amn, Dulcinea is used to getting her way. At 28 years old, she has never had to lift a finger unless it was to cast an evocation spell. That is, until she woke up on an unknown beach with a tadpole in her brain.

Rating: MA

Category: F/M

Relationships: Tav/Gale

Chapter 1/?

Word Count: 4.8K

If there was one thing Dulcinea Selemchant loved, it was a good party. Not any informal salon, though — no, Dulcinea loved grand balls, opulent galas, and events of the season. Truthfully, she loved any event that gave her an excuse to dress up in her finest and preen in front of the mirror. At 18 years old, she was a recent debutante in Sword Coast’s upper echelon of wizards, sorcerers, and warlocks, a role she slid into with confidence and panache. She loved feeling like the star of the show when she walked into the ballroom, the whispers of awe, and the attention of male suitors.

That was the true purpose of her parents sending her all the way from Athkatla to Waterdeep — to marry her off to another powerful family of wizards. Between the legacy of House Selemchant’s propensity to produce gifted mages and the associated political clout within Amn, a Selemchant woman made an excellent marital choice for an upwardly mobile wizard.

Although Lorroakan’s personal goal was to schmooze with the most gifted wizards of the Sword Coast, his directive was to chaperone his younger sister. “Keep a close eye on her,” their father instructed. “Do not let her out of your sight, even for a moment.” Lorroakan resented this responsibility of babysitting his spoiled little sister, the crown jewel of the family and his father’s blatantly obvious favorite, but he was on thin enough ice as it was after several shameful mishaps related to his temper. He was in no position to refuse.

In her room at Tarth’s towers, Waterdeep’s most luxe inn, Dulcinea stood in front of a full-length mirror, turning her head from side to side as she fussed over the shape of her jaw, the contour of her cheeks, and the shape of her lips, which were pressed into a seductive pout. Her honey-colored skin was kissed with a blush made from beet juice and pomegranate.

Behind her, her halfling governess Clothilde stood on a small stool, lacing the back of Dulcinea’s elaborate dress. Clothilde pulled the silk ribbon lacing as tightly as she could, pulling Dulcinea’s waist into a tight hourglass. As the corseting tightened around her, Dulcinea gasped slightly.

“Hurts to be beautiful, eh?” Clothilde quipped. Clothilde had cared for Dulcinea since she was a baby. The two of them shared a close bond, one not dissimilar to that of a mother and daughter. In fact, it was Clothilde who prepared Dulcinea to be a debutante.

“Always worth it,” Dulcinea replied breathlessly. She straightened her back and squared her shoulders as she adjusted to the new constriction around her abdomen.

She admired her streamlined figure in the mirror, half-twirling from side to side. Her dress was robin’s egg blue and made of the finest mulberry silk which cascaded down to the floor, concealing her spotless, white calfskin boots. The tightness of the bodice pushed her breasts up slightly, giving the illusion of cleavage. Her dark, curly hair was pulled back into a high bun encircled by tight braids and held in place with a thin silver comb.

“One last thing,” Dulcinea said, reaching for her jewelry case that sat on the table next to the mirror. From the intricately engraved gold case, she produced a silver necklace that glittered with tiny sapphires — her most prized possession. Dulcinea smiled indulgently at her reflection. “There we are,” she breathed with satisfaction as she admired her décolletage.

“You look like a princess, little rabbit,” Clothilde smiled, using Dulcinea’s childhood nickname.

Then, there came a forceful knock on the door. Dulcinea jumped at the disruption.

“Are you quite done yet?” Loroakkan bellowed in annoyance from the other side of the door.

Dulcinea rolled her eyes. “Yes, brother, I’m done,” she called back. “Such an asshole,” she groaned to Clothilde.

“Don’t give your brother too hard of a time tonight, rabbit,” Clothilde chided. She knew that Dulcinea would likely try to slip out of Lorroakan’s line of sight and get into some sort of trouble. At the last two balls that the siblings attended, Dulcinea got a little too tipsy and had to be taken back to the inn early in the evening. After that, their father insisted that Lorroakan supervise her more closely lest she sully her reputation and that of their family.

“Fine,” Dulcinea agreed, albeit with a tone of dismissiveness. She leaned down to give her governess a hug. “I’ll behave — Paladin’s honor.”

“You’d better! Or else your father won’t let you leave the house until you’re an old maid,” Clothilde warned jokingly. She and Dulcinea knew quite well that their father would impose no such punishment upon his treasured daughter.

Dulcinea waved goodbye to her governess and opened the door to see her visibly irritated brother tapping his foot impatiently. He was a young, good-looking man with high cheekbones and red hair pulled back into a ponytail. He was dressed in a green velvet waistcoat with flashy golden embroidery along the cuffs of his sleeves and the collar. Beneath his waistcoat, he wore a color-coordinated vest and thigh-skimming trousers with their seams featuring the same golden embroidery pattern.

“We were supposed to arrive half an hour ago,” he hissed. “And you’re in there preening over yourself.”

Dulcinea rolled her eyes. “I’m ready to go now, aren’t I? You’re no fun, Lorroakan.”

“This night isn’t just for you, Dulcinea. It’s for me, too. I’m fact, it’s more for me than for you. Now let’s go.”

With a deft snap of his fingers, Lorroakan transported himself and his sister to Phaulkonmere, a villa owned by two noble families of Waterdeep — The Phaulkons and the Tarms. They often hosted large gatherings of Sword Coast’s high society, including the most elite and well-renowned mages of the realm. It was an old stone building with ivy creeping up its outer walls. From where the Selemchant siblings stood on the street, they could already hear music and laughter from inside. The party had started without them, much to Lorroakan’s irritation.

“We’re fashionably late,” Dulcinea insisted.

“Whatever. Please don’t make an ass of me tonight.”

“Don’t make an ass of yourself, either,” Dulcinea said snarkily. “Gods know you’re good at that.”

Lorroakan shook his head and walked quickly towards the doors. His black leather boots clicked across the stone steps leading into the house. Dulcinea trailed after him with an intentional languidity in an attempt to further annoy her brother. He may’ve been assigned to be her handler tonight, as it were, but that didn’t mean she would make his job easy.

The Selemchants stood in the grand foyer of the villa, looking into the main hall where everyone was gathered. A trio of instrumentalists — a viol, a drum, and a horn — played a rendition of “The Wizard and the Wren,” a fitting but painfully obvious choice of accompaniment. The scent of roasted meats filled the air. Mages mingled in small groups, drinking wine and laughing.

Lorroakan glared at his sister. “I can’t have you following me around all night, but if you dare leave my line of sight there will be consequences.” He walked halfway across the foyer before turning back to look at Dulcinea. “And no getting drunk like last time, either. Keep your shit together.” Lorroakan entered the main hall, met with cheers of recognition from friends and acquaintances. A half-orc thrust a goblet of wine into his hand, clapping him forcefully on the back. He grinned in recognition, making a joke that Dulcinea couldn’t hear, causing the people around him to double over in laughter.

He was playing the politician, which in addition to his magical acumen was one of his finer skills. Lorroakan had always been a persuasive and ambitious individual and after gaining a reputation as one of the stronger wizards in Baldur’s Gate, it was increasingly important for him to have friends in high places. Parties like this were a strategic choice for forming those alliances. He couldn’t have his bratty sister getting in his way tonight.

Dulcinea squared her shoulders and lifted her chin slightly, channeling her confidence. She daintily stepped over the threshold to the main hall. She felt heads turn and eyes widen, as they often did. Her attire was usually what caught people’s eye. Her family spent an inordinate amount of money on her formal wardrobe for these events. It was a strategic move on her father’s part, as the goal was for her to signal her availability to suitors.

Despite her frequent attendance at events of this nature, Dulcinea had yet to find a consistent suitor. Either she grew bored of them or they grew irritated with her entitled attitude. At times, it made her nervous that she had been so unsuccessful on this front. How long would her parents continue to foot the bill for this lifestyle when her efforts were so consistently fruitless?

It wasn’t worth thinking about. She was there to have a good time, act charming, and flirt with powerful men. Being nervous about becoming an old maid would only make her appear desperate.

“May I offer you some wine, Miss Selemchant?” a half-elf attendant asked. Dulcinea nodded, accepting a goblet of wine. She tilted bowl of the goblet towards her nose, taking in the aromas: chocolate, pomegranate, and black pepper. She took a sip, holding the wine in her mouth momentarily, engaging her senses fully. It was full-bodied, peppery, and rich. She wasn’t a sommelier by any stretch but she knew her way around wines, thanks to her upbringing. This one was, in her opinion, solidly mediocre. The wines in Amn are better, she thought to herself. But this will do in a pinch.

Across the room, the band stopped playing folk songs and began to tune in preparation for dancing. Dulcinea watched as couples began to pair off and walk towards the dance floor.

“May I have this dance?”

Dulcinea turned and found herself facing a tall half-elf with piercing green eyes and long red hair pulled back into a thick ponytail. Daintily, she offered him her hand.

“I suppose so,” she replied, smiling coyly.

“You’re Dulcinea Selemchant of Athkatla, yes?”

Dulcinea nodded. “The same, last I checked.”

The elf laughed a little too hard at her joke. “Ah, clever and beautiful! How lucky am I to have gotten the first dance of the night with you. I am Darius Tarm. It is my honor to make your acquaintance, Miss Selemchant.”

His overtures were painfully heavy-handed. Dulcinea questioned whether or not she should’ve waited for another suitor to ask for a dance instead, but it was too late to recant as they were already on the dance floor. What’s more, he was the host of the party. The least she could do was grant him a dance. In the worst case scenario, she would only have to entertain his presence for the night. In the best case scenario, this would turn into a fruitful courtship and she could marry into a wealthy Watderdhavian family where she could have the autonomy to pursue her studies while living a life of leisure.

The band started to play a lilting melody as couples took their place on the floor. Darius and Dulcinea stood across from each other. His bottle green dress robes swished around him as he bowed dramatically. She curtsied, leaning her forward slightly enough to allow a discrete tease of her cleavage.

The Volta was, at the time, a controversial dance with its origins in Candlekeep. It didn’t gain a semblance of social acceptability until it reached Waterdeep. Its scandalousness was what made it one of Dulcinea Selemchant’s favorite dances. For better or for worse, her beauty was something of a selling point and she displayed it best while dancing.

Darius’ eyes were trained on her as they half-skipped, half-sashayed in opposing semi-circular directions, inching closer to one another with each alternating rotation; clockwise then counterclockwise, then clockwise once more. Dulcinea could smell the overpowering musk of his cologne as they neared one another.

“So,” Darius began, raising his right arm up at a ninety degree angle with his palm facing towards Dulcinea, “I understand that you’re to study at the Blackstaff Academy in Waterdeep, yes?”

Dulcinea raised her right arm, delicately touching her palm to his. “That is correct, yes. I am due there in the spring.”

The two half-skipped in time to the music in a clockwise pattern, palms and forearms pressed together.

Darius smiled approvingly. “An excellent choice for someone of your skill.”

Dulcinea managed to suppress the urge to double over in a fit of laughter. Darius was flattering her with outright falsehoods. Dulcinea was nowhere near skillful enough to attend Blackstaff of her own merit. It was her father’s money that bought her attendance, once more in the interest of pairing her off with someone of status. Dulcinea understood her duty to offload herself from her family, however she hoped that she could build her skills as a witch to achieve even a modicum of renown beyond being a wealthy coquette.

Darius raised his left arm while dropping his right. Dulcinea pressed her palm and forearm once more as they resumed the same clockwise skip.

“I’m sure you’re aware that I have a faculty assignment there,” Darius said smugly, touting his own prowess. “You may be studying under me if you’re pursuing studies in transmutation. In fact, I may have a position open for a research assistant position if such a role may peak your interest.”

Dulcinea smiled with feigned interest. She knew precisely what “research assistant” meant — write my manuscript, get no credit for it, and suck my cock while you’re at it. It was an arrangement that would suit all of her needs in education, sexual appetites, and political standing, but with that came no guarantee of a marriage. In fact, it practically guaranteed the opposite.

“Oh my, what an opportunity,” Dulcinea replied, still feigning interest. “I’d love to hear more about your research later this evening.” Dulcinea, in fact, had no interest in Darius’ work and was quickly growing bored of him. Rather, by asking to hear about his research she was gently propositioning him for a clandestine session of intimacy.

The music began to swell, approaching a climax. Dulcinea lowered her left hand, placing it on Darius’ shoulder while Darius’ hand slid down to her waist, resting at the juncture of her corset and her hip. No matter whom she danced with, this was her favorite part of the dance. Dulcinea half-jumped while Darius simultaneously lifted her, spinning a quarter of a turn before gently lowering Dulcinea to the floor.

“I would be delighted to enlighten you, if you so desire,” Darius whispered as he lifted her again. With her feet back on the ground again, now facing Darius, she offered a coy smile. “Please, enlighten me.”

As the music slowed, couples returned to their starting positions, bowing and curtsying to one another. Darius offered his hand to Dulcinea, palm facing upward. “If I may, I believe we can find a more… suitable venue to discuss my research.”

Dulcinea placed her palm upon his, allowing Darius to lead her through the crowd towards the villa garden.

“Ah, Darius! The man of the house!” a voice called from across the room. Darius stopped weaving through the crowd and turned towards the voice. The voice belonged to Gale Dekarios, or Gale of Waterdeep as he preferred to be called. Dulcinea was familiar with him as he and the Selemchants floated in the same social circles. More importantly, her brother despised him. Any time Gale and Loroakkan were in the same room together, one could anticipate a condescending battle of wits that usually ended in petty insults and the occasional threat of a duel.

“Ah, Gale. How are you, my friend?” Darius replied, clapping Gale amicably on the back. Darius was visibly irritated that Gale was now standing in his way of a private encounter with Dulcinea.

“I am doing splendidly. As you’re probably aware, I have been appointed to a faculty position at Blackstaff Academy in the department of evocation. I shall begin lectures in the spring.”

Darius smiled thinly. “Congratulations, my friend. Truly an honor.”

Dulcinea felt a pleasant twist of her insides upon seeing Gale. Ever since she made her debut into the world of upper-echelon parties and galas last year, she’d harbored a secret, school girl’s crush on Gale of Waterdeep. She admired him as an exceptionally talented mage and his renowned command of the weave, but his rakish handsomeness never failed to put her heart aflutter. The candlelight that shone from the chandeliers above reflected off of his soulful brown eyes and the single earring that dangled from his left ear. He was in his late twenties but his face bore smile lines and wrinkles on his brow that conveyed how much time he spent deep in thought, studying dusty old tomes. Dulcinea swallowed hard, trying not to gawk at him in his dress robes which were a deep shade of eggplant purple.

Darius made a half-step towards the doors to the villa. “Miss Selemchant and I were just about to go for a walk in the garden.”

Gale nodded, half-bowing towards Dulcinea. “Yes, Miss Selemchant of Athkatla. It is a pleasure to see you once more. Did I overhear that you will be joining us at Blackstaff Academy in the spring? I offer my sincerest of congratulations for such an achievement.”

Dulcinea felt her cheeks redden as she curtsied clumsily. “Y-yes, I am quite looking forward to it,” she stammered, awkwardly trying to avert her gaze. “Um, Mister Tarm was just going to, ah, tell me a bit about his… research.” All of her years of etiquette training under Clothilde crumbled away in the face of Gale.

“Then I shall not interrupt,” Gale replied, recognizing his cue to take his leave. “But I do look forward to seeing how you flourish under the tutelage of the greatest wizards of our time this spring.”

Darius nodded curtly at Gale and quickly pulled Dulcinea into the garden. “Gods, read the room, Dekarios,” he spat under his breath. “Thank you for finessing our way out of that conversation.”

Dulcinea smiled sweetly. “Of course. I was quite looking forward to this. Hopefully there wont be further interruptions.”

Even amidst the crispness of autumn, the enchanted garden was in bloom. Carefully groomed topiaries lined the cobblestone path around the square-shaped garden, which hosted a small fountain at its center. Around the fountain, blankets of phlox and verbena sprouted from the ground in full bloom. The back walls of the garden boasted massive citrus trees whose perennially ripe fruit filled the air with the scent of lemon, grapefruit, and orange. On either side of the citrus trees stood tall square topiaries that spanned the rest of the garden walls.

Darius led Dulcinea behind the back garden topiaries. Quietly, he whispered an incantation for a cloak of invisibility which lessened the odds that they would be caught by other guests. He could have taken her up to his room for the night, but such a choice would be far too obvious and, besides, Darius loved the thrill of exhibitionism.

“Dulcinea, Dulcinea,” he growled seductively. “What sweetness you have in those hazel eyes and under this dress.”

“As much as I’m sure you desire to see it, I’m afraid I must decline. I am a lady after all,” Dulcinea said coyly, batting her eyelashes. “But there are… other activities that we may enjoy.”

“I will savor any sweetness of yours that I can get,” Darius hummed, pulling Dulcinea in close. She could smell the wine on his breath and the intoxicating musk of his cologne. He leaned into her neck to kiss her as she leaned her head to the side, offering her soft décolleté to his touch. He inhaled sharply, taking in Dulcinea’s scent, which was buttery and sweet.

Dulcinea moaned softly at the touch of his lips, which now moved upwards towards her jawline, her cheeks, and finally to her lips. His tongue flicked her bottom lip, begging for her to allow him entry. Dulcinea obliged, feeling his tongue slide into her mouth eagerly. She returned the favor, biting his bottom lip before advancing her tongue into his mouth. Darius’ hands slid from Dulcinea’s mid back to her ass, cupping it gently as he kissed her. Dulcinea pulled her lips away, drawing in a sharp breath as she studied Darius’ face. She was beginning to feel a touch light-headed from a combination of the alcohol, the tightness of her corset the weight of her dress, and the wet, primal arousal that lay beneath it all.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Darius breathed, leaning in to kiss her neck once more while Dulcinea caught her breath.

“Yes,” she sighed, pulling him in closer to her. He trailed his kisses down her neck, to her collarbone, finally coming to rest his lips on the curve of her soft breasts.

“May I offer you a kiss of a different sort?” Darius asked, making a painfully obvious innuendo in an attempt to get under Dulcinea’s dress.

“I can’t give away all of my secrets in one night, you know,” Dulcinea giggled. “After all, what else would we have left do once I get to Blackstaff?”

The tables had turned and now she was the one pursuing him, or so she wanted him to believe. She found Darius’ overtures boring, but a friend in a high place is a friend nonetheless and this friend could take her to even higher places yet. Her attendance at Blackstaff was a convenient excuse to lure him in while granting herself some distance. Truth be told, she wished it was Gale wanting to get under her skirt that night.

“Right you are, sweetness,” Darius replied, once more invoking the meaning of Dulcinea’s name. “There will be plenty of opportunities to discuss my work come spring.”

“I shall be sure to seek a meeting with you once I arrive,” Dulcinea purred. She nodded towards the villa. “Shall we? I could do with more wine.”

Darius smirked. “Certainly.” Like before, she lay her palm atop his as he escorted her back inside of the main hall.

As Dulcinea took a goblet of wine from an attendant, she could hear an argument starting across the room. “No, no, no! You could not possibly be more incorrect!” Lorroakan bellowed. He and Gale had picked up where they’d left off, arguing about some obscure topic of arcane knowledge. Loroakkan had already managed to lose his temper in the short time that Dulcinea had stepped out into the garden.

“Your disagreement does not surprise me, Lorroakan. In fact, you’re quite the predictable one. When you’re armed with a better defense of your treatise, you know where to find me,” Gale replied smugly. “Perhaps your temper will have abated as well.”

Dulcinea groaned in irritation. He always harangued her about her behavior at parties, but he was twice as bad as her at getting himself escorted from parties, taking her with him as collateral damage.

“Give me a moment, please,” she sighed, leaving Darius’ side. She drained her wine goblet and set it on a side table before walking quickly across the room to her brother.

“Lorroakan,” she said, her voice as stern as she could manage as she felt the alcohol seep into her system, causing her head to buzz as if it were full of bees. “You need to stop. Now”.

Lorroakan turned to face his sister, his eyes flaming with rage. He’d had too much to drink and he was slightly unsteady on his feet. “And you need to stop sneaking off into the garden to get your tits touched,” he roared. “Besides,” he said, shooting a look at Gale. “Mystra’s little chew toy was just about to leave, weren’t you Gale?”

Gale’s cheeks reddened as he struggled to maintain composure. “Mystra has merely requested my presence, nothing more. I mustn’t keep my goddess waiting.” He glanced at Dulcinea who was still standing a half-step behind her brother. “I look forward to seeing you in the spring, Miss Selemchant,” he said awkwardly as he turned to make a quick exit.

“Is everything alright over here?” Darius asked, appearing behind the Selemchant siblings. They had caused quite the stir that evening and people were starting to stare.

Dulcinea smiled politely. “Yes Mister Tarm. All is well. I’m afraid my brother and I must depart, however. I’m feeling a touch unwell.” She offered Darius an apologetic look. “Thank you for being such a gracious host. I look forward to seeing you in the spring.”

“Of course. I am sure I shall make some exciting discoveries through my research that I can share with you this spring,” he replied, kissing Dulcinea’s hand. “I wish you a pleasant evening, Miss Selemchant.”

Dulcinea gave a small curtsy before leading Lorroakan out of the villa.

“I was having a nice evening until you started acting like an ass,” she hissed at him.

“Oh, I’m sure you were. Having Darius Tarm up your skirt must have been the highlight of the evening aside from dancing the fucking Volta in polite company. Where the hell have your sensibilities gone?”

Lorroakan snapped his fingers, returning them to the inn. “I hope you had a lovely time being a whore in the garden, Dulcinea. I’m sure that will net you a husband.”

“If you hadn’t started arguing with Gale, we wouldn’t be having this discussion!” Dulcinea was beginning to raise her voice in frustration.

“Do you think I didn’t see you gawking at him, too?” Lorroakan snapped. “You sure have excellent taste, sister.”

“What in the hells is that supposed to mean?”

“Gale of Waterdeep, one of the most pompous wizards of the realm and Mystra’s latest fuck toy? In essence, someone astronomically out of your league and absolutely off limits?” Lorroakan spat.

Dulcinea gave him a confused look, the anger draining from her face. “Hold on - is Gale, a mortal man, the consort of Mystra?”

Loroakkan snorted. “Consort is a kind word for that. He’s her lapdog, her plaything, and an easy lay when she feels like it. He’s completely naive to the fact that she doesn’t give a flying fuck about him. It’s rather comical when you think about it: an archmage being duped by a goddess.”

Dulcinea recoiled slightly. She knew Gale was out of her league from the standpoint of arcane acumen, but she didn’t realize that he was very much so spoken for. “Oh,” she finally said after a moment of silence.

Lorroakan smirked. “But sounds like you’ll be busy enough with Darius Tarm. Seems like he’s cultivated an interest in you. Let’s hope it’s more than skin deep, hm?”

Dulcinea scowled contemptuously at her brother. “Get out of my room,” she snarled.

“With pleasure,” Lorroakan hissed, slamming the door behind him as he left.

Dulcinea sighed heavily as she turned towards Clothilde. “I’m terribly sorry about that.”

Clothilde shrugged passively. “Not like that’s anything new. Sounds like he was the trouble-maker tonight, eh?”

“I suppose.”

“Something happened tonight, didn’t it?” Clothilde had known Dulcinea her whole life. She could tell simply by Dulcinea’s tone and her posture that something was the matter.

“I ran into you-know-who and found out that he’s spoken for,” Dulcinea sighed, unlacing her boots.

“I’m sorry, rabbit,” Clothilde replied. “I know you’ve held a torch for him for a year now.” The halfling stepped onto the stool to unlace Dulcinea’s dress for her.

“I hurt my own feelings over him. I’m too young for him, too unwieldy with the weave, and he’s romantically involved with Mystra, apparently, so I’m too mortal as well.” Dulcinea felt a hard lump form in her throat. She swallowed hard, trying and failing to suppress the tears that formed in her eyes.

Clothilde gave Dulcinea a sympathetic pat on the back. “If it’s any consolation, I think you’re better off without him. Besides, sounds like something is brewing with Mister Tarm, eh? You’ll forget the wizard of Waterdeep in no time.”

“But I always get what I want. Why can’t I have him?” Dulcinea’s voice trembled as tears streamed down her cheeks. “I’m Dulcinea Selemchant, gods damnit! I always get what I want. And I want him, not Darius Tarm.” She stomped her foot, scowling in frustration, a childhood habit of hers when she didn’t get what she wanted. Ordinarily, her father would relent and give her whatever it was, but he couldn’t simply order another human to marry his daughter. Thayze was a powerful man and an even more powerful wizard, but some things were beyond the command of mortals.

“There’s no use crying over it, rabbit. Let’s get you into your nightgown and I’ll make you some licorice tea,” Clothilde said, giving Dulcinea’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “That always soothes the soul.”

Dulcinea smiled and nodded as she put her nightgown on. Clothilde always knew how best to comfort her. Clothilde knew best most of the time and Dulcinea hoped that she could continue her track record when it came to getting over Gale.

#bg3 #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fic #baldur's gate #gale x tav #gale x oc

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