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plutoswritingplanet · 2 months

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It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha Harkonnen x Female!Reader) pt.1

a/n: i had a "no bald men" rule before he licked a knife... so y'all know my priorities are in order. Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: Dub-Con (as per usual), Arranged Marriage, Reader is an Atreides (it's just such a good prompt i couldn't help myself),

Summary: A month-long engagement to the na-Baron Harkonnen makes you question, whether a marriage can bloom on the grounds of hate. Loosely based on "Special Death" by Mirah.

Pt.2, Pt.3 Pt.4 (finale)

The message comes from the Emperor himself. An indisputable order that renders your Father speechless. You've never seen him quite as distraught, as when he has visited you in your chambers to deliver the news. Hands fidgeting, eyes refusing to meet yours, heavy shadows falling across his face. He seems to expect your reaction, not giving you as much as a flinch, when you scream your protests at him. And he should've expected as much, you were always the more impulsive of Duke Leto's children.

- But the Harkonnens are beasts - you argue, voice breaking - You've said it yourself, many times.

- Actually, I think that was Gurney...

- You've never denied it!

And he doesn't deny it now, head hung low. Never, not once in your life, have you seen your Father give up. Until today.

Your Mother enters just a few seconds after him, her dress flowing around her ankles as if she had floated in on a cloud. She stands to the side of your bed, hands folded, and an impassive expression embedded onto her features. And the more she speaks of the centuries of breeding, the importance of an union and the powers beyond your understanding, the less you see of your mother. What stands before you, instead, is a Bene Gesserit sister, veiled in schemes and dark plans, which were in the making before you were even born. You curse yourself for not noticing this stranger sooner, and storm off, out of your room, your shawl blowing out behind you like bat wings.

Paul doesn't visit you, but you can hear him, even through the effort of swallowing down your tears. He fights for you against your Father. He would fight for you against the whole Empire if he had to, and your heart swells, as he throws a particularly nasty curse into the air of your Father's study. It doesn't change anything. According to the decree of the Emperror, the oldest daughter of the Duke Leto Atreides will marry Feyd Rautha, an heir to the Baron Harkonnen. A centuries long dispute is about to be put to an end, and all thanks to the small sacrifice, which is your life. All would be well in the galaxy. Really, you should be honored, to be tasked with such a monumental peace treaty.

Everyone in the court seems to know about your situation. Mournful looks follow you, as you walk into the training barracks, ridding yourself of layers upon layers of flowing fabrics, leaving you in a rather tight costume, light enough to beat your frustrations out on someone.

Duncan Idaho meets your searching eyes, and you know he is aware as well. All it takes is one inclination of your chin, and he's up on his feet, sword in hand. Loyal as ever, he stands in front of you, watches with mixed feelings as you enable your shield, no questions asked. None needed.

He barely has time to put his defenses up, when you charge at him, fury and despair pushing your movements into stances which are clumsy and ill though out. Still, there's power within your strikes, a strength of someone who needs to move, unless they break. So he lets you, for a couple of minutes. He dodges your attacks, pairing some of them, never moving quite into the offense.

The rest of the soldiers scurry off somewhere, for which you will be thankful in the future. They might hear your cries of anger, but they will not see you break. They will not see the way your blade smashes into Duncan's shield over and over again, with no regard for the slow attacks, which would penetrate it. Likewise, they don't see your sparring partner fall to his knees and swipe you off your feet in a split-second movement, making you hit the floor with a frustrated snarl. And they don't see you finally give up, and cry, hugging your blade to your chest, the severity of your circumstance falling onto you, crushing you down.

- Never fight in anger, Princess - Duncan reminds you, voice cautious, and you growl at him like a wild animal - It dulls your instincts, makes you distracted.

- Did you know? - you demand, your sharp voice cutting through his half-assed lecture.

For a moment he looks truly remorseful. His eyes float around the room, and your heart sinks when he sighs deeply.

- I found out not long ago - he confesses - Your Father told me.

Your blade slides against the floor as you throw it, a raw scream tearing through your throat. Duncan takes a step towards you, hand extended towards your shaking form. But, before he can attempt to touch you, you're up, rolling your shoulders forcefully. Tears stain your cheeks, and you wipe them roughly with the back of your hand, skin becoming irritated almost instantly. There are swords laid out on a small table, just beside you, your fingers grip the cold handle so hard, your knuckles seem to creak under the pressure. Duncan readies himself as well, dusting off his trousers.

He's not good at comforting, but he's the best at fighting, and if that's what you need in this cold morning, he'll oblige.

- You'll make it through, you know - he says, his voice genuine, and you laugh without any mirth.

Your blades clash, faces coming closer as you absentmindedly notice small scars adorning his cheeks.

- You can adapt to anything - you strike against his shoulder, the shield pushes your blade away - We could send you to Arrakis right now, and a week later you'd be riding a damned Sandworm into battle.

To that, you laugh, this time your smile reaching your eyes. The idea is preposterous, but it renders your footsteps lighter, and you twist to dodge a nasty blow to the right arm. Duncan huffs a laugh as well, as you slip through his fingers. He points his blade in your direction, a smirk playing across his lips, and you bare your teeth in a playful display of wildness.

- Careful, Princess, you might scare your betrothed away - Duncan teases, as you roll your dagger in your hand.

- Scare a damned Harkonnen? Do you find me that intimidating? - the idea thrills you just a little bit, you're woman enough to admit it.

- I think you're fucking terrifying.

- Duncan Idaho, you better not be swearing at my Daughter.

Your face falls immediately, as your Father approaches the two of you, shooting Duncan a stern gaze which holds no real threat. Still, your sparring partner raises his hands, his blade tucked away safely into his belt. There's sweat clinging to your skin from all the training, mingling with drying tears on your cheeks, and Duke Leto tries very hard not to comment on your choice of processing recent events. Still, he nods at you, and like a good daughter, you put your blade away, walking from the barracks after him.

***

The Emperor has called for a traditional, Atreides engagement. A mercy, which you're eternally grateful for. You're not too aware of Harkonnen customs regarding marriage, but given the House's reputation, it couldn't have been pleasant. House Atreides however, took to such matters much more ceremonially, old-fashioned to some.

Soon, a ship is arriving, with your betrothed onboard, and a month-long courting period willcommence. After that, official engagement and soon after, a wedding. Then, you will be transported back on Geidis Prime, where a life of misery awaits. That's all the time you have. A month.

The dress, which was picked out for you, is uncomfortable and shows both too much and too little skin at the same time. While your legs are bare and exposed to an almost scandalous degree, a high, stiff collar nearly chokes the life out of you. This whole getup was the idea of your mother, as an attempt to highlight your best features and hide all that might be considered less desirable.

You have no idea what's wrong with your neck. Perhaps, by cutting off your airflow, your mother aimed to keep you docile.

She frowns deeply as you tug on the fabric, nerves climbing up your spine, growing more desperate every second. She swats at your hand, and you throw her a look. Out of the corner of your eye Paul smiles at your antics, your only consolation in this hopeless place.

- Stop fidgeting, you'll tear the dress - Lady Jessica scolds you, and you can sense actual worry underlining her stern voice.

The Harkonnen ship slowly glides into the atmosphere of your home planet, a black, awful thing. Like all things on Geidis Prime, dark and miserable. Soon, you'll join them, adorned in equally black and lifeless clothing, never to see your family again. Never to see the Ocean. Your nails bite into the collar of the dress, you can hear a stitch tear.

- Stop that.

Your hands fall uselessly against your body, as your mother uses the Voice on you. Wouldn't be the first time, you were quite the unruly daughter and Lady Jessica was determined to make a Lady out of you no matter the means. Still, this time, the unnatural tone feels more like a panicked plea, than a light-hearted scolding.

- Relax Mother - your voice is sharp, despite the slight tremble - In a months time I'll be gone from here forever, stuck in some blackened cell, wistfully sighing "ooh" "aah".

You place your hand on your forehead in a dramatic display of doubtful acting abilities. When you were younger, your mother would laugh at you, as you enacted scenes from romance books. You would throw yourself at a nearby piece of furniture, pretending to be some wronged lover, or an unhappy bride waiting for someone to liberate her. And your mother would clap her hands, thoroughly entertained.

Today however, she doesn't even crack a smile.

- I don't expect you to be happy about all this - she whispers - But I do expect you to wear your grief with some grace.

A slap would've been kinder, you think, and stare ahead, as the Harkonnen ship opens, and a group of people dressed in black spill out of it like ants from a drowning anthill. Your heart is thrumming hard in your chest, and your hand reaches out, despite all your apprehension, towards your mother. A force of habit, to search consolation within her disregarding the fact, that it was her meddling that put you here.

Her fingers lace with yours, thumb stroking your palm in an attempt to soothe you.

Immediately, you know which one of the bald headed Harkonnen is your betrothed.

He's much taller than you, an imposing figure even despite his rather lean built. His skin is almost completely white, as expected, his teeth are blackened out, as expected as well, and his eyes are bearing into you with an intensity so oppressing, you almost look away. Almost.

- I present to you, Feyd Rautha, the na-Baron of House Harkonnen.

The pale man steps forward, releasing you from his gaze for only just a moment, to trade pleasantries with your Father, who looks beyond miserable as he fixes your soon-to-be husband with a tired look. Then, Feyd Rautha is brought before you.

There's grace to his movements you did not expect, as he pushes his black cloak aside, and kneels in front of you. Harkonnen were known for their bulky ruthlessness, but this one... This one reminded you of a panther, the way his eyes travelled the length of your body, full lips pulling upward into a barely noticable smirk.

Customs, you remind yourself, as your mother's hand squeezes your fingers. You don't want to let her go, but you do, slowly, with so many mixed thoughts rattling around your brain, it makes your head swim.

Feyd Rautha grabs your extended hand in such a gentle manner, you're almost convinced the Harkonnens have shaved some poor bastard and dropped him off instead of the real na-Baron. Then, he lifts your palm up, until his lips press against your fingertips, a gesture so tender, your heart does a flip in your chest. And then, it stops all together, when his grip on your palm tightens, and he pulls your hand closer, to kiss it properly. As if he can't help himself, he looks up at you, and you realize.

You almost got yourself caught, but reading people's intentions have been taught to you as fervently as reading texts, and you can see right through this facade of chivalry. There's darkness in this man, a swirling void, which brings a wave of cold fear upon you. This cunning, depraved creature will soon enough become your husband, and you'll be stuck with him forever. How long will he keep up this impeccable appearence? Was this performence for you, your Father, his own twisted fun, or all the things combined?

With a furrowed brow, you tear your hand out of his grasp, a full body shiver running up your spine at the sight of his self-satisfied smirk. He drinks up your reactions like a man parched, and you fight hard to put on a mask of indifference, as he rises from his knees to stand before you in all his imposing glory.

***

You can feel his eyes follow you, as the welcome committee retreats into the Palace. He doesn't let you out of his sight throughout the feast, which takes place immediately after his arrival, and even now, as he gets ready to "entertain" the court by indulging in some barbaric ceremony of his, his eyes are trained only on you.

It's uncomfortable, to say the least, having him stare at you, while you sit surrounded by your family, who, for the most part, say nothing. Except Paul. Your dear baby brother, your protector in all this madness. As Feyd Rautha throws his coat to the side, showing off his (admittedly impressive) muscles, Paul leans towards you.

- He looks like a hard boiled egg, don't you think sister? - he whispers and subsequently ends your vow of silence.

The giggle you let out is caught quickly by everyone around, your betrothed included, before you press an open palm against your lips.

- Behave - your mother warns, and you try, you really do.

But in the serene light of the fading sun, your soon-to-be husband's head does look frighteningly egg-ish. God, you'll get yourself killed, before the wedding ceremony is even resolved if you keep this up.

You're seated high in an outdoor theater. One of your grandfather's favorite places, where he used to dance with bulls for sport. Where he met his demise.

Feyd Rautha presents his knives to you and your family, their blades glint ominously in the setting sun. Again, you are struck with the sheer grace this man exudes. His movements, despite being forceful and wild, have a beauty to them, as if he was rehearsing ancient dance moves, rather than killing blows.

And, despite your brother's earlier comment, there is something enticing in the way his pale skin catches the rays of bleeding sunshine, slowly creeping towards the horizon. He's almost beautiful, almost handsome enough to consider.

The thought leaves your head almost immediately, as the Harkonnen servants bring in his apparent opponent. Your heart drops to your stomach at the sight of a beaten, dark skinned warrior. Immediately you recognize a Fremen, you've read so much about them in your free time. You know how they filter water, what they eat, how they move through the sands, and despite your knowledge you can't fathom, why this poor man has been brought here.

At your side, Paul shifts in his seat, all jokes leaving him in a hurry. The both of you watch, as the man you're promised to toys with a clearly drugged victim. Slashes bloom on the prisoners skin, blood sprays in the air. You refuse to look away, to show such weakness, even as Feyd Rautha grabs the poor man by his hair and with a forceful push impales his throat on the blade. Blood pours down onto the sand, paints the Harkonnen's face and chest a deep shade of red.

It's a brutal display of power, of cruelty and wildness the Harkonnens are known for. Suddenly, everything Gurney has warned you about, while training your fighting skills, rings like a thousand of bells in your ears. This is who you will marry, who you will spend your entire life with.

You swallow down an urge to throw up, and stand up from your seat.

The show must go on, you think, throwing your Mother one, venomous look, trying to force her to understand your pain. Then, you lock eyes with your betrothed, who watches you from below with a cruel smile, blackened teeth on full display. You meant to congratulate him, to play the part as instructed, but you can do nothing of the sort. Instead, you stare back at him, disgust flowing from your features like a broken faucet.

Lady Jessica opens her mouth, but before she can, without a doubt, scold you again, you're out of the seating area, your footsteps echoing in the halls.

Once you're sufficiently tucked away from prying eyes, your back hits the wall, and you allow yourself feel the luxury of unbridled panic. Your breathing comes out in fast, shallow pants, as cold sweat forms on your forehead. Thoughts racing, your fingers tangle into your hair, tugging at the roots. This is your future, the only future waiting for you, and it's filled wth pain and blood.

- Have you enjoyed the fight, my Lady? - you immediately know it's him, despite not hearing him speak before.

A gasp of surprise leaves you before you can catch it, and your back straightens almost painfully fast.

There he stands, tall and lean, and terrifying. Blood still decorates his torso creating a contrast that is both terrifying and hypnotizing. He watches you, curiosity and humor swirling behind his eyes. You can't decide whether they are completely blackened out, or if they hold a blue, almost serene hue.

- No - you answer, finding your voice entirely too shaky for your liking - I did not enjoy it.

He laughs, a guttural, low sound that makes the hair stand at the back of your neck. You know he wouldn't dare try anything here, right under your Father's nose while the engagement is still in the making. Yet, as you stand frozen, just you, him and the marble walls around you, dread finds home in the pit of your stomach.

- Was that man Fremen? - you ask, partially to fill the silence, partially because you're genuinely curious.

The man shrugs, you can see muscles moving under his white skin. He takes a step towards you and you will yourself not to run.

- Sometimes we bring a couple of captured desert rats home - he explains with a nonchalant tone - Mostly for entertainment.

The almost bored intonation he uses to describe this barbaric ritual makes something boil deep inside you.

- That's cruel - you counter, emotions flowing freely onto your face, much to the man's delight - To deny those men the honor of dying on their home planet. To drag them into a completely foreign place, just to kill them for sport, like some animals... It's...

- Some of them live - he cuts you off, taking another couple of steps towards you, but in your growing outrage, you barely notice - Our brothels are filled with Fremen whores.

Your face twist into an expression of utter repulsion, and Feyd Rautha raises his eyebrows in a pathetic mask of confusion, almost childlike giddiness lighting up his eyes as he looks down at you.

- Oh, don't give me that look, my Lady. - he cooes, and you've never felt a stronger urge to slap the daylights out of someone - I know for a fact there are brothels on your planet filled with hungry soldiers.

- Yes - you bark back at him - but the people there are working prostitutes, not slaves!

He shrugs, looking somewhere to the side of your face.

- A waste of money, if you'd ask me.

- Good thing no one has - there's venom in your voice, and your betrothed sucks a breath through his teeth.

You curse yourself for leaving your dagger, for not concealing it somewhere in this ridiculous dress, because the way the Harkonnen's expression shifts freezes blood right in your veins.

He looks at you, amusement tugging at the corners of his lips, while something much darker lurks in his eyes. His bloodied hand comes up, finger making contact with the exposed skin of your shoulder. You can feel the thick liquid stick to your flesh, as he drags his hand down, painting you, marking you.

- You're quite the little viper, my Lady.

Watching him silently, you don't respond. Don't know how to, when he closes the distance between your bodies enough to make you feel the heat radiating off of his chest, while the smell of blood and sweat completely assaults your senses. It's sickening, the way he looks at you, like you're a new toy, just waiting to be unpacked and destroyed by too eager hands.

- My Uncle, the Baron, has instructed me, to be the utmost gentleman to you. To woo you completely - his voice is low, barely above a whisper, as he grins down at you - But I just can't lie to my future wife like that, can I?

He leans closer and finally, you take a step back, sliding out of his space, assessing a cautious stance. His hand almost follows you, the skin of your shoulder feels conflictingly cold without him.

- Once we're wed, I will possess you completely - this time you stand your ground, as he approaches, circling you like a lion stalking it's prey - And then...

He leans down beside you, shoulder to your shoulder, close enough for you to feel his hot breath graze your ear.

- Like the bull that took your grandfather's life, I shall pierce you.

The violent innuendo doesn't slip past you, and with hatred brewing behind your eyes, you look straight at him, forcing your fear to lay dormant.

- You're disgusting.

- And you're blushing like a lovely, virgin bride should - he concludes, sending an awful wink your way, before withdrawing from you completely.

Your veins burn hot, as you watch him leave, a selfish confidence painting his steps, and you beg every God in existence to grant you a sword in your hand. Or a dagger. A kitchen knife would do as well. Anything, that would help you cut this unbeatable, patronizing, infuriatingly handsome smirk from Feyd Rauthas face.

Alas, you're left with nothing, only a small glimmer of hope dangling in front of you, after your damned betrothed's words fully register in your brain.

A bride you might be, but certainly not a virgin one. Duncan Idaho made sure of that many years ago. The thought makes you smile, despite nerves wreaking havoc in your body. At least that's the one thing Feyd Rautha won't be able to take from you.

#my writing #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune 2024 #dune movie #dune part 2 #feyd rautha smut #dune smut #dune x reader #he looks insane what the hell am i writing

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girlgenius1111 · 2 months

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screaming underwater

barça x teen reader. r is dealing with mistreatment on her national team. the barça girls find out. warnings: descriptions of aforementioned mistreatment by national team.

------

The news came out of nowhere. One minute, Alexia, Pina, Patri, and Mapi were at a restaurant eating lunch, and the next, Pina was staring at her phone in horror, all the color drained out of her face.

“Clau? What’s up?” Patri asked, catching the look on her best friend’s face. This halted the conversation between the other 2 girls, and Alexia and Mapi both turned to their younger teammate in concern.

Claudia shook her head, remaining silent as she handed her phone to Patri, standing up and leaving the table.

“I need some air,” she said shakily. Alexia and Mapi exchanged looks, focusing their attention back on Patri for the moment. Patri had a rather similar reaction to Pina’s, practically shoving the phone into Mapi’s hand, and taking off towards the door her best friend had left through.

“My god. Mapi, let me see.” Alexia complained, moving over so she could read over Mapi’s shoulder.

She read the whole article, finishing just after Mapi did. The defender was looking up at her captain, distraught.

“Fuck.” Alexia said. “Shit. Okay. We’ll go find Clau and Patri, and then we’ll call pequeña.”

Alexia was always a voice of reason, and Mapi nodded gratefully, rising to her feet, throwing some cash on the table, and heading out of the restaurant.

There was no longer any question of why her teammates had reacted the way they did. The contents of that article felt eerily similar. And if they were true, they had a lot to be worried about.

-----

You’d finished your morning training session, pulling out your phone the minute you returned to your hotel room, and saw the article. First, though, you had to scroll through the messages upon messages from your teammates expressing their concern. You didn’t spend too long reading those, knowing it would likely be too much for you right now.

It wasn’t as bad as it could have been; there were a lot of details omitted, some of the more worrying details. Still, it was more than the people in charge would want leaked to the media, especially when it painted them as the villains.

In short, the article detailed, via anonymous interviews with some of your teammates, the conditions that your u23 national team was under. Your coach was vile, the training staff always following his lead. There were recovery specialists that many of you guys refused to work with. The personnel themselves were an issue. More than that, though, what they did was the biggest problem. The team hadn’t been performing very well, and as a consequence, you and your teammates were being worked half to death. Running until you dropped, scrimmaging until you couldn’t feel your legs anymore. You were woken early in the morning for extra workouts, and kept up late to go over film. It was constant, exhausting, and completely demoralizing. The way you were spoken too was no better than what your body was being put through. Your coach had apparently decided that the right way to motivate the team was to rip everyone to shreds. He hurled cruel insults at you and your teammates. He didn’t just go after your playing abilities; he went after your fitness, your weight, your personal life, your personality, your appearance, your relationships within the team. There were no boundaries. There was no way to say no, no way to make it stop.

You were determined to handle it. You didn’t know any different when it came to your national team. Granted, it had never been this bad before, not in all your time with the team. You wanted it handled internally. You saw what your Spanish teammates went through when they tried to make a change, and their suffering wasn’t something you were willing to bring upon yourself and your teammates. You guys were all young, under the age of 23. If your Spanish teammates that were full adults couldn’t do it without winning a world cup, what chance did a bunch of kids have? No one would listen, it would only make it worse. Although, somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew you were suffering far more than you would be if you refused your call up. You didn’t give up, and you didn't ask for help. You’d never had the ability to do so, always wanting to be independent. International breaks became something you dreaded deeply, and something you attended all the same. It was a stagnant, constant torture, constant weight on your shoulders. Nothing really seemed like it would cause a change.

Until the article was published.

You didn’t know who’d spoken to the journalist, but you didn’t fault them. Though you’d never admit it, you were secretly glad that someone had been braver than you. Still, the verbal lashing you and your teammates got later that day was borderline abusive. The following punishment was worse. Your coach led the team to the stadium, into the stands, and instructed you all to begin running the stadium steps, until he felt you’d “learned your lesson.”

No one spoke up, no one argued. Everyone just set off with a resigned sigh. You all ran for a while. What must have been at least an hour, in the hot sun. Up and down and back up again. Until the world was spinning around you, and even though everyone asked for a water break, one was not given. You all kept going.

You went until you dropped, literally. Until you missed a step, fell forward, and smashed your head on the seat next to you. The pain in your whole body ceased, briefly, before it erupted again in your head, and then everything went black.

-----

At least you could leave early without seeming like a coward. No one could argue against the decision the team doctors had come to; you had a large gash on your forehead that needed stitches, a black eye, and a mild concussion. Your coach sneered at you, but dismissed you all the same, leaving you with a warning to remember to keep the team’s best interest in mind. You knew this meant that he expected you to remain silent, as you had been until this point. You planned to. What you didn’t necessarily plan for was your club teammates. You should have considered them, but you didn’t. That was your second mistake. The first was barely responding to anyone’s texts and calls after the article was published. You didn’t even tell anyone you were going home. Deciding the medical announcement from the team would be enough, you boarded your flight to Barcelona, completely ignoring the flood of messages you were receiving.

You just wanted to go home. Lay in your bed where you were safe, and far from the people that seemed hell bent on making your life a living hell several weeks out of the year. You didn’t want to talk, you didn’t want to see anyone. You ignored the multitude of texts from Pina, Patri, Mapi, Alexia, and Marta, asking you if you needed a ride home from the airport. You Ubered home from the airport instead, barely making it through your door before you tossed your bag aside and collapsed into your bed.

In order to avoid a break in from your teammates, you pulled your phone out before you fell asleep, opening your text thread with Alexia.

Nena, I saw the article. Call me.

Are you okay?

Please respond, nena, we’re really worried about you.

Jona called, I heard about your injury. Are you okay?

When are you coming home?

When does your flight land?

Nena, please. Just message something to let me know you got home okay.

You sighed. You didn’t want to talk. Talking would only make it worse, you were sure. It hadn’t been that bad, not really. It was normal, a little harsh, but the team had been playing so poorly, what did you all expect? Rationalizing it was all you could do, really.

Hola Capi. I’m okay, I’m home now. Everything is fine, really. Don’t worry.

Alexia responded barely a minute after you’d hit send.

Okay, nena. If you need to talk, we’re all around for you, okay? Please, please call me if you need me, for anything. We can talk more tomorrow when you come for your medical eval. It’s at 9am and Mapi and I have media stuff then, but Pina and Patri are going to pick you up. Rest a lot, I’ll see you tomorrow.

Even though you were comfortably curled up in bed, incredibly sleep deprived, and concussed, you couldn’t fall asleep right away. You were rather busy trying to figure out how to act tomorrow. You felt so… weighed down from everything that had happened. You looked in the mirror barely recognizing yourself, and it had nothing to do with your injuries. You didn’t feel like you. You felt like the empty version of yourself that always returned from national duty, but 10x worse. You didn’t think you could smile if you tried. Convincing your teammates that you were okay was going to take a lot of energy that you simply didn’t have. You couldn’t do it, you were too exhausted, in the very core of your being. You fell into a fitful sleep, setting your alarm for the next morning even though it was only early evening and you hadn’t eaten anything. You weren’t sure how to act, or how to play this. All you knew was that letting anyone see how badly you were hurting was not an option.

-----

Your car ride to the Barça training grounds was painfully quiet. Pina and Patri had given up all attempts at making conversation; you’d made it clear that you didn’t want to talk. Neither of them were sure what to make of you right now. Your voice was steady, your body language rigid. You had a pair of huge sunglasses on, though, and a hood tugged up over your head. Neither of them could get a good glimpse at your face, to check on your injuries, or to see how you were really feeling. They supposed this was the point. Their worry only grew when you caught Patri’s arm before heading to the medical center. Her and Pina were headed for the locker room, but they both stopped in their tracks, looking back at you.

You wanted to thank them. Not just for picking you up, but for bringing you coffee and a granola bar, and the comforting way they both squeezed your hand when they saw you.

“Thanks for driving me. I really appreciate it.” You said softly. You never spoke quietly; you were incapable of doing so, normally. Today, however, both girls had to lean in to hear what you were saying.

“Of course.” Patri replied. Your eyes fell back to the floor underneath you, and you headed off without another word, leaving two very concerned teammates in your wake.

Patri stopped Pina just before walking into the locker room, very suddenly pulling the younger girl into a tight hug and not letting go.

“Patri. Why are you suffocating me?” Claudia asked after a minute.

The midfielder didn’t let up. “She’s acting like you did. After the last international break. I really don’t like it.” She explained.

Claudia pulled away, shaking her head. She didn’t like to think about that. “I’m fine, Patri. She’ll be fine too, yeah?”

“Hope so.” Patri said, giving her best friend a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

-----

Alexia and Mapi knew it was just as bad as they were expecting when they saw the looks on their younger teammates' faces. They’d finished media up as fast as they could, practically running to the gym where Pina and Patri were working out.

It only took a shake of Patri’s head for both girls to whirl around, and set off for the medical center.

You finished your eval at around the same time. The team doctors hadn’t asked too many questions. Jona had been there when you arrived, and had asked if there was anything you’d like to talk to him about. You’d shook your head, and he’d sighed, but left the room. The doctors had received the report from your national team’s staff. They knew that you’d fallen, but that was it. Nothing that accounted for the deep exhaustion that was clear across your face, or the way you barely spoke to them. They told you the same things that your national team had, giving you a rough timeline of your return. Finally, they very obviously reminded you of the club psychologist, before telling you that you were free to go.

You were planning on waiting around somewhere secluded until Pina and Patri were done with their workout, stopping briefly to fill your water up. Your sunglasses were back on, hood pulled back up, depriving you of your peripheral vision, not to mention your rather swollen shut eye.

When you turned, you jumped slightly, finding Mapi and Alexia standing directly behind you, arms crossed over their chests like a pair of bodyguards. If this was their goal, they had arrived late. The damage to you was already done. You weren’t sure the scars would ever fade.

Alexia stepped closer to you slowly , as if you would startle and run away from her if she moved too fast, pulling your hood down, and reaching for your sunglasses very carefully.

“Ay dios mio” She murmured, taking your sunglasses off your face and carefully inspecting your wounds. “How did this happen?”

Her voice was uncharacteristically shaky and full of fear, and her eyes bore into your own, a dangerous glint to them. Mapi didn’t look any different, standing next to her captain and eyeing you very carefully.

“Fell.” You said simply. Not completely collapsing into their arms and telling them everything was much harder than you anticipated, so you stuck to one word answers for now.

“You fell? What, off a cliff?” Mapi asked, ignoring the elbow to the ribs she received from the blonde next to her.

You only shrugged in response, causing both girls to exchange a look.

“Amiga, did someone do this to you? You can tell us, I promise. We will keep you safe.” Alexia promised, words she’d been rehearsing all morning.

“No one did anything to me, I just fell.” You reiterated, and it wasn’t technically a lie. You were getting annoyed, uncharacteristically so. You didn’t want to answer these questions, and even though it was completely unfair, you were angry at Alexia. Promising to protect you now did nothing. Nothing at all. It was too late for that. You weren’t sure you’d ever feel safe again.

“I do not believe you. You are not clumsy, you do not fall.” Mapi cut in, her words wildly more aggressive than her tone. You didn’t respond, back to staring at your feet. “The article that came out,”

“It’s an exaggeration. Everything is fine. Nothing is wrong, everything is fine, and I just want to go home, okay?” You spit back, showing the most emotion you had all day.

And though everything you’d said was clearly a lie, it was also clear you weren’t ready to talk. Mapi and Alexia had already decided to back off if you didn’t want to talk right now. It could wait until later, until you were somewhere you felt safe, and somewhere much more private than the hall outside Barcelona’s gym. This wasn’t the place.

The older girls let you go with Patri and Pina, even though all of their instincts were telling them not to let you out of their sight. You were so jumpy, so obviously terrified, they couldn’t justify making you do something you didn’t want to right now.

Alexia watched you walk away with your teammates, startling slightly when she felt Mapi wrap her arms securely around the blonde. Mapi was holding tight to her best friend, and it was no secret as to why. Alexia hugged her back, just as tight.

“She’s acting just like all the younger girls did after the Euros. It’s happening again, to her this time, and we can’t do anything to stop it.” Mapi mumbled.

Alexia wanted to disagree, but she couldn’t. She wanted to promise Mapi that they’d fix it, but she wasn’t sure they had the power to. Watching someone you love suffer is always hard, and this was no different. It seemed so out of their control, and it was excruciating to watch the effects of whatever happened at that national camp wreak havoc on you, and know they couldn’t stop it.

------

The ride home was just as quiet as the ride there had been. This time, though, the girls didn’t let you go without speaking. The tension in the car had been different this time, and you knew one of them was planning to say something. You thought it would be Patri; she was one of the captains, she was older, you were closer with her. To your surprise, it was Pina that spoke up.

Patri had just pulled into your driveway when Pina turned around, looking hesitantly at you. Maybe it was her clear anxiety that made you listen, really listen to what she had to say.

“I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I can tell you aren’t okay. I just wanted to say that talking about it is way less painful than keeping it all inside. Everyone wants to help you, and I know you might feel embarrassed, or like you can handle it yourself, but you shouldn’t have to. We’re all here for you, whether you want to talk, or you just need some company. Okay?”

You could tell it had taken a lot for Pina to say all that. She didn’t talk about her experience, ever, unless it was to Mapi or Patri, and even then, she preferred to pretend it hadn’t happened. She was putting that aside for you, though, and you couldn’t ignore the significance of that.

“Thanks Clau. Really, thank you.” You said, reaching out to squeeze her arm, before stepping out of the car. It was all you could manage right now, but you hoped it got your point across.

It did. And even though tears welled in Claudia’s eyes on the way home, and she clung to Patri’s hand rather tightly, she was glad she’d spoken up. It was what she’d needed to hear all those months ago, and she hoped that it would make things easier for you.

-----

You were curled up on the floor near your couch when you made the decision. Tremors were wracking your whole body, and you had been crying for so long that your chest hurt. It seemed that everything had caught up with you, but the breaking point had been the message from your national team coach, reminding you, again, to think of the team, and to stay out of the public eye until your visible injuries healed. There was no please, no thank you. It was just assumed that you’d do it. That really got you; that you’d been pliant for them for so long that they didn’t doubt that you’d go along with whatever they told you to.

You just felt so alone, and so scared. So incredibly scared. It was this fear that had you reaching for your phone. You couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t keep it all in. You couldn’t tell another lie, and you didn’t want to. You just wanted someone to come and tell you that everything was going to be okay. You wanted someone to protect you, in the way you should have been protected this whole time.

There were people that you trusted to do this for you, and you’d lost all the strength to deny yourself the comfort and the care you ached for.

The phone had barely rung once before it was picked up.

“Nena? Are you okay?” Alexia asked softly.

“No,” you replied, your voice barely more than a sob.

“Oh, cariño. What can I do?”

“Come over, please. I can’t do this alone anymore.” You gasped out, wiping harshly at the tears streaming down your face.

“I am on my way, pequeña, okay? Just sit tight, Mapi and I will be there in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” you said miserably. You hung up the phone, curling up against the side of the couch once again, muffling your cries in the cushions next to you. It felt like you might never stop crying.

-----

The sight that Alexia and Mapi were met with when they walked through your front door wasn’t one they ever wanted to see again.

You were curled in on yourself on the floor, gasping and clawing at your chest as you cried, looking so panicked, and so terrified, neither of them were very confident that they’d be able to help you. Alexia was at your side in an instant, physically pushing your coffee table out of the way so she could crouch down next to you, and pull you into her arms.

“Okay, okay. It’s alright. You are safe, nena, I promise you.” She murmured, allowing you to hide your face in her neck. You were still trembling, still sobbing, when Mapi sat down next to the two of you, looking helplessly at her captain.

You couldn’t speak, even though you kind of wanted to. You were so overwhelmed and so exhausted, the only thing keeping you from really dissolving into an irreversible state of panic being Alexia’s arms around you, and her and Mapi’s voices in your ear.

They promised, over and over, that you’d be safe, that they’d keep you safe. You supposed the only way they’d be able to do this was if you told them everything. And even though it terrified you to do so, the thought of going back to camp next break like nothing had happened was paralyzing.

You had to trust Alexia and Mapi. You didn’t think you’d be able to keep going if you didn’t trust them, if you didn’t let them in. You resolved to talk, to be honest, as soon as you were able. As soon as you stopped crying. You weren’t sure when that would be, honestly, because it didn’t seem like you were calming down at all. For now, you gripped Mapi’s hand, focused on the feeling of Alexia’s hand on your back, and willed yourself to be calm. They had you. They’d keep you safe.

-----

#woso imagine #woso x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics

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camplease · 6 months

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harrow grew in her emotional awareness of other people as people at an incredible rate during the events of gideon the ninth, a rate that honestly stretches the bounds of plausibility. and i think a lot of it, maybe even most of it, was specifically a reaction to an awareness of gideon, specifically, in genuine mortal danger that harrow had never previously considered

even before harrow was able to accept that she feels any affection for gideon, her covetousness of gideon's presence is evident. but, on drearburh, even though there might’ve conceivably been natural disasters outside of harrow's control that could’ve changed this, i think gideon’s survival of the child massacre made gideon seem like an almost supernaturally ever-present fixture of harrow’s universe. no matter how much gideon bled and broke in those 17 years, i don’t think harrow had truly considered the reality of gideon’s mortality before

when harrow thought of losing gideon, she thought of gideon escaping. prior to canaan house, though death involving those close to her was already something harrow knew intimately well, each example is inextricably connected to its specific context. with "the body," the cause of death didn't pose any immediate, direct threat to harrow or those she cared about. as horrific all of drearburh’s children’s deaths were, as heavily as they weighed on harrow, this was a part of her history rather than an imminent threat. and, as much grief and sorrow that the personal responsibility harrow felt for her parents’ suicides colored her existence, as much as she even once blamed gideon, ultimately, harrow's parents killed themselves. these were all so different by their very nature from the deaths at canaan house and the possibilities they illuminated. something or someone was maliciously seeking out those among her in the present. gideon's very existence could no longer be taken for granted, never mind simply losing possession of her

i believe that both accepting her own care for gideon and accepting the risk of losing gideon beyond losing control over her is what led harrow to assess the inherent harm and dehumanization of their power imbalance and to begin to understand the flaws in her worldview overall, the flaws in the system that granted her and others in power the power to abuse it at will and use those under them as tools

but the reason why i say this was a lot of/most of and not all of the reason for harrow's growth is because i think she always had some latent capacity for it that she'd just previously suppressed. and i don't think this is unique to harrow. i think the worst people within any system wear away at their humanity, and, thus, their ability to perceive the humanity of others and act accordingly, a bit at a time. but this process isn't irreversible. harrow's relation to gideon was just the catalyst for that reversal in her

i can’t say exactly who harrow would’ve become without gideon at canaan house with her for the lyctoral trials, but she would’ve certainly been very different from the person she is now

decided to make my own post because i was thinking about this poll way too much and it led me to a big enough tangent that it's its own creature at this point, though i also wanna credit that initial spark

#griddlehark #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #the locked tomb #gideon nav #harrowhark nonagesimus #this wasn’t intended to answer the question that prompted all of these musings btw #in case that wasn't clear with me having not actually done that lmao #†

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 5 months

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5 AND 9 Hello, I have an idea for Snow, I know everyone loves the tribute reader, but a request where reader is Snow's girlfriend and Seajunus's sister, and the cliché that he approached her at the beginning out of convenience (as if he wouldn't do it ) but ends up truly falling in love with her.

but instead of telling her the truth at some point, reader finds out through a mockery from his classmates. angst angst

Snow has a reaction similar to the one he had in the movie with the death of Sejaukus

‘’No one’s ever made me feel like this.’’ + ‘’I love you, is that so impossible for you to believe?’’

I decided to add my own grain of salt and change a few small things, but I hope you like it <3

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

The rumor was terrible and cruel, but unfortunately everything Clemensia had said was true.

The panic on his face confirmed everything. ‘’No! I mean, yes, I did, but let me explain—’’

Your response was swift, a mix of anger and betrayal. ‘’Are you kidding me? You approached me to get closer to the Plinth prize? This is worse than your classmates sucking my brother's ass to get in my father’s good graces.’’

‘’I was desperate to get the money. Without it, I can’t go to university,’’ he admitted, the weight of guilt and desperation heavy in his voice.

Or pay for rent. Or get food for Grandma’am and Tigris. But Coriolanus didn’t mention these last two. He would rather become the most hated man of Panem than reveal his family’s financial situation to anyone.

‘’Well, you can kiss goodbye to the prize. I doubt my father is gonna give it to a man who used his daughter.’’ You made a move to leave and walk past him, done with this conversation, but Coriolanus grabbed your arm in a firm grip.

‘’Wait.’’

You lifted your chin to look at him, tears of pain and rage filling your eyes. ‘’How can you do this to me? I loved you, Coryo. I-I thought you did too…’’

‘’I did. I do.’’ He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes pleading for understanding. ‘’I love you, is that so impossible for you to believe?’’

Maybe he did love you…somewhere in his heart, but his betrayal hurt deep.

Before Coriolanus, you never dated anyone. Some guys had asked you out, but you were set on not giving your heart to the first boy in line. You wanted to pick wisely, not wishing to end up crying and hurting like your classmates.

You shouldn’t have assumed he was a good guy just because he was Sejanus’s friend. Turned out he was not who you had painted him to be.

‘’You don’t use the person you love for your convenience.’’

Coriolanus let go of your arm and lowered his eyes, silently admitting his wrong. ‘’At the beginning it was like that, but something changed as we were spending more time together and you were no longer just a way to get the money. I’m sorry for using you and I wish our relationship had not started on a lie.’’ He reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers together. ‘’I never lied about my feelings for you, though. Every time I said I loved you, I did. No one’s ever made me feel like this.’’

You wanted to believe him, he seemed honest, but lying was so easy for him. And if he was being honest about his feelings, would you ever be able to forgive him?

—

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @marzipaanz @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @Heartsforneteyamsully @aerangi @hallecarey1 @bxbyyyjocelyn @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @grxnde-dwt @lexasaurs634 @teeeree13 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @teeeree13 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis@Shasta89 @sierraluvz @specialk6802 @CZARINERA @katherinejess

Hunger games / BOASAS taglist: @crossyourmindrights @ziggyneedsabreak @folkloreshorts @runningfrom2am @soulessien @itzfckingreal @creedsofapollo

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow imagine #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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flowerandblood · 4 months

Text

The Man with the Fiery Gaze

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, smut, angst, overstimulation, uncertainty related to physical wounds, trauma ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Her husband terrified everyone but her. His cold, mocking gaze, his lips clenched into a thin line, his pallor, his black eye patch made it seem to her that his lordships saw him as a phantom rather than a man. She found it hard to believe how much he could change as he crossed the door of his chamber, as he joined her in bed, asking in a whisper if his little wife missed her husband.

She had always missed him.

When he was not beside her she felt incomplete.

To the fury of some lords, he expected her presence at councils, consulting her often, relying on her advice. She did not interfere in the affairs of the kingdom when he did not ask her to or when he did not want to hear her opinion, having no intention of undermining his authority or challenging his opinion in front of other lords.

She wanted him to know that he could always count on her support, and only spoke to him of her doubts behind the closed doors of their chamber.

They were bound together by deep darkness, grief and death, tying them together by an invisible thread of understanding.

She had the feeling when she looked at him, when he gripped her in his hands, that he was devouring her, with every thrust of his hips taking something of her for himself − when she embraced him tightly, joining with his lips in a sudden, passionate kiss she had the feeling that he was filling her whole, that they were one person.

There was something in his coldness, in his distance, in his enviousness that attracted her, in his almost frantic, menacing gaze as he looked at her with his mouth wide open, hissing for her to beg him for his seed, which she did devotedly, making him come inside her a moment later with a loud, low groan of pleasure.

"− we are one −" He whispered when it was all over, lying on top of her, staying deep inside her, looking straight into her eyes, his large hand stroking her cheek. "− you and me − you see me as I truly am −"

She smiled at his words, feeling gratitude, peace and heat rippling across her chest − the sight of such a reaction on her face always embarrassed him and moved him in a way, so he tried to distract her with a sticky, hot kiss which he placed on her lips, her fingers then sinking into his hair, reciprocating his caress with devotion.

She was horrified by how connected she felt to him.

She was horrified by how much affection he evoked in her.

She was the only person he really confided in about his dark thoughts. He spoke to her about the lords he doubted, took advice from her on the things that kept him awake, looking at her intently, knowing that he would recognise immediately if she lied to him.

She had no intention of doing so.

She was faithful to him in body, heart and mind.

He knew that, and that was what was driving him mad, pushing him to root into her at night until she begged him to finally let them both rest.

"− I need to make sure I've filled my wife well −" He panted between desperate, sloppy thrusts of his hips, their bodies all welted up from the exertion − he sank inside her with a loud click of her juices and his spend, looking at the sight of him taking her from behind, unable to deny himself watching his fat cock stretch her insides with his every thrust.

"− fuck − so good −" He mumbled, coming again with a sigh of wonderful relief, falling on top of her at last, his sweat-wet hands finding hers and entwining with them, his cheek nestled against hers, his lips surrounding her skin with his hot, raptured breath.

"− you smell wonderful − I could do this to you all night −" He muttered, lazily pushing his half-soft manhood deeper into her with soft rocking of his hips.

"− I know, my King − but have mercy on your poor wife who won't be able to sit up tomorrow −" She whispered half dreaming; it was late and all she wished was that he would let her lie like that with him and fall asleep.

She heard him murmur, felt his pride beating at the thought of him bringing her to such a state, feeling fulfilled as a man, a lover and a husband as a result.

"− your husband is merciful − sleep −" He hummed softly, leaning down, placing a kiss on her naked shoulder, turning with her to his side so that he was no longer crushing her with his body, embracing her tightly, her hands tightening on his arms, delightfully hiding in his embrace.

Very often they both had nightmares, each seeing the same thing in them − soldiers with swords who burst into their chamber screaming, killing them in their beds.

Her husband kept two daggers under their pillows, just in case, and every night he checked with an involuntary flick of his hand that they were in place before he fell asleep.

When she woke with a scream she could feel him shuddering beside her, terrified, clasping his arms around her, a quiet, helpless quiver escaping her lips.

"− shhh − it's me − you're safe − breathe −" He whispered softly, again and again kissing her hot, soft skin, stroking her bare body with his hands until her heart slowed again and her breathing calmed.

"− I dreamt that they came for us − that they slit your throat and then raped me in front of your eyes − you were still alive and they made you watch −" She mumbled out in a trembling voice feeling a tear run down her cheek onto the pillow under her head.

She heard him swallow loudly at her words, embracing her tighter from behind, nuzzling his face into her hair, his fingers stroking her bare shoulder.

"− no one will touch you − you're mine and you're safe − your husband will protect you −" He whispered quietly and she nodded, closing her eyes, allowing herself to focus only on the warmth of his body, on the tenderness with which his hand stroked her bare flesh, trying to give her any source of comfort.

When her moon bleeding began to delay she waited a long time before going to the medic to examine her, wanting to make sure she was not wrong in her assumptions. He, however, had no doubts.

"You are carrying a child in your womb, my Queen."

She decided that she must inform her husband immediately, personally, disregarding the fact that a council of his closest advisors was currently taking place, during which he insisted that no one should disturb them.

"My Queen, you cannot walk inside now." Said one of the guards.

Over the months after their marriage, her husband's followers slowly began to trust her and no longer referred to her with such coldness, however, her husband's will was paramount to them, and they feared nothing more than his wrath.

"Open the door. I must convey a message to the King that cannot wait." She said gravely, looking at them with her hands folded in front of her.

The men looked at each other uncertainly; the one she spoke to sighed heavily and with a clack of armour walked to the door, opening it. Her king-husband fell silent in mid-sentence, looking at her angrily as she stepped inside and bowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. He looked at his guard with exasperation.

"I ordered that no one should disturb us."

"I must convey something important to you in private, my King. It is a matter of urgency." She said in a calm, confident tone, looking straight into her husband's face.

She saw him roll his eyes as he let out an impatient breath; he bited his lower lip and dismissed the men seated around the table with a gesture of his hand. They began to get up in silence, tense, leaving one by one until they were left alone.

"Speak." He said in an impatient, sharp tone, looking somewhere off to the side, tapping his pointing finger against the table top.

She approached him unhurriedly, saw him lift his gaze to her in which lurked a threat, telling her that if it turned out to be nothing important, he would lose his temper.

"I carry your inheritance in my womb, my King." She said softly, unable to hold back a shy smile, heat spreading through her heart as she saw his shocked look fall from her face to her lower abdomen where she held her hands, his lips parted in disbelief as if he had run out of words.

"… are you sure? Has you been examined by…"

"I've just been to the medic. I had suspected it for weeks, but I preferred to wait and be absolutely sure."

She heard him swallow loudly, saw his chest rise and fall in deeper breaths, his gaze fixed on her stomach. Wanting to embolden him, she gently grasped his wrist lying on the armrest of his chair and placed his hand where her womb was, stroking his skin with her thumb.

He sighed quietly, massaging her skin hidden beneath the material of her gown with his fingers, his gaze softened, the rage evaporating from him, replaced by shy disbelief.

He finally lifted his gaze to her and drew her to him − she fell into his lap, letting his wet, warm lips press against hers in a loud, sticky kiss. She sighed quietly in satisfaction and reciprocated his caress, pulling away from him, taking his cheeks in her hands.

"Does my King resent my interfering with his council?" She asked quietly, his hand from her waist involuntarily wandering to her womb again, as if he couldn't believe that at last the gods had blessed them with something they wanted so badly.

"No. You have pleased me with your words, wife." He hummed softly, his voice calm and warm, the way it usually was when they lay in the night snuggled into each other, tired and raspy from exertion and fulfilment.

She leaned into him and kissed his forehead, heard him purr contentedly.

"That is all I had to share with you, my King. With your permission." She said slipping out of his arms, wanting to get up, but she felt his shoulders clench tighter around her instead of letting her go, his cock throbbing beneath her with impatience.

"We cannot, my King. Your advisors are waiting." She whispered, looking at him calmly, her lips parted slightly when she noticed his pupil dilated, his irises almost black.

He answered nothing, his hands lifting her gown higher with an eager, sharp movement, forcing her to sit on top of him again − she sighed quietly unable to hide a smile of satisfaction.

When he saw this he clamped his hand painfully tight on her hair and forced her lips to cling to his again in an aggressive, roguish kiss − she grasped his cheeks in her fingers, stroking them with her thumbs.

He murmured contentedly and, wasting no time, undid the buckles of his tunic, then reached down to untie his breeches, sliding them down just enough to release his throbbing, swollen erection.

A low, surprised moan of delight erupted from his throat as she immediately grasped his length in her hand and directed it between her thighs, lowering herself onto it with a quiet sigh of pleasure. He leaned his head back resting it on the backrest, closing his healthy eye for a moment, a quiet, throaty fuck erupted from his lips.

They both began to pant as she began to slowly rise and fall on top of him, his large hands slipped under her gown and squeezed her bare buttocks impatiently, forcing her to speed up, the thrusts of his hips stretching her tight, fleshy walls with his hard, throbbing manhood.

She stroked his cheek and entwined her fingers in his soft white hair leaning over him, placing tender kisses full of devotion, desire and passion on his lips, her mouth wet and hot, a low, wonderful moan of delight escaping from his throat, his cock twitching with pleasure inside her.

"− don't stop − don't fucking stop − your King wants to fill you −" He hissed out between thirsty, deep, loud kisses, stifling their loud panting and moans as they did so, his chair creaking loudly each time she sank down on top of him, rubbing herself with it so that the fat head of his cock teased a wonderful spot deep inside her.

"− who am I to defy my King's command − my King can come inside me as many times as he wants −" She muttered sweetly, softly, feeling a shudder run through him, a sigh escaped his from his parted lips pressed against hers − she felt him throbbing inside her like crazy, her fleshy, hot walls clenched around him and sucked him in.

"− I − yes, fuck, oh godsss −" He gasped apparently struggling to restrain himself not to come, wanting to prolong this moment, but he gave in at last with a sigh of relief, pressing his face against hers, her fingers stroking his cheeks as she felt his seed fill her.

She felt his hand from her hip rise to her face and run through her hair, sliding down her neck, a pleasant shiver passed through her. They kissed lazily a few more times, calming their breathing and he finally pulled away from her with an expression of satisfaction, holding her chin between his fingers.

"You may leave, my wife." He hummed lowly. She smiled at his words and rose, feeling strangely empty as his manhood slid out from her with a loud splat. She adjusted her gown hearing him quickly tie his breeches, reaching for the buckles of his tunic and bowed humbly, no longer looking at him.

"My King."

She turned and walked out, opening the door and stepping out into the corridor where men stood waiting for them to finish their conversation, looking at her with furrowed brows. She suspected they knew exactly what they were doing.

She could feel his spend running down her thighs.

She knew they were jealous that he had allowed her to be so close, where every one of them dreamed of being his most trusted advisor.

She figured she wouldn't give them any reason to gossip and spread the opinion that she had become a queen by sneaking into his bed.

"Rejoice, my good lords. There is an heir to the throne in my womb." She said softly with a sincere smile of satisfaction, the men looked at her in disbelief and then at her abdomen.

Some seemed very pleased by this news, others only nodded, others seemed worried.

Until she bore the King an heir they believed that he would change his mind and divorce her, taking one of some lord's daughters as his wife.

However, they each offered her congratulations before entering the chamber, which they also repeated towards the King, who only nodded at their words, looking straight at her from across the table.

A living fire burning in his eye.

If it had seemed to her until now that her husband was obsessed with her, this impression was intensified further after passing on to him the joyful news that she was expecting his heir.

That night he took her gently and tenderly, first showering her with adoringly soft, wet kisses all over her naked body only to slide then between her thighs, sinking his tongue deep inside her, allowing her to reach her peak on his face.

He spent a long hour this way, licking her, teasing and sucking her pearl, tearing out of her fulfillment after fulfillment, watching with a smirk full of satisfaction as she wriggled beneath him in despair, babbling that she could take no more, that it was too much.

It seemed to her that what she was saying was having the opposite effect, the tip of his nose ran over her leaking womanhood again making her shiver.

"− you have made your husband happy today, sweet wife − I only wish to express my gratitude −"

From now on she could bother him at any time, of course, if the need was urgent or concerned their child.

He ordered the fruits she so adored to be brought to the fortress from the farthest reaches of the kingdom, and although she told him it was an unnecessary expense, he did not listen to her, recognising that it was his duty as her husband to provide her with everything he felt she needed in her blessed condition.

In the evenings, even when he was reading he longed to be close to her, so instead of sitting in his chair by the fireplace as usual, he would sit on the chaise longue, leaning back comfortably.

She would then come to him with a thick cloth in which she enveloped herself, not wanting to get cold in her nightgown alone, and lay down beside him, hugging the top of her head to his hip. His hand immediately moved to her shoulder, which he stroked in a steady, tender motion, flipping the page of the book lying on his thighs with a loud rustle.

Her pregnancy had been a huge trial for them, her belly swollen from his child had made her suffer, her back aching unmercifully, vexed by hot, dry nights during which she squirmed and could not sleep.

Although the medic had announced that he should not take her into his bed during the course of her pregnancy, she could not imagine having to wait so many months without touching him.

He did not seem enthused by the idea either, so they met in his chamber like parted lovers.

He was gentler towards her, the thrusts of his hips softer and more tender − he didn't want to hurt her or their child, his hand clenched on her womb as he root into her from behind, panting loudly, saying that he would stop soon, that just a moment more.

One time she was so hot that she couldn't sleep and she decided to sneak out of his chamber, not wanting to wake him up again, knowing that he couldn't sleep because of her. He never complained about it, however, she knew that he had trouble concentrating, the thought of her impending labour putting him in a constant state of anxiety and worry.

He was afraid.

She breathed heavily in relief as she stepped into her chamber, stroking her abdomen, feeling her child wriggling in her womb, thinking about the fact that only a few more months and it would be over.

She lay down in her bed, which had previously been her mother's chamber, and before that, Queen Alicent's. She thought of the underground shelter beneath her, of her husband having spent several days there.

He had told her about it one night when they lay tired, the healed wound in his eye socket sometimes causing him pain and the medic then had to pull out the sapphire that was placed there to apply ointment.

It turned out that the polished stone rubbed him and created small wounds that oozed and then caused him great discomfort.

"My Queen, the King should not wear this stone in his eye socket nor his eye patch for the next few weeks. He, however, insists on only taking a break for a few days until the ointment takes effect. I beg you to speak his mind, he will listen to you." Said a man in a simple brown robe, as she understood, one of the monks who had once saved her husband's life.

She nodded and walkend into his chamber − he sat in a chair leaning to one side, his black eye patch on his head, his hand massaging his temple, his face expressing discomfort and fatigue.

He looked at her sleepily and she thought immediately that the medic had given him poppy milk, which meant that his pain was so severe that he had decided to stupefy his senses, though he always kept his mind as sharp and focused as possible.

She approached him, sighing quietly, with a face expressing genuine concern − she took his hand in hers and stroked it with her thumb, but said nothing.

She knew that the last thing he wanted from her was pity and he would have preferred them to pretend that there was no subject, however, this time the matter was too serious for her to leave it out without a word.

"I was told by the medic that in order for your wounds to heal properly, you should not wear your eye patch at night so that your skin can rest and regenerate on its own." She said in a soft whisper, stroking his hand with her fingers. She felt him tense up all over; he turned his head away in impatience, showing her that he had no intention of discussing it with her.

"We'll cover the windows with curtains if you wish." She added, wanting to convince him if he wanted so badly for her not to see him without his sapphire, that there was a way.

"No." He replied roughly, even though his head was facing her sideways his eye was looking in her direction.

She swallowed loudly at the thought that ever since they had been married he had always left a single candle lit next to their bed when they went to sleep, his proof that his days of being locked away in endless darkness were over.

"I carry your heir under my heart, the medics think I need to get enough sleep and avoid worry. How can I manage this when I see my king-husband suffering through no fault of his own and making his condition worse for me? Let us draw the curtains."

"You will not keep your word. Just as you did then." He said coldly, turning his face towards the burning fireplace.

She felt a squeeze in her throat, her heart pounding harder in her chest as she realised he was speaking about when, while he was still her guardian, she had opened her eyes before he left even though she had promised him she would not do such thing.

"You knew everything about me then and I knew nothing about you. Now you are my husband and as always I will respect your will. I swear it on our child." She said calmly and slowly, wanting him to know that her words were sincere and serious.

She saw his jaw clench as he swallowed loudly and squeezed his eye shut, she knew that a wave of pain was running through his head again. He covered his face with his hand in a gesture of surrender.

"I won't forgive you if you don't keep your word." He said lowly; she knelt beside him, laying her head on his thigh, reaching with her palm to his hand extended on the armrest of his chair.

"I will keep my word, my love. Let's go to sleep."

As promised, this time it was she who drew the curtains, one by one, making the entire chamber fall into complete darkness. Walking back to their bed she had to walk slowly with her hands stretched out in front of her, not wanting to hit anything − she hissed when she bumped her knee on the small table, she heard him rise on the bed.

"Did you hurt yourself? Come here." He said impatiently − she felt his hand grab her arm and lead her straight to the bed. She landed in his arms and kissed him, however instead of a sigh of delight she heard his muffled sound of discomfort and pain.

She reached in the dark for his eye patch and pulled it gently off his head − she could hear him breathing loudly, his hand clenched tightly on the material of her nightgown.

"You see me." He said reproachfully, pained, his voice breaking as he spoke the words in such a way that she felt a sting in her heart.

"I can't see anything, my love. I swear, it's too dark." She whispered softly and ran her fingers over his healthy cheek, a powerful shudder went through her when she felt it was wet, after a moment she felt another tear run down between them.

He was crying.

This realisation shocked her so much that for a moment she didn't know what to say, her throat squeezed so tightly it made her ache.

"− my beloved husband − please, don't despair −" She mumbled in a trembling voice, stroking his hair as if he were a small child. She felt his strong arms tighten around her and pull her closer − she snuggled her face into his neck, her hand placed on his bare chest just above his heart.

He closed her in a tight embrace, stroking her back and hands − she heard him sigh heavily, as if he was trying to get something out of himself but was unable to.

"Since you have been my wife, there has always been at least one candle lit in my chamber." He uttered without strength; she lift her hand again and stroked his cheek, hushing him, pressing her forehead against his jaw, his fingers tightening on her hair.

"I will be your light this night and every night that follows, for as long as it takes, my love." She said softly. She heard him swallow loudly, letting the air out with a heavy sigh, desperate.

"Embrace me through the night, sweet wife. Don't let me out of your arms."

_____

I'm ending this series here because we've reached what I wanted, which is an openness and vulnerability that brings them completely closer together. I didn't want to suggest to the fans what would happen next, whether a girl or a boy would be born, or maybe a tragedy would happen to them? In my mind, they have six children, exactly the number Alys predicted, but all of them are born from his queen wife. They ruled bloodily, justly and indivisibly, trusting only themselves, their relationship on the verge of obsession caused general terror, and was a source of jealousy for others.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses

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aetheternity · 2 years

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What ruins the mood during sex

A/N: {I remember writing one of these posts for AOT like three years ago. How times have changed.} Ok so like when I was writing Venti and Xiao's I felt a weird sense of Deja Vu like I'd somehow read a scenario like this in someone else's work but I can't tell if it's a real genuine feeling I should look into further or if it's some kind of random emotion based on this prompt which has been done to death as it is. But if someone tells me that someone else wrote this prompt with those two and created the same scenario I would look into it.

A/N 2: Ok so like I took my sweet time posting this because I wanted to see if I'd manage to come up with an idea for Kazuha, Albedo and Scaramouche but I could not. So if you want to know why they're not here that's why. (Yes this is a repost)

Characters: Aether, Cyno, Heizou, Tighnari, Venti, Xiao

Disclaimer: Adult situations, MDNI.

Cyno: In, a quickie turned accidental creampie.

He's got such a nice pace going. Your arms wrapped around his neck, legs tangled around his waist. Eyes fluttering shut as he slams your hips into the desk beneath you.

"Cy, are you gonna cum?"

He hums a quick reply, hips stuttering forward.

Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets, "Wait! Cyno not inside!"

He manages to pull out but not before he'd already stained your clenching walls and a couple drops along your ass. "Since when do you want me to pull out?" He groans, eyes narrowing at the cum drenching the desk beneath you.

"Ugh! I just.. didn't want to walk around like this all day! I won't be able to shower till night fall.." You sigh in frustration. Spreading your legs wider to see the damage. "I guess I should've warned you sooner but I thought about it too late."

He simply grunts, "I will help you clean up as much as possible."

Aether: In, which one of us didn't lock the door?

He's got your hips from behind. A rather long moan cresting off his lips as he gets sucked in as deeply as he can go. Your own eyes rolling to the skies as you pull him in, pressing your hips back into his with vigor.

That is until the door creaks open suddenly, Paimon's voice loudly calling. Luckily Aether was far quicker he launched a pillow at full speed taking Paimon out fast enough for him to slam the door shut.

"Not now Paimon!" He screamed over her protests.

Meanwhile you'd already taken to the floor. Stripping the blanket from the bed as you tried and failed to hide your laughter.

Aether on the other hand looks less than amused.

Xiao: In, on the edge of glory.

You'd been teaching Xiao little things about mortal sexual relations. Not so much for testing purposes simply because he'd asked. Most of the things you'd talked about got you one of two reactions: A blank stare or a disappointed eye roll. Though as much as you wanted to properly ask, you decided against questioning Xiao's sexual exploration. For at least the time being.

At some point however Xiao had slid a book in front of you. The page already flipped to a section about edging. Now your mind probably shouldn't have immediately jumped to shock followed by an internal battle over your Xiao Xiao reading a book but-

"I wish to try this out.." He mumbled, staring off into space as he spoke.

"Of course."

Seeing as you'd done at least this much before: Getting him hard and then getting him close to cumming had been fairly easy. His breaths short and heavy as you worked him up just enough to perfectly edge him. That is until you started to work him up again only for his sensitivity to win out. His body crumbling as he covered his chest and your hand with his load.

You giggle a little at how easily, he quells at even your softest touches. Which of course was logical. He hadn't exactly done this with anyone else before.

"Aw Xiao.." You peered up at him completely endeared. Your heart fluttering so hard when you saw the way his eyes were squeezed shut and the bright red adorning his cheeks. "Xiao! It's ok! don't make that face honey it's ok."

He weakly grumbles but you just continue your praise, pressing kisses into the crook of his neck and along each of his shoulders. "We can try again, I promise."

Heizou: In, injuries may occur.

The way you've got his cock sliding between your lips, so slowly, so perfectly it makes him weak. He presses your head deeper, pushing you a little faster with soft words of encouragement.

On a particular stroke you manage to press deeper than you'd ever done before. Enough to kiss his pelvic bone. The feeling so intense Heizou's leg jolts, hard enough that his foot comes in contact with your stomach.

"Man alive! I'm sorry!" He pulls your face back, straightening up to check you for discomfort. "Are you ok?" His thumb softly massages your cheek.

"It's fine Shika." You simply grin. "It was good to know you were feeling good."

"Ugh, but that still couldn't have felt great.. Allow me to make it up to you somehow."

"What do you have in mind?"

Safe to say that moment had been ruined but perhaps the "moment" wasn't.

Tighnari: In, maybe you should've just left it there..

He's barely had a moment to sneak away all day and boy does he need it with the way you've been teasing him. He's nearly reached his limit and is about to shove you against the closest tree when a small window of opportunity arises.

The rookie forest rangers have a lunch break.. and that means so does he.

He slides into you so eagerly the second he gets you alone. Bracing your hips against his desk as he pounds you so unabashedly. Little giggles and moans falling off your lips. That is until a tube of some mysterious powder rolls its way off the desk, cracking as it collides with the floor.

"Shit.." Without hesitation Tighnari pulls out yanking the tube up from where it'd dropped. Unfortunately too quickly as his head immediately slams into the table's end. So quickly and so roughly it clattered around with you atop it.

"Oh archons, are you ok?!" You slide off the desk basically dropping onto the floor beside him. Tighnari's whine surprisingly loud as he rubs the back of his head just below his ear.

"I'll be fine but agh.. ow!"

Safe to say you two should probably finish later.

Venti: In, bless you??

You cup his face, devouring any and every moan he musters as they fill your open lips. His face scrunches up and you prepare for that all too familiar full body shudder he always does when he cums.

"Almost there, Love, so close." You coo

He lets out a little noise of confusion, nose twitching and before you can even begin to question it you're immediately covered in snot and spit. A surprise that's just as soon followed by him pumping you full of cum.

"Oh wow!" He chuckles "I'm so so sorry darling, I didn't realize I still had any sneezes left from my earlier performance at the Cats Tail ehe~"

"Venti.."

"I'm still so very sorry.."

"Run."

#ok lets try this again #don't understand why this post bombed so hard before but whatever #genshin smut #aether smut #cyno smut #heizou smut #tighnari smut #venti smut #xiao smut #genshin x reader smut

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onskepa · 7 months

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Stxeli: Those Eyes

Here is another chapter of the ongoing series! I hope you all enjoy~!!

Stxeli series

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

Another day, another way. Neytiri awakens as usual in her own little hammock. She secretly hates it. Hates going to sleep and waking up alone. Of course she could go to her parents and sleep with them, but that would mean to be beside her.

Every since her mother brought back that human child, things have changed and were not the same. Having to adjust not just her elder sister's death but the arrive of the new infant.

Neytiri honestly doesnt know how to react to the new addition. She doesnt hate the infant, but doesnt love it either. Complicated feelings swirl in her heart. Seeking Eywa will only confuse her more. Tsu'tey isnt much help at the moment. Just being alone with her thought to hopefully figure out her inner feelings.

Mo'at had a long list of duties to do and unfortunately she cant keep an eye on stxeli for the whole day. Eytukan cant take care of their baby either as he is to lead the hunters for another nights feast.

So that only leaves neytiri.

"It will just be for awhile neytiri. As a big sister, it is also your responsibility to take care of your sister stxeli. I know you can do your best with her". After that Eytukan left to attend his olo'eyktan duties. Leaving neytiri and stxeli alone with each others company.

Neytiri looks over that the human child, not really getting near her. These past week has been a blur for the young na'vi. Does her parent really expect her to love the human child? After everything her kind did to her people? To her real sister?

Stxeli being just herself, makes sounds and looks at her surroundings. Her big eyes landing on neytiri. Their eyes meet, and a wave of excitement flowed through the baby. Asking to be carried by neytiri. Yet the na'vi wont move. Her eyes never wavering from those human eyes.

Little stxeli kept waving her arms around desiring to be held. She squeals and would make noises her mother would usually respond to. But neytiri still sits still. Observing the child and what its trying to do. Seeking attention is what she gathered.

Grabbing one of her mother's baskets, she puts stxeli in the basket and proceeds to carry her around like that.

It wasnt what stxeli wanted but it shall suffice for now. At least she gets to have a wide view of things. From the tall trees, to familiar faces that wave at her direction.

Stxeli preferred to be carried by the young girl who keeps staring at her. She has pretty eyes and wanted to get a closer look. Looks so much like mama and papa's eyes! Little stxeli tried to the girl's attention by making noise, but no response.

Stxeli wasnt having that.

Grabbing one of the braids that was hanging close to stxeli, she yanked it rather hard. This caused neytiri to hiss. In return, stxeli laughed like it was a funny thing to her. Neytiri had such tiny fangs! Smaller than mother's fangs.

Yanking again to the get the same reaction, neytiri was quick to be annoyed. Putting down the basket, she glares down at the child. "Such a demanding thing you are".

Deciding not the carry the basket, neytiri proceeds to drag it instead, with her tail. Not wanting the little infant to tug on her hair again.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!"

its only been 2 hours, and neytiri is near her wits end. Little stxeli was screaming at the top of her lungs, and young neytiri fears it would attract unwanted predators. Sighing in distress, she puts down the basket to see stxeli rolling around in it, her little face red and tears wont stop flowing.

"What? What do you want?" she pleads with the baby. As if the infant can understand her, stxeli pats her tummy. Neytiri tilts her head, was the baby hungry? It has been a while since morning.

Tring to remember what mo'at feeds the baby, she grabs the basket again, and quickly searches for some fruit. But stxeli was screaming near her sensitive ears, her patience growing a bit thin.

What felt like forever, netyiri thankfully found some ripe yovo fruit, carefully cutting it small pieces, she shoves it in stxeli's mouth, making her to stop screaming.

With a huge sigh of relief, little neytiri relaxes in silence. But her ears twitch to the sound of stxeli munching away. Slowly her gaze turns to the baby. The little one's cheeks red and eyes a bit puffy, but stxeli wasnt so bad...

The young girl observes the human baby, taking in everyting. But her amber eyes made contact with the eyes of the infant. There was nothing but silence between them. Stxeli kept eating the soft fruit as her eyes never leaving neytiri's.

"Maybe you are not so ugly after all...." neytiri mutters.

Mo'at returns home at the same time with her mate. Both tired from their long day of doing their tasks. A nice dinner will regain their strength, and a nice cleanse by the river waters.

"Where is my sweet children?" mo'at asks as she seeks around her home. At the far corner, she finds neytiri holding stxeli. She gasped inwardly. It was the first time she has seen young neytiri holding her new sister like that. A smile crept up to her lips, enjoying the sight in front of her.

Eytukan appeared behind her, seeing the same thing. "It seems she is taking the big sister role well" he comments. Mo'at nods in agreement. Both get close to the girls, bending down. "How was your day with your sister ma'ite?" eytukan asks neytiri.

She shrugs but smiles, "it was....a very noisy day, but it is alright ma'sempu" she replies. Mo'at reaches for stxeli but neytiri backs away. This slightly confused mo'at.

"Are you not tired from holding her?" mo'at asks. Neytiri shakes her head, "no, I like holding her, and she likes it too. Isnt that right my sister?". Stxeli giggles as if to agree.

Eytukan turns to his mate, and widens a grin. Was mo'at...pouting?

Aaaaaaaaaaaaand that is all for this one! Hope you all liked it! Should the next chapter be eytukan focused? Lemme know what you guys think! until next time! see ya!

Taglist: @thehoneymushroomhealer , @kat-the-kit , @spookymomfriendtm . @moonchildxoxx , @galactict3a , @alastorhazbin

#avatar #avatar the way of water #na'vi x reader #na'vi avatar #avatar 2 #na'vi x human #neytiri x reader #jake sully x neytiri #neytiri x y/n #neytiri x you #neytiri x oc #eytukan x reader #eytukan #mo'at x reader #neytiri te tskaha mo'at'ite #omatikaya clan #neytiri x human reader

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loudgaybug · 3 months

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I wanted to analyse the different ways that their "deaths" affected both Pomme and Em (I say "deaths" because Pomme's was a nightmare, but still shaped her character). Both deaths were inescapable ; caused by undefeatable enemies, however while Em's was short and sudden, restrictive, being held by a leash, Pomme's was long and drawn out, breaking many totems, giving her time to think about how powerless she was as Phil tried to save her. They are narrative foils to each other in my eyes ; Pomme herself said she saw her younger self in Em. They were both young, new eggs - Em being not the absolute youngest, but still viewed and young and fragile the way Pomme was the youngest. They both started out as very caring eggs, with a love of flowers to show their affection. They are also very smart and calculative, Pomme choosing knowledge as her element and Em always paying attention to her surrounding. Em also initially had Pomme's protector mindset, which Pomme learned through experience. They almost had opposite character arcs in my opinion, largely due to the different circumstances and parenting styles they had.

After Pomme's nightmare, she hated how she couldn't fight back. Her parents reactions, particularly Etoiles, were to teach her how to fight and protect herself. They encouraged her to be strong and learn how to take a fight. Pomme's view of the world was also strongly formed by the fact her siblings had all lost lives before her, they were all in danger, they all needed to be protected. She was the only oen with two lives. Her life was less valuable, she must use it to protect others. Em, in contrast, after the egg hospital, is now the only egg with one life, rather than being the target like Pomme with two lives. Now Em is the most fragile, something I'm sure that's hard for her, as she got used to wanting to be a protector.

Em's natural reaction to conflict was to fight, however we first see that change of the day of the egg's bed trapping. She tries to keep up a strong front, but this time, she freezes, she walks around aimlessly, her hands won't work, she can't help, she can't decorate with Sunny and Tubbo. I think when Em gets somewhat stressed she fights, but when really traumatised she can't handle it and her response is to shut down.

In contrast to Pomme constantly being taught by her parents that the important thing is to be strong, and to protect others, reinforced especially by self-sacrificing characters like Bad, Em is consistently taught by her mother she should stay back, run away in conflict, and in fact they get in disagreement about this, because Em wants to help. This is compounded by Tubbo, who consistently teaches Sunny to run, and, when acting as a caretaker for Em, also encourages this mindset. Then when Em talks to her mother about it further, she reinforces Tubbo's teaching, that it's safer both for her and her siblings is Em runs away. But I think its Em's death that really solidifies this, in the same way that Pomme's nightmare solidifies that she wants to get stronger and protect her siblings and provides basis for later teaching. Children are malleable, and they listen to what they are taught and what experiences they have really shape them.

Em's death comes from being at the centre of the action, and, crucially, being restrained, not being able to run or warp away. This forms a strong correlation in Em's mind between being able to get away and being safe. This is then compounded the next day when Bad teaches her how to use the grappling hook to escape easier, and she often uses it now, I think it makes her feel safer. In the same way, Pomme would often unhide her armour, because she wanted to show her strength, and it reminded her that she was stronger now, that she has the power to protect her siblings that she's so scared of losing, and that she has to be the target, she's the safe one, the one with two lives. She also uses armour now to show care, making protective kits for Sunny Em and Pepito. In addition, Em's reminder of her death is flowers, flowers that symbolise change and transformations, symbolic of how her mindset has changed and now she realises she can't be a hero and just wants to be safe with her family. A reminder of Pomme's death and her mission is her scythe Vengeance, which she named so that she could seek revenge for her siblings. A scythe and flowers, two very similiar eggs, who learned very different lessons.

Em started out trying to be protector, wanting to be a hero, ending up realising she had to be a lover. Pomme started out as a lover and found she had to be a fighter aswell.

#qsmp #qsmp analysis #is this anything?#anyway i love these eggs #qsmp pomme #qsmp empanada #q!pomme #q!empanada #empanada the egg #pomme the egg #maybe i will also tackle why chay's protector mindset was formed and sunny's reaction to conflict relating to the time machine #but rn i just had this analysis in my brain rotting

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delicateflowerss · 1 year

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Nightcall

People invite monsters into their houses more often than you think.

Warnings: 18+, NON-CON, DUB-CON, dark!tyler, aged up character(s), blood, mentions of murder/violence, manipulation, jealousy, choking, dacryphilia

Word Count: 3.7k

His fingers fumble with his phone in the dark. Blood smearing on the screen when trying to find your name to click on. Unshed tears glisten in his eyes and shaky breaths leave his lips as he listens to the ringing tone.

You look out your bedroom window one more time, watching the rain fall from the sky before closing the curtains for the night. You head towards the bathroom, walking past your phone that sits on the dresser.

You don’t hear your phone buzz in the other room, the screen lighting up with Tyler’s name. You step into the hot shower, oblivious to the boy trying to get ahold of you.

He curses out loud when he hears the beginning of your voicemail. Hanging up, he immediately clicks on your name again.

When he gets the same result, he throws his phone down on the passenger seat.

Tyler doesn’t know why it feels like it’s life or death whether he talks to you right now. But he can’t shake the feeling that you’re with him again.

Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe it’s that obsessive, little corner of his mind plaguing him with the idea that someone is right where he should be.

He can’t get it out of his head, no matter how hard he tries. That day on perpetual repeat as he drives down the dark road.

“This would be less painful if you talk, Tyler,” she reminded him for the second time that session.

She kept a pearly white grin on her face, voice still cheery. But he noticed the annoyance that she fought so hard against, starting to seep through.

He couldn’t keep his eyes on the blonde sitting in front of him, instead they roam around her neatly decorated apartment. He’d never paid attention to how many candles she keeps lit. That must be a fire hazard, he thought. This whole place could go up in flames with a slight push to one of them.

“In our last session, you told me about a friend you reconnected with recently. Y/N, was it?” Dr. Kinbott inquired, watching Tyler for a reaction.

He shifted a little in his seat at the mention of your name. But he tried his hardest to keep a straight face, not even a twitch of a muscle. He didn’t need Dr. Kinbott to know what makes him squirm.

“How did you two meet again?”

He let out a sigh before being forced to recount his early memories. He supposed he didn’t mind since it had to do with you.

“We met in kindergarten. She just, came up to me and asked if I wanted to play house.” He kept his voice as steady as possible. “I know I would’ve rather played with the toy cars. But for some reason, I said yes. I don’t really remember why.”

He stopped paying attention to how Dr. Kinbott tilted her head like what he was saying was the most interesting thing she’s ever heard. Instead, a smile traced his lips as he felt himself be transported back into the memory.

“We played together every day after that. Going to each other’s birthday parties and kid stuff like that.”

He still remembered how you wanted him to sit next to you when you blew out your candles on your birthday cake, or how you always gave him your last Animal Cracker at snack time, just because he was still hungry.

“Then what happened?”

Her question made him falter, lips parting in confusion.

“What happened for you two to reconnect now? Reconnecting usually means you drifted apart in the first place.”

He slightly nodded, eyes moving to the floor. He thought for a moment before he continued.

“Puberty, I guess. We turned 12 and things just changed. It wasn’t cool to be friends with a girl.”

Dr. Kinbott continued to nod, humming in understanding.

“So, why now?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. She came into the Weathervane one day… and she was surprised to see me working there. Then we got to talking and… now we see each other all the time.”

He stopped himself from saying anything more about you.

Truthfully, he could’ve gone on for hours about you. How every time you looked at him, it felt like you were staring right into his soul, and all you did was smile, not turning away in fear or disgust.

He could’ve talked about how he longs to see that smile all the time, that simple expression on you making a bad day turn better.

He knew your drink order like the back of his hand. He thought it was funny how you only ever want a latte made by him now. Your excuse was no one else makes the foam like he does.

His favorite time of the day was when the sun went down. The Weathervane was finally empty of customers, and the two of you could just sit in your own little corner of the world, talking for hours. Everything else was a distant thought during those times. All he could do was focus on the warmth of your voice, telling him all of your greatest dreams and desires.

You told him you want to leave Jericho one day, hoping there’s something better out there for you, and all he could think was how much he wants to go with you.

“That’s great, Tyler. Having a friend, you can talk to is a really special thing.” Dr. Kinbott’s voice snatched him from his thoughts. She glanced at the clock.

“Looks like we’re out of time.”

Tyler kept his eyes on the ground, head swirling with memories of you that were unearthed in his session with Dr. Kinbott. He only looked up when he crossed the street, giving a polite smile to the car that stopped for him.

He was on his way to work, not much of a break between therapy and having to serve coffee to a wide array of customers.

But before he could get to the door of the Weathervane, he spotted you through the window. It was a nice surprise before he realized you were sitting across from someone, laughing at what they were saying.

His jaw tensed, brows pulled together as he watched you talk to a guy that you and Tyler went to school with.

He always thought Ben was an asshole, thinking he was so much better than everyone else. So much better than Tyler at least.

He was stumped at why you would want to be talking to Ben in the same booth that was supposed to be yours and Tyler’s.

His first instinct was to pretend that it was nothing when Ben brushed his hand against yours, and you let him, smiling.

But he felt something sink in his chest, a familiar feeling. A type of feeling he’s gotten when he watches the world around him, realizing he has no place in it. This time, it’s a little different, the feeling has evolved.

Now he has no choice, it’s screaming, telling him to do something before he goes insane.

You still haven’t checked your phone when you’re dressed in your pajamas, skin still dewy from your shower.

The doorbell ringing throughout the house startles you. You think for a second of who it could be, somewhat hoping the person gets impatient and leaves.

When it rings again, you peek through your bedroom curtains. When you see who it is, you practically run downstairs, opening the front door as fast as you can.

“Tyler, what are you doing?”

He stands on your doorstep in the pouring rain, arms hugging his sides, looking like a stray puppy needing shelter.

You grab his arm, dragging him into your house and out of the harsh weather. His clothes are soaking wet, his hair sticking to his forehead.

“Is everything okay?” You ask, still trying to figure out why he came to your house in the first place.

He looks around, almost like he’s in a daze.

“Are your parents home?”

You stare at him with your brow furrowed until you slightly shake your head, realizing he asked you a question.

“No, they’re out of town for the weekend. I thought I told you that.”

He hears the worry in your voice, not trying hard to disguise it. He likes it, the fact you care enough about him to be concerned.

“So, you’re home by yourself?” There’s an edge to his voice, something that makes a chill go down your spine.

You nod slowly, your eyebrows slightly raised.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

He just keeps his eyes on the floor.

You sigh, “You probably shouldn’t go back out there, at least until it stops raining.” His eyes finally meet yours. “I can try to find some other clothes for you while I put those in the dryer.”

His mouth opens, surprised at your offer.

“But leave your shoes by the door. My parents would kill me if you got mud everywhere.”

He looks down at his dirty shoes, bending down and frantically untying them.

You start to go up the stairs, and Tyler hesitates for a second before quickly following you.

“I’ll also get you a towel to dry your hair,” you say with an amused smile on your lips, looking back to take in his wet curls.

He follows you into your room, and he can’t help but take in every detail of you that is carved into it. All he can think is how it’s so you, from the few pictures hanging on the walls to the color you chose for the duvet on your bed.

“You can undress in here, and hopefully something of my dad’s will fit you.”

“Thanks, Y/N.”

You give him one last reassuring smile before closing the door.

It’s not lost on him how odd it is to be taking his clothes off in your bedroom. Maybe in a different situation, he would enjoy it more.

Soon enough, those agonizing thoughts come back, making him wonder how many other guys have been in this situation. Except you’d be there, also taking your clothes off.

He wonders if Ben has been in that situation, with that stupid, arrogant smirk on his face.

A knock on the door interrupts his thoughts.

“Come in,” he calls out.

You open the door, finding Tyler standing in the middle of your room, only in his boxers.

A sight you thought you’d never see.

It’s hard for him to look you in the eyes, his hands trying to find something to do. But what makes him feel worse is your lack of embarrassment at seeing him like this.

You step closer to him, but before you can explain what you found, you drop what you’re holding on to the bed.

“Oh my God, Tyler.” That concern is back in your voice.

He follows your gaze, looking down, realizing that he’s bleeding. He usually gets wounded in some way when he transforms. He’s not entirely sure how it happens, probably while he’s on the hunt. He’s just glad that the rain washed away the blood that wasn’t his.

You rush to him, inspecting the scratches on his ribcage, right near his stomach.

“Does it hurt?”

The scratches don’t look too deep, but they’re still bright red.

“It’s not too bad.”

You look at him with disbelief. But you decide not to press on the matter anymore.

“Okay. Well, I’ll get the first aid kit and you just sit down.” You motion to the foot of your bed. “Oh and,” you say, almost forgetting. “Here’s a towel for your hair. I could only find you a shirt, but you probably shouldn’t put it on until I get you cleaned up.”

You pick up Tyler’s wet clothes off the floor before leaving.

He grabs the towel, ruffling his hair with it, trying to dry it. He enjoys how you take care of him, treating him like he’s a little boy that needs to be nursed back to health. How he’s the only person you seem to care about at all, putting all your attention on him.

You come back, sitting right next to him, sorting through the bandages in the little plastic box.

“How did this even happen? It looks like you were attacked by a wild animal.”

You begin to bandage him up the best you can, waiting for an answer.

“I was playing with Elvis, and he got a little too rough I guess.”

It’s not his best lie, but it will have to do for now.

You don’t say anything, and Tyler isn’t sure if your silence is to do with your disproval or if you’re too focused on his wound.

A few minutes pass, and you’re still working on covering the scratches up. It doesn’t go past you how intimate this is, the only sounds are yours and Tyler’s breathing and the soft tapping of the rain against the window. You drag your eyes up a little, taking in how toned he is, something he keeps well-hidden.

You’re so close to him that he can smell the soap on your skin, vanilla filling his nose. The feeling of your fingertips on his body makes him feel like he’s on fire. If all he had to do was hurt himself and show up on your doorstep in the pouring rain to get you to pay this kind of attention to him, he would’ve done it a long time ago.

“That should be good.” You lean back, admiring your handiwork.

His green gaze finds his now bandaged up wound, a smile lighting up his features.

“Thank you, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I don’t know either.”

Your smile matches his as you bring a hand to his hair, letting your fingers run through his soft curls. His eyes fall shut with the comforting, almost loving movement.

He opens them to see you staring at him, like you’re admiring him. Content is written on your face.

He can only guess his face looks more or less the same, probably more like a lovesick idiot.

He doesn’t really think about it as he leans in closer to you, his eyes glued to your lips. He doesn’t notice how your expression morphs into something of confusion and panic.

A small gasp leaves your lips as his own crash into your cheek instead. You feel him freeze, realization hitting him coldly.

He finally moves away from you, keeping his head down. But even as he wishes to disappear from your sight, he can’t stop you from seeing the blood rushing into his cheeks.

You instantly feel bad when you see the embarrassment that clouds him. The last thing you would want is to upset Tyler. But him almost kissing you was a shock. You never thought for a second Tyler had a crush on you.

You sigh, closing your eyes for a second, trying to figure out the words to make all of this better.

“Tyler, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. It’s just…” You trail off, not wanting to add salt to his wounds. You shift a little. “It’s just, I don’t see you like that.”

You try to judge his reaction, and by the way his jaw ticks, it’s not good.

“I’ve been really happy since we became friends again, and… I don’t want to lose that,” you soothe.

“Do you like him?” There’s a darkness to his voice, a bitterness you’ve never heard from him before.

You stare at him, not understanding.

“I saw you with him. At the Weathervane.” He finally turns to face you. “Are you fucking him or something?”

His face is practically in a snarl, and you’re ready to defend yourself against his unfair accusations.

But then you see the hurt in his eyes, the slightest glimmer of an unshed tear. You decide to take a deep breath, stopping yourself from saying something you’ll regret.

“I think you just need to calm down, Tyler.”

Unfortunately, your words have the opposite effect. Your lack of an answer makes his jaw tighten. His eyes seem to have this far away look in them.

He had hoped every thought that invaded his mind was wrong. But he realizes that the voice in the back of his head telling him he’s not good enough for you has only been right.

His gaze finally settles over you, an intensity taking over that wasn’t there before.

“Do you think he’s better than me?”

Your brow furrows. “What? No-.”

“Then why him?” He pauses before going into his next question. “What’s so bad about me that you won’t at least give me a chance?”

You look down at your hands in your lap, immediately feeling a pang of guilt. You don’t know why you can’t see Tyler in a romantic way. You’ve known him since you were kids. He always looks at you with those soft, kind eyes, and he listens to what you have to say. He’s also good looking… but for some reason, you just can’t picture yourself dating him, or fucking him.

But you could try.

He’s always had it tough, growing up without a mom. You could always sense a loneliness to him, something that made him… different from everyone else. All you know is you hate making him feel this way. You don’t want to be the reason for his next broken heart.

“Tyler-.”

He shuts you up with a kiss on your open mouth. Before you could explain how you two should go to a movie or something, his soft lips are pressed to yours, slowly licking into your mouth.

You bring a firm hand to his chest. Your fingers are cold compared to the warmth of his bare skin. You try to push him away, but he doesn’t budge.

His kisses feel feverish, like he can’t get enough of you, wanting to devour you whole. He pushes his body weight onto you, making you fall back on the bed.

The kisses don’t stop as he moves between your open legs. You’re finally able to move your mouth away from him.

“Wait, Tyler. I don’t know about this.” Your voice is full of cracks as he takes in the apprehension overcoming your face.

He had hoped you would pity him, making it easier for him to do what he wants with you. You’re his and he is yours. Ben doesn’t compare to him. You just don’t know it yet.

He tries to make the expression on his face gentler, softer, not wanting to scare you.

“I would never do anything to you that you wouldn’t want.” His thumb caresses circles on to your cheek. “You don’t have to worry or think too much. Just relax.” His deep voice sounds almost entrancing. “Don’t you trust me?”

You gaze up at him, considering his words. He takes your lack of response as one, his lips finding yours again.

You let his hands roam over your body, fingers digging into your skin. He finds one of your breasts through your thin pajama shirt, squeezing it and massaging your nipple. His other hand snakes down to your core, rubbing you through your underwear.

Even if he wanted to stop, he can’t. The thing inside him that craves to be satiated is screaming in hunger, and you’re absolutely delicious.

He replaces his hand with his mouth, sucking on your nipple through the fabric, wetting it with his tongue. He can feel your chest start to heave.

A whimper escapes your throat as he slips his fingers under the white cotton, brushing over your swollen bud. You feel his perfect teeth move to your neck, alternating between biting and licking, leaving kisses in his trail as an apology for hurting you.

Your hips buck involuntarily before he takes his hand away from you, wet with your arousal. You practically whine in protest before he reaches up to take your shirt off, your shorts and underwear being pushed down next.

The realization of where this is going hits you, along with the cold air. Watching him pull his boxers down, you could stop him now.

But do you really have a choice?

You feel his leaking tip brush against you, lining himself up before pushing himself inside you.

Ragged breaths leave you as you try to adjust to his size, the fullness being too much for you at first. Pain beginning to meld with the inklings of pleasure.

His pink lips part as he feels you wrapped around him, walls clenching around his throbbing cock. He starts to thrust into you, your hand grasping his bicep as he sinks in deeper.

You get used to his pace, moans falling from you as pleasure clouds your mind. His head falls to the crook of your neck, the caress of his breaths tickling your neck. The monotonous squeak of your mattress plays in the background. An odd sense of comfort envelops you as his bare chest grazes your own.

Then he lifts his head up, a hand grabbing your thigh, pushing your knee to your chest. He ignores your protests, rutting into you mercilessly. The sounds leaving him can only be described as carnal, hot breath fanning over you.

The new angle allows him to pound into you harder and faster, and all you can do is take it. Your whines get louder as he hits your sweet spot. Your eyelids flutter while your only focus is your impending orgasm.

You feel his large hand wrap around your neck, squeezing hard enough to scare you, but not to cut off your air supply.

He likes how your neck is so delicate, your rapid heartbeat right under his fingertips.

“Tyler,” you struggle out.

He’s relentless with how he thrusts into you. A sick part of him is satisfied when he sees a tear finally fall down your cheek, dropping onto the hand that’s still around your throat.

You hate to think of what exactly pushes you over the edge. All you see are stars as pleasure washes over you. You can feel Tyler’s lips brushing against your cheek, licking away your tears.

His pace has gotten careless and it’s not long before a warmth floods you, harsh breaths wracking him.

Tears still blurry your vision as he lies beside you. You can’t help but lean in closer to him, letting him kiss the top of your head, crying into his chest.

#tyler galpin #tyler galpin x reader #dark!tyler galpin #dark!tyler galpin x reader #tyler galpin x you #wednesday

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weadapt · 11 months

Text

I think it’s interesting storytelling how in the beginning of the game Cal says the Sixth Sister’s name, Masana Tide, and reminds her of who she used to be—and it visibly distresses her because it hurts what was done to her and Cal isn’t wrong in what he’s saying. The shocking thing for me was the moment when Cal said “It’s time to set you free”. It was such a surreal feeling hearing Cal say that, those kinds of words, to know he decided it was time to strike her down; it’s understandable because she killed his entire crew, but for Cal to be the executioner in that way was scary to see coming after only experiencing the young kid he was in Fallen Order. Now you really get the feeling Cal has been through a lot, he’s grown as a man since Fallen Order and he’s calloused, not entirely in a bad way given he’d have to be to survive but still in a depressing way, as a result. I know overall and gameplay wise, Cal has killed a lot of people, it’s nothing new, but storytelling wise it’s a serious moment for Cal. It’s a moment you know is going to follow him the rest of the game for character development. After he kills her, it’s made clear by the music and by Cal’s body language that this isn’t a good thing coming from him. It isn’t a triumph. Even BD-1 knows and worries for Cal with his little “Boop…?” and Cal is only able to respond rather shakily, “Yeah… I’m okay”.

When he meets up with Bode and Bravo and they ask him what happened to the Inquisitor, he gives a simple, no emotion, “Dead”. The long pause of Bravo not saying anything in response to me says a lot; it feels like he isn’t used to Cal having a reaction like that.

Then we have Rayvis. Cal defeats him in battle and asks him to join in the fight against Dagan. He doesn’t want to kill Rayvis—“You don’t have to do this”. The oddly tragic part to me is that Rayvis has dreams of seeing Tanalorr again. If Dagan succeeds his dream will be realized, but he’s given up on the dream and wants a warrior’s death now. He wants to die, and in his mind, honorably, by Cal’s hands, and he’s going to force Cal to do it. But for Cal it’s another execution on his part. He pauses before he lifts his saber and kills Rayvis. It isn’t a triumph. Again we’re given a sudden swell of music to tell us the emotion behind the action of killing Rayvis. You can see it’s affected Cal badly. BD-1 seems to ask Cal the same question as before, “Boop…?” but this time Cal doesn’t acknowledge the question and just replies, “We should go”.

Killing Dagan hurts for Cal too. Dagan is a Jedi, someone who held onto the Order, who tied his entire identity to it and all of his goals are focused on restoring the Order and fighting to change the universe. Just like Cal in a way. Dagan is single-mindedly focused on the mission, so obsessively, he lost himself and the one he loved as a result. Cal understands and see the parallel of that kind of drive in his own mission against the Empire and it terrifies him. Dagan could’ve helped him fight the Empire but it became another tragic moment of having to kill a once fellow Jedi. This is another tragedy. Bode doesn’t care about Dagan being dead on the floor but Cal does. Cal has enough respect to place Dagan’s lightsaber on his chest. Cal pauses to reflect but Bode immediately gets back to getting the compass.

We have this interesting arch of reactions to killing his opponents. They were each killed for the mission. It was necessary. They each started the fight against him. No matter the reason though, it’s still very painful for Cal.

Cal is being pushed into this direction of forcing him to question his beliefs and who he is. His whole identity at this point has been tied to the Order, of being a Jedi, and it’s very clear by his conversations in Fallen Order that it really matters to who he is. By the end of Survivor, we have three fallen Jedi: Masana Tide, Dagan Gera, and Bode Akuna. So who is Cal Kestis? What will he become? Is he doomed to fall like they did? That’s what troubles him—“Let’s just say I don’t wanna end up like him [Dagan]”.

He’s afraid he’s going to lose himself.

The fear is almost realized when he’s about to kill another opponent. The one behind the murders of his friends and mentors. Cal’s been killing each of his main opponents up to the point at Nova Garon—this one will be no different. Except killing the man who sent Bode on the mission to infiltrate his team is different. Cal is on the edge of losing himself to the Dark Side. In Fallen Order he pleaded for Cere not to use the Dark Side because “She’s stronger than that”, “[she] still had a choice”. But Cal is failing to remember any of that for himself. He wants to kill because he’s angry, grieving, and in immense pain. Merrin has to bring him back—“This is not you!” There’s a question of whether or not Cal would’ve been able to stop himself if Merrin hadn’t been there though.

When we get to the final battle, Merrin is warning Cal of what’s likely going to happen but he ignores her for a while which prompts her to say, “Well? Say something!” He doesn’t want to acknowledge that Merrin is right and they’re likely going to have to kill Bode, and with that, taking Kata’s father away—a loss of family Cal and Merrin know too much about. So they both try and give Bode every chance to stop and turn away from what he’s done, despite how much Bode had hurt them. Sadly, Cal once again is forced into using the Dark Side to prevent Bode from killing Merrin. It was worth it. It was worth using it to save Merrin. He couldn’t let her be killed. He couldn’t see that happen before his eyes like he had with all of his friends and mentors.

After everything is over, there’s this sickly feeling left behind. Not simply because of Bode’s death, but because of the impact on Merrin realizing Kata has lost family just like she and Cal had, but also because of the impact the death of Bode has on Cal. And after Cal carries away Bode’s body, the music changes to an eerie, ominous, high pitch, minor key when we see Cal board the Mantis. The kind of change in music which lets the audience know there’s something seriously wrong. Things are different now. Cal’s different. And he knows it.

He’s lost in time watching the pyre, reflecting on everything that had happened but also on how grateful he is to Cere, but he knows the impact of her loss will continue to be with him for the rest of his life. Just like Jaro Tapal. Another guiding force in his life is gone. With Cere and Cordova gone, there is no longer any Jedi wisdom to seek out. He’s now alone in that way as a Jedi.

“I’m scared… I almost lost myself… I don’t know if I’m ready.”

Cal and the audience are left with the dreadful realization—

“I don’t know if I’m ready for what comes next”.

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akutasoda · 3 months

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Noticed ur requested are open so I gonna the idea I had so got inspired by Genshin archon quest and I was in love furina charcter and sm wondering if u can like crossover type request if ok with u

So I was wondering if I may request a Dan heng / IL X fem Reader

Where reader is basically similar to furina maybe Reader

was tasked by hydro archon focalor maintaining the guise of an Archon; as a new "human", she had difficulty taking the role but eventually mastered it. Additionally, a curse was placed upon her, rendering her unable to die so long as Focalors lived, but also preventing her from pursuing her own happiness. Reader is Aware of the prophecy that would doom Fontaine so reader has to play the e role of Hydro Archon for 500 years . maybe the astral express landed like in new universe tevat Fontaine and trying to figure out the new world maybe Dan heng Mets Reader noticed her and like feels connect to her due to him having experience past burdens and he can tell something up with can see right through reader act. Wants to get to know her maybe reader and how to help her and

Maybe reader like has momment alone to herself crying carrying this burden not be able to show it until Dan heng shows up but reader is stubborn to show or to tell her burdens maybe she goes to trial for being fraud and the express and Dan Genf have to help reader if this makes sense

(This idea I had in mine but I hoping romantic fluff comfort fic but also lore wise I hope this makes sense again if this too difficult of request I can change it I just like hope this is ok

Aslo furina supremacy love her

a preferred outcome for a doomed prophecy

synopsis - maybe the prophecy wouldn't turn out all that bad

includes - dan heng ft express crew + neuvillette

warnings - fem!reader (no pronouns mentioned howeve), reader is based on furina, fluff, angst with some comfort, maybe ooc?, wc - 1.5k

a/n: ahhh im so sorry this took so long!

the express had experienced all sorts of worlds within the galaxy, some not even taking form of planets but rather ships and such. each and every one housing a variety of colourful characters and deep history that spurred the current state it resided in. but they all had one thing in common, they all had a page in the expresses data bank.

the memories however, travelled with the trailblazer that experienced them. and after trailblazing for so long nothing seemed out of the ordinary when the express had an unexpected malfunction and needed to dock at the nearest planet - it wouldn't be the first time. however one would only need to take a step outside to realise that something indeed was different.

you were aimlessly wandering around the vast halls behind the court, looking for something to satiate your boredom. recently the lack of trials had bored you half to death and more annoyingly gave you less things to think about so, more often your mind would drift the the prophecy.

but you wanted to shake these horrid thoughts and push them to the back of your mind. and your wish was soon granted when you heard the voice of fontaine's ludex call your name from behind you. your initial reaction was to turn around with the biggest grin and address the man in front of you but he looked more somber, more serious than usual.

he kept his words short and brief and urged you to follow him to help with a situation that he claimed 'shouldn't get out of hand' or 'into public news'. and while you did follow immediately, your mind resurfaced the ideas of the prophecy and assumed the worst - maybe today was the day?

and as much as you tried to force yourself to not assume the worst, you couldn't stop the rapid pit of dread forming in your stomach.

you were your nations archon. and so it seemed only appropriate that you were the first person to greet the newcomers from beyond your world. all your boredom soon dissipated as you became rather eager and intrigued about your nations new visitors - but all questions would have to wait until you got the express members into your proper office.

and you had managed to get them there with minimum stares and whispering from your nations residents. you felt as though this issue was definitely better tackled within the confines of your private office. and based on what the lady named himeko had briefly told you, it seems you made the right call.

you had been introduced to all the members, seeing they would be staying here for quite a bit it'd only be polite - you may have additionally asked alot of questions as it wasn't everyday you met people that travelled through space. you also told them a tad about yourself and offered some background information about your lovely nation.

you welcomed them to look around and told them to not hesitate to ask for any help. in turn, himeko told you about the expresses data bank and gestured toward dan heng who you had been told compiles most of it. you expressed how you would be honoured you nation would be included.

over the next few days the express came to learn that they would not be leaving for a few weeks, but out of all the express members the one you had encountered the most was dan heng. he had gotten himself quite well acquainted with neuvillette and so you saw him often - mostly on his quest to fill out the data bank. and from your very first interaction it seemwd as though you both were doomed to get along.

over the first week, you and dan heng often conversed to the point ehere it seemed as though you had known him your entire life. neither of you could explain it but there was something there, something that made it easy for the two of you to converse - much to the expresses shock.

dan heng was quite surprised himself but he had grown accustomed to your presence in an alarmingingly short period of time, but there must've been a reason for this right?

he had a very strong, natural sense of perception - so much so that he could tell something was bothering you. no amount of happy go lucky attitude could fool him into thinking something didn't plague your mind constantly and because he had barely known you, he didn't say anything. it wasn't his place, he would tell himself.

but he could hardly ignore it when he walked in to your sobbing form. it had only been two weeks and the express was near ready to depart, so dan heng wanted to collect some final information. he had wanted to know more about the residents and who better to ask than you. he found neuvillette and asked where you were, he was told your office. when he arrived at your office he knocked, knocked again and knocked again. but each time was met with silence, normally he would've turned around and assumed he went the wrong way but he had heard sniffling on the other side of the door, so he opened it.

your head immediately whipped around upon hearing your office door creak open and you were left shocked at the sight of dan heng. you immediately swiped your eyes of any lingering tears and asked him in a meek voice that he should 'come back at a better time' and how he should 'seek out the ludex for anything at the moment'. dan heng wanted to protest, sure he wasn't the best at comforting people but it was clear that you needed some support. but he left.

and that wasn't the last time. only a few days later did he re-emerge in your office just to catch you crying as you stared aimlessly at the mirror that, for a brief moment, he swore had another reflection in eerily similar to you. now more than ever did he want to help. he had briefly heard you mumbling about some prophecy and he could immediately gather that this was some sort of burden you carried.

now, he knew a thing or two about carrying burdens, he knew how tormenting and stressful they could be - he did have frequent nightmares afterall. and even though he had know you for a mere few weeks, he wanted to help. afterall, wasn't it the trailblazers mission to help those across the galaxy?

unfortunately himeko and welt helped remind him of a painful reminder. once the express was up and running, they would leave and the likelihood of him ever seeing you would be close to none. and no matter how much he would talk about atleast trying to help now, if you didn't let anyone know what was your burden, no-one could help.

it was the last day in your nation, for the express and for you. the express were set to part and dan heng wanted to bid you farewell but only neuvillette showed to bid them farewell. neuvillette expressed how you had told him to relay your goodbye message. but even so, neuvillette also knew some of the prophecy and he encouraged them to go despite their joint insistence on thanking you - if they didn't leave soon, they too would be washed away in fontaine waters.

but the express crew knew something was up by now. and very reluctantly neuvillette told them of the prophecy after their insistence that they travelled worlds to help people and so if they could do anything they would. neuvillette expressed how nothing could be done. but dan heng wasn't so deterred.

however, it seemed as though the celestia herself had taken a form of pity. the prophecy didn't come true. and despite your trial going ahead and you being found guilty, you weren't to be executed. neuvillette still gained full control of hydro and sovereignty and forgave the sins of the residents of your nation but in turn he found a way to forgive yours aswell.

due to dan heng's insistence of helping you, it spurred the rest of the express to want to try just as much. and so neuvillette was offered with the idea of you joining the express. this way you could be free from the curse and still live out the rest of your days, and neuvillette allowed it. it was still your final decision however but you gladly accepted.

you still felt sorrow of having to leave some people behind, namely neuvillette, but he encouraged you to go - he would've of been in much pain to see you die. and your connection with dan heng seemed to pull through once more. as the instant you saw him you ran to give him the biggest hug anyone could offer in thanks for everything he did and he gladly reciprocated the action.

#x reader #x fem reader #x female reader #hsr x you #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail dan heng #hsr dan heng #dan heng x reader

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wardenparker · 7 months

Text

Vampire Waltz - ch 4

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

A mysterious inheritance, sprawling mansion, eccentric roommates, friendly bat, and coven of New England witches are the newest chapter of your life after being unceremoniously dumped and kicked out by your boyfriend. For Max, the biggest change in his life is you, and what exactly he's going to do about the fact that he is stuck living with you as long as his sire continues to punish him for that incident at his last office...

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 10.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships.* Mentions of car accident (resulting in death), trauma reactions, talk of family dynamics, plenty of secrets still being kept. Summary: Time spent with Allison and the coven is becoming more frequent, but a surprising time alone with Max is what will be on your mind for a while... Notes: Apologies for any errors that I missed in this chapter, my dears. I'm still on the mend so I admit my editing isn't quite up to par. I hope you enjoy anyway! 🧛‍♂️ This week we've got a photo of the upstairs sitting room in Dolly's lovely mansion.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3

The next few days, Max stays away. Confused as to why he had decided to spend Mabon as a bat on your shoulder during a witch's celebration instead of doing vampire things. He had missed a few parties in some neighboring cities but once he had gotten there, he hadn't wanted to leave your side. Something that was not Max. That, and now he's getting weird looks from Mrs. Taylor. As if she is waiting for him to tell her something and he doesn't know what the fuck that is. So instead of interacting, he stays away, concentrating on work.

It’s made the atmosphere in the house a little more tense than it needs to be, something which you’re so unfortunately used to that at first you find the tension more comfortable than everyone’s kindness. It’s not new to you, to have a man in close proximity who barely speaks to you, so you begin to adjust to the idea that Max just doesn’t like you very much.

******

"What is with you?" Eddie doesn't bother knocking, making Max scowl as he looks up from his magazine.

"Can't a man get a little privacy?" He grumbles, slapping the pages together and huffing at the other vampire. "What the fuck did I do now? I've been busy and on my best behavior."

“You’ve been sulking most of the time and extra snarky the others,” Eddie observes, coming fully into the upstairs sitting room where Max had been reclined on a sofa with his copy of GQ.

"I've been perfectly fine." Max sniffs, rolling his eyes and opening the magazine again. He has no interest in being questioned. "If someone takes offense to being busy, that's not my fault."

“You’re avoiding her.” It’s pretty obvious to the rest of the household, to the point where even Mr. Finchley had noticed and commented on the situation.

"Who?" Max asks, as if he isn't aware of who Eddie is referring to. As if he hadn't consciously rearranged his schedule so he wouldn't run into you.

“Dolly.” He’s not afraid of you overhearing this little exchange because you’re currently out with Allison getting a driving tour of your new island home, so he doesn’t bother closing the door behind him when he plops down in his favorite armchair.

"Come in. Make yourself comfortable." Max grunts sarcastically, shooting Eddie an unhappy look. He would rather the other vampire be anywhere else other than bothering him. "Since when is not dancing for the little human being rude?" He demands when Eddie doesn't move, just lifts a brow at him and waits.

“You haven’t even been eating dinner with us.” Not that it hasn’t made time for plenty of light conversation, but it still makes Eddie frown. “At least eat with us tonight? I think she feels like she did something wrong. Like you hate her.”

He doesn't want to. Doesn't want the feeling that rides under his skin when you are near. Like an itch he couldn't possibly scratch, even if he tore his skin off. Still....the idea that you would think you had done something wrong sits like a stone in his stomach. "I don't know her." He reminds Eddie. "How could I hate her?"

“I didn’t say I thought that,” the other vampire reminds him. “But she’s obviously been through some things and reassurance doesn’t hurt.”

Max huffs, wanting to say something snarky about needing reassurances, but then he remembers how happy you were that night around the fire. You had stroked his little bat wings and petted him while laughing and talking. He hates the idea of you slipping back into the shell of the quiet mouse you had been when you arrived. "Fine." He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "I'll make an appearance. Happy now?"

“Yes, thank you.” Eddie isn’t above using a little guilt here and there to make progress with Max, mostly because he knows that his fellow vampire has a surprisingly big heart carefully packed away under those bespoke suit layers. “I’ll let Mrs. Taylor know. She’s got a big bowl of that Italian chocolate pudding she makes with blood chilling in the fridge downstairs.”

"Oh thank god." Max wrinkles his nose. "I've been getting bored with take out." He smirks at his own little joke and looks back down at his magazine. "Now if you don't mind...."

“Looking for fashion tips for the coven’s masquerade?” Eddie lifts himself from the chair but doesn’t make a move to leave, teasing Max instead. “You know those are costume parties, right?”

Max's eyes cut over to Eddie, narrow and suspicious. "No." He snaps. "When do I have to be looking for fashion tips?" He asks, letting go of one side of the magazine to gesture to his resplendent outfit. "Maybe I'm trying to figure out how to tell you that you dress like a sad virgin." He shoots back with a pout. He's wondering why the hell Eddie would mention a coven function to him. Not like he had plans to attend.

“90s grunge is cool again,” Eddie informs him with a smirk, not bothered for even one second that Max is being pouty again.

"Go away." He rolls his eyes and flaps his magazine again, trying to ignore Eddie. Finding one of the outfits in the magazine perfect for the party but purposefully turning the page.

“Aww.” Even tutting, Eddie is laughing when he turns away. “Somebody’s got a vein in his fang. Don’t worry, Maxy. You’ll be cool one day, too.”

"Fuck you too!" Max shouts after the annoying vampire. It was a shame that he kept telling Max that he couldn't kill Eddie. Apparently having a soft spot for the annoying little shit.

Eddie chuckles all the way downstairs, going to tell Mrs. Taylor that Max will be returning to the dinner table tonight, but surprised to find the housekeeper standing in the China pantry with you — and for Allison to be there too. “I didn’t even hear you come home,” he hums, looking around at the three women. “Enjoyed your drive?”

"Oh!" Allison jumps, startled by the appearance of the cute, young looking, vampire. She's aware of his nature, Cookie having told her a few years ago. "I—" She flusters slightly and looks towards you. "I think he was talking to you and not me."

“Both of you,” Eddie clarifies, thoroughly enjoying the way Allison blushes in surprise. He’s always found the little witch to be beautiful, and is glad you made friends so quickly.

“It was really nice.” You’re standing in the room with Allison and Mrs. Taylor, arm looped through Allison’s as you chatted over having the next coven meeting here at the mansion. “Alli took me to a clam shack in Middletown for lunch and we drove all around the island.”

"Flo's." Allison tells Eddie, shrugging like it was the only place to take you. "Thought she should be familiar with the area. Learn where to go from a local."

“Perfect choice.” Not that he ever really wanted to eat there — not with how typical human food tastes to vampires — but because he sees that both humans have come home happy. So clearly, the choice was perfect. “Don’t let me interrupt. I was just coming to tell Mrs. Taylor that Max decided to be social for dinner tonight.”

"Decided?" Allison tilts her head in confusion and looks at him questioningly. "Has he been unsociable?"

“He’s been busy.” There’s no reason to talk about it, so you hadn’t mentioned it while you were out, but now you shrug. “I mean it’s not like we’re close, or anything. He’s not beholden to a big family dinner. That would be silly.” Silly for plenty of reasons – not the least of which is the fact that you’re not family at all.

Allison frowns and is about to say that there's no way that he would do that, but she catches the way your shoulders round slightly and stops herself. "Well, that just means he will have plenty to talk about tonight."

“Sure will,” Eddie predicts with a smile, having noticed the same thing as Allison. “I’m glad you ladies had fun.” Despite having been a vampire for decades he’s still fairly awkward around beautiful women and Allison is no exception to that rule. “I’ll leave you to it,” he decides, excusing himself to head back upstairs to his mountain of homework.

"Well, he ran off quickly." Allison doesn't know quite what to make of Eddie, he is normally running off before they talk for too long and it leaves her feeling a little off kilter.

“Doesn’t want to intrude on coven business, I expect.” Mrs. Taylor smiles, knowing full well that Eddie has had a little crush on Allison Wetmore for years. “Eddie used to dabble, you know? When he was younger.” When he was still human, is the underlying clarification, and Mrs. Taylor gives Allison a meaningful look. “Sometimes I think he misses it.”

"Really?" Her eyes widened in surprise and then drift back towards the door he had left through. "Well, he could always still dabble, if he wanted to. There's no rules against it."

“I can mention it to him,” you offer, seeing the way Allison softens at that idea and honestly envying it more than a little. You would give anything to feel softness and romantic longing for a good man again. Instead of the all-encompassing self-doubt and fear that you’ve been left with. The only thing you feel softness for right now is a bat. “The next coven meeting is going to be here anyway. There’s no reason he can’t join us.”

"You don't have to do that." A discreet look at Mrs. Taylor ends up with the older vampire simply shrugging her shoulders, having no input on the idea.

“There’s no reason he can’t join us,” you repeat with a smile, having no idea of the extremely real reason that so many other witches the world over would have a very big problem with the idea.

Mrs. Taylor smiles and nods. "Now, have you decided which china you would like to use?" She asks, bringing the conversation back to the task at hand. "It would really depend on the theme that you are wishing to have."

“We’re going to be planning the Samhain Masquerade, so…” A small huff of a laugh comes out of you. “Did Cookie have anything with bats or Jack o’lanterns or broomsticks on it?” You know the question is ridiculous but you’re in a fairly good mood for the third day in a row and that’s fairly miraculous.

Although she purses her lips in thought, Mrs. Taylor finds it amusing that you would be so like the woman you had never met. "There are two sets." She admits, walking over to one of the walls of cabinets without glass to display the wares. "Ms. Cookie had an odd sense of humor that would be perfect for a Samhain Masquerade."

“Are you serious?” It had only been a joke, and yet Mrs. Taylor is pulling out two different sets of dinner plates — one rimmed in spider webs and skulls and ghosts and haunted houses; and the other with a clean black rim and old fashioned scenes of witches and hauntings and magic in the center. “Oh my gods!”

The housekeeper’s laugh is loud. "That was the exact reaction of Ms. Brown when she opened the crate with the dishes." She admits as you carefully take one of them to examine. "Her soulmate was always on the lookout for things that she would love."

“They’re fantastic.” The sting in your heart at another even small similarity between and a woman you never met makes you ache for some reason. “He sounds like he loved her very much.” The story that Allison told you is still in your head, but vampires? That’s still just too outrageous.

"Their love was never a question." Mrs. Taylor murmurs softly. "If there is one set that you like more than the other, we will use that set."

“What do you think?” Giving Allison the choice since she knows the coven better makes perfect sense to you. “We could probably even mix and match if we wanted to?”

"Personally..." She tilts her head and smiles as she looks down at the plates. "I think that the ones with the pumpkins are perfect."

“Then that’s what we’ll use.” They’re all perfect, so you’re happy no matter what — and what the coven will like is far more important to you anyway.

"We can save the other china for the next one?" Allison asks. "If you decide to have another next year."

“I’m sure we will.” Somehow, with as much as you doubt yourself on other things, you don’t doubt this. Like reviving the legacy of the masquerade ball is simply meant to be.

"Then we will make sure that everyone in Newport wants an invite to your masquerades." Allison declares with a grin.

“I think we could probably fit them all in this house.” You joke, wondering if anyone besides the coven would even come and if you would even care if they didn’t. Having this many potential friends is something you haven’t experienced in years.

“You should go to see some of the other mansions down this street,” Mrs. Taylor insists, sorting through the cabinet of Samhain China. “They’re very beautiful, and quite enormous.”

"We could make it a field trip, if you wanted?" Allison jumps on the idea with a grin. "Get a few from the coven and make a day of it?"

"Are there really that many to see?" So many of the gates up and down the street were marked private that eventually you had stopped thinking that any of them might be open to the public at all.

"They will be just as soon as you tell the people answering the speaker that you have some of Mrs. Taylor’s famous cookies." Allison snickers. "Even if the homeowners aren't there, the staff will do anything to get a box."

"Oh, now, hush." Mrs. Taylor would blush if she could, but as it is she waves her hand at Allison as though she might be just too pleased for words. "I'll see that Renee gets a stack of tickets ordered for the Preservation Society and you girls can go whenever you'd like. Just come on back here for lunch in between, alright?" There is a not-so-small chance that the vampiric housekeeper has dearly missed these larger parties and is taking any excuse she can find to encourage you to make friends. Not so small at all.

"You know your cookies are coveted." Allison hums with a smile before she turns to you. "What do you say, Dolly? Does that sound like something you'd like to do later on this week?"

"Absolutely." An invitation – any time spent with new friends – warms you right from the tips of your toes all the way through the top of your head. "I've never seen houses like these before, it sounds like fun."

"Ohhhhh." Turning her eyes towards the older, vampiric housekeeper, she bites her lip. "Is there any way that we could possibly borrow some period clothing?" The witch asks with a grin, knowing that it would appeal to her immensely. "We could do the tours dressed up."

"Of course, dear." Mrs. Taylor nearly vibrates with excitement over the question, answering immediately and putting the box of dishes aside in her eagerness at the suggestion. "I will sort through some of the older things on the third floor and bring them down for you all to look through tomorrow?"

“What do you think?” Allison turns to you and wants to know if you would like that. “Is that something you would like?”

It isn't something you would normally do, but something in your gut tells you yes. To go for it. That it will be fun. "What the heck?" You shrug eventually, throwing up your hands. "It could be fun."

“Yes!” Allison pumps her first in the air. “You won’t regret it.” She promises before she checks her watch. “Shoot. I have to get to work. Call you later?”

"Sure." Accepting the quick, tight hug for as long as it lasts, Allison is quickly flying out the door again and off to the races, leaving you with Mrs. Taylor and her knowing smile in less than a flash.

“That one is always busy, says it keeps her in high spirits.” Mrs. Taylor tells you as she pulls out the rest of the china. “Would you like a tea service or would you rather wait for dinner?”

"I'll wait, if you don't mind. Lunch was big." Having nothing but leisure time has been odd even if it has only been a few days, and for a moment you have nothing but envy for your friend and her busy schedule. There are things you would love to do, but just can't bring yourself to think about for the time being. "I think I'll read until dinner, if that's alright."

“Of course.” Mrs. Taylor doesn’t remind you that you are the one who sets the rules, just nods and smiles. “Ring the bell if you need anything.”

"Thank you, Mrs. Taylor. I will." There is nothing that you could need badly enough that it would make you call for the staff, but you appreciate the gesture of being reminded. You would never want to inconvenience them like that, so you'll enjoy your afternoon with your book until dinner and then quietly enjoy your absolute top guilty pleasure reality show on television tonight. That would be a perfect cap to a lovely day.

******

The fact that Max checks his appearance in the mirror has nothing to do with seeing you at dinner. Nothing at all. He’s a vain man and enjoys the fact that the modern day mirrors allow for his reflection, since they are not backed with silver. Making sure that his hair was perfectly in place, he amuses himself by letting his fangs grow, making sure there was nothing in his teeth. Wondering what you would do if he let them show at dinner.

At five minutes to seven you’re down in the dining room, not wanting anyone to ever have to wait for you or to cause any problems. A lot has gone on these last few days, but a routine is starting to emerge that you feel like you can attach to. The soothing breath of fall is helping but it’s not exclusively that. The freedom you’ve been allowed is almost terrifying, so it’s not that either. It’s the small routines that are making you feel more at ease, and the reliability of those things showing you that you can rely that Mrs. Taylor and Renee – and even Mr. Taylor and Mr. Finchley – will take care of things by sticking to their routines. Even Eddie has the routine of school and always sitting down to dinner with you. It’s only Max who is a wildcard, so you are trying very hard not to let his variability affect how you approach your day. Tonight begins your one true indulgence, and you will be damned if you let Max’s variable mood ruin it for you. You’ve been looking forward to this. It’s all you have left of some things that are long since past.

At seven Max strolls into the dining room. “Well, this looks like a marvelous evening.” He says with a small chuckle. “Miss me? I’ve been very busy.”

“It’s been a few days,” you nod once and pick up your lemonade, noting a taste of something herbal in it that you can’t quite identify. “I hope you’ve gotten things done?”

“Always.” He smirks, sending you a wink even if he doesn’t want to wink at you. “Plenty of deals done. Gotta burn that oil to get in good with the bosses.”

"I hope it works for you." Not having to suck up to horrible bosses is something you've considered an enormous fringe benefit of not having to look for a job in your new town, but Max seems to enjoy – somehow – the hustle and bustle of the office.

“So far my numbers don’t lie.” He boasts as he drags out his chair and flops down, somehow making it look elegant. His eyes roam over your face and it’s obvious that you’ve relaxed, your eyes brighter than before and you look happy.

“Have you…seen Eddie?” There are only two places set tonight and no sign of the other young man in sight. While it’s unusual it’s not exactly concerning.

Max knows that is happening and he frowns. Little shit obviously decided that you could stand to have a one-on-one dinner. “I think he decided to go out.” He tells you. “Take out.”

“Oh. Sure. Of course.” The whirring cogs in your brain immediately reinterpret that as ‘he is avoiding you because you’ve done something wrong or upset him’ and even though you have absolutely no evidence for that you can’t shake it out of your mind as Mrs. Taylor comes in with the first course.

Max huffs when there’s just water again, no goblets of ‘wine’. He needs one of those drink cups with a straw to bring to the table. “Think the kid’s trying to get laid or something.” He shrugs and glances down at his plate. “No, it was a study group. I was the one trying to get laid in college.” He tells you with a chuckle.

You have no trouble believing that whatsoever, but pointing it out seems like bad form, though. “Eddie seems very serious about school,” you observe instead. Thinking about Max like that is surprisingly easy and you immediately shock yourself trying to imagine if he has chest hair or not. That is not a helpful thought.

“He should be.” Max frowns seriously, picking up his spoon and sliding it through the blood soup Mrs. Taylor had made him. You have tomato soup in your own bowl. “Honestly, I’d be mad if he wasn’t serious.”

“You would?” From the man who just said he spent college trying to get laid, you can admit to yourself that that is surprising to hear from him.

"Of course I would." He spoons up a sip of the blood soup and slurps it happily. "Don't want the same thing to happen to him that happened to me."

“I thought you had your MBA?” The thick, creamy tomato soup that Mrs. Taylor made for tonight is wonderful, and you can already tell you’re going to be craving it with grilled cheese on chilly days.

He sighs, his face twisting in anger. "No thanks to fucking Vanderbilt." He hisses, still angry after all this time that they had not even attempted to listen to him. He had not cheated. He was a lot of things, but a fucking cheater in school hadn't been one of them.

“You went to Vanderbilt?” The way you almost drop your spoon in shock is about as telling at the way your mouth hangs open, but you manage not to let the utensil clatter or make a mess.

"I did." He snorts. "Until they fucking kicked me out for something I didn't do."

“I—I’m so sorry.” It’s clear he’s still angry about it, whatever it was that happened, and you back down from asking questions instantly. An angry man is never ever a good thing, especially when they’re strong. And Max definitely looks strong.

The way you clam up instantly makes him regret showing his true emotions. His shoulders relax and he adopts a slightly smarmy smirk. "Not that I didn't do anything wrong..." He admits. "But banging my roommate's ex-girlfriend was my only crime. Evan just…he was a fucking twerp."

“They…kicked you out for that?” You knew there was an Honor System when you were at school but that seems like taking it to a rather incredulous degree, to you.

"Nope." He takes another sip of his soup. "I was accused of 'academic dishonesty'." He even uses the air quotes. "Little shit had access to my computer so he made it look like I was stealing my essays from him. And he uploaded some test key from one of my classes onto it."

“Gods, he actually framed you?” That’s a whole lot of dedication to disliking someone and you fidget slightly in your seat, wondering when this all happened. You have no idea how old Max is or how old he was in college. “I’m…I’m really sorry. That’s awful.”

"Yeah....of course no college in the states would take me." He tells you. "Had to get my MBA in Romania."

“I…” A spoonful of liquid sits in your spoon, untouched, as you debate finishing your sentence. “I…went to Vanderbilt, too.”

"No shit?" Max huffs, looking impressed. "What year?"

"I was Class of 2011." There is a brightness there, in remembering college, that you don't have with a lot of other things, and the smile on your face is genuine. "It's hard to believe it was so long ago."

"Oh shit." Max's brows shoot up and he shakes his head. "I can't - you were there at the same time. I was - well, would have been, Class of '09."

"Shit..." Even if the curse slips out on its own, it's honest. And you sit back in your chair in surprise. "The school isn't that big. How did we never meet?"

"Somehow I don't peg you as a business major." He teases slightly with a grin. "Although....were you in any of the sororities? I was always at those parties."

"I wasn't exactly a sorority girl." That is a fairly large understatement, but you get the feeling that he wasn't being serious anyway. "I was a classics and anthropology double major, But I...spent most of my extra time dancing." It's been a long time since you have been in a studio, or last took a lesson, but that's where you spent every ounce of free time when you were younger. Dance was like breathing. It was just part of who you were, but it was never going to be your profession.

"Dancing?" He tilts his head, spoon halfway to his lips and he tries to figure out what you mean. "I mean, where do you dance, except at a party?" He asks, wondering if you were one of those ballet types.

The sting in your heart is still there, despite it having been a lot of years since the last time you were in a studio. "I used to do ballroom competitively," you tell him, finally taking that spoonful of your own soup all the way to your mouth.

Eating your soup stops you from seeing the way that Max nearly chokes on his next spoonful of the warm blood soup. Catching himself before you look up and schooling his features back to polite interest. "Hmmm."

"Yeah, it's not the most popular, necessarily. Or something that a lot of people dabble in." It wasn't as though you had taken jazz or tap, or any of the types of dance classes that the theater students favored. You hadn't even tried out ballet. For you, it had always been ballroom or bust. "But...I enjoyed it. A lot."

"Good for you." Max tells you. "Everyone needs a hobby and it will be handy when you are throwing those parties that Mrs. Taylor is nearly creaming herself over."

"Max." The way you say his name is full of -- to the surprise of both of you -- chastising disapproval. And while that in and of itself isn't necessarily the surprise, the surprise is that it almost feels playful.

He chuckles, smirking at the shocked expression on your face, as if you can't believe that just came out of your mouth. His own return of your name is playful, bantering.

“She seems glad to have things not changing too much, that’s all.” To have reminders of Ms. Brown has seemed to make the housekeeper very glad, and who are you to put an end to that?

Max frowns for a second. "Are there things you want to change?" He asks, wondering why you sound proud that you haven't made any waves.

“Not…not particularly?” In truth you haven’t thought about changing anything at all, so you can’t really say. “Change isn’t always good.”

"Change can be great though." Max argues, even though his tone is still playful. Still making sure that he doesn't somehow hurt your decidedly tender feelings.

"It can be." Sometimes. Rarely. Although this change -- the decision to accept the inheritance and move north -- has been a good one. "But to be honest? Everything is so different here that I don't mind just learning the ropes."

He hums again and quickly finishes his soup before Mrs. Taylor comes in to bring the next course. "I'm sure you will fit right in. The old battle ax is rigid in her schedule." He looks up at the older housekeeper and winks at her playfully.

She says nothing, but raises one eyebrow at Max as she picks up the soup bowls from both of your places and sets down plates instead. You don’t look upset at all so she’s taking it as a good sign for your conversation.

He smirks when you don't comment, instead staring at your plate like it fascinates you. "She's not going to bite." He promises. "You at least. Me? She's wanted to bite me for years, but I'm just not the type of man to be the 'other man'." He leans closer. "And between you and me? I think Mr. Taylor might be able to take me."

Years ago you would have teased him about being the kind of guy who claimed to be invulnerable, but not anymore. There may still be playfulness in you but the sass is pretty much gone. "Housekeeper isn't a vampire but her husband might be. Got it." You joke, instead of getting too heavy with anything. The story that the coven told you at Mabon is obviously still on your mind.

Max freezes for a moment before he shoots you a grin. "That's the spirit."

“I didn’t realize vampire stories were so popular up here.” At this point it’s just conversational and you pick up your fork for your second course. “Is it a regional thing? Allison was telling me about…Mercy Brown? I think that was her name.” The local vampire story from 1892 had been another tale related to you at the Mabon bonfire.

Max chuckles. "Vampires are extremely popular around here. As they should be." He adds, picking up his butter knife and pointing it at you as he educates you. "They are the superior creature in every way that counts."

“Oh?” That seems…characteristically cocky coming from Max, so you don’t know why you’re surprised. It’s his opinion or nothing. “If you say so.”

"Think about it." He hums. "Immortality."

“I’d go for magic being real before I go for immortality,” you tell him honestly. There hasn’t been anything about your life worth living forever for in a long time.

"Ouch." He rubs his heart like you hurt him. "I guess that's why you're a witch." He pouts at you before he picks up his fork. He's also noticed that you don't eat unless someone else does and you need to eat. Your stomach is growling quietly.

“I was raised a witch.” There isn’t any reason to share so much with him but you can’t seem to stop yourself. It’s like a compulsion. “My parents were witches, too.”

"So it's like...a family thing." He nods as he takes a bite of the steak tare-tare that he had been craving, groaning quietly at the taste.

“Very much so.” Though your family history is a little complicated, you can see unequivocally that the title of Witch is hereditary.

"That's cool." Max shrugs slightly, looking down as he scoops some more of the next course on his fork. "I don't think I could claim something like that. Parents disowned me when I was kicked out of Vandy."

“I’m sorry to hear that.” With your own loss being what it is, you can certainly appreciate the feeling of being on your own. “My parents died the summer before my freshman year.”

"I'm sorry." Max doesn't mean many things when he apologizes, but he does mean this. "Really."

“Thank you.” There isn’t anything to do about it now, and there wasn’t anything you could do about it then. But you do appreciate the sympathy. “I know it isn’t the same thing, but I understand being on your own.”

He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t have an answer for that. He just nods and reaches for the water to wash down the food.

Stony silence fills the dining room and you understand immediately that you've overstepped. Your situations aren't the same and you shouldn't have compared them, and now he's upset with you. Having a man upset with you, though, is unfortunately something that you're intimately familiar with, and even though you shrink in your chair you know what to do. Just sit with your mouth shut and eat your dinner, making sure not to make eating sounds that will bother or anger Max for the rest of the meal.

Unfortunately, it seems like you are the worst at someone staying silent and you clam up like you've just been scolded. Max wants to bridge the gap, to get back to the somewhat easy banter you had been having. "Dead parents, as good as dead parents." Max shrugs his shoulders. "What are you gonna do, am I right?" He cracks a smile. "At least yours have a good reason for abandoning you. Still sucks though, and I'm sorry. How did they go? Shootout with police? Exploding cauldron?" He's being purposely ridiculous to see you smile. Hopefully.

“Car accident.” You can’t really tell if he’s trying to lighten the mood or making light of your parents’ deaths, so for your own sanity you have to choose to believe it’s the former. “An eighteen-wheeler hydroplaned in a thunderstorm and rolled over onto my parents’ sedan and another car on the highway.” It’s been long enough that you can talk about it without instantly crying, but only just. “Truck driver was the only survivor.”

"Fuck." Max winces and he blows out a breath in a very human-like exhale. "I'm so sorry. That's a lot to deal with when you're that age, any age really." He adds. "What were they like?"

“I don’t think kinder people have ever existed.” You tell him honestly, fork in hand but not actively eating while you think of your parents. “They were soulmates. Met during a summer study abroad program in London. My dad had just started college the year before and my mom was taking a gap year because she didn’t know what she wanted to study. After they met, she applied to the same college he was studying at and…they were pretty much inseparable after that.”

Even though his heart no longer beats, something twists in his chest at the mention of soulmates. He had never gotten to find out who his was. Despite his playboy attitude, when he had been in college, he would have dropped everything to be with that girl. No more serial dating or being a flirt. He had wanted the soulmate bond that his parents had shared. “That’s sweet.” He tells you. “At least….” He clears his throat. “At least they went together so they didn’t have to lose each other to death.”

“That’s…kind of what I’ve settled on…” Agreement with Max is an odd feeling, but you too had settled on neither of them having to be alone at the end as a good thing. Any solace you could give yourself at the time was extremely necessary. “Do you—? I mean…your parents…?” You’re not quite sure how to ask, or even what you’re asking, but it feels rude not to ask at all.

“What?” He asks, not sure exactly what you mean. “Wish I could see them?”

“I was going to ask if you had checked up on them,” you admit, looking down at your plate. Max must not like duck, you reflect, since his dinner is something different tonight. “Sometimes I wish I knew the rest of my family just so I could check on them. See if they’re happy. But that’s silly.”

“I saw them about three years ago.” Max admits quietly. “From a distance. They made it very clear they had no interest in a cheater and refused to believe me. So….” He shrugs. “They made their choice. Being told your parents wished you were never born is a relationship killer.” He hadn't been able to resist going back and seeing the people who had given him life, but he had just watched from the car for a few hours before leaving.

“I’m so sorry.” Somehow it never occurs to you to ask if he is actually guilty. Someone so proud of his achievements doesn’t seem like the type to cut corners to you, and the fact that he still seems so hurt by it is the other large piece of the puzzle. If he were truly that person, it would not have left such a mark on his heart. And just like that— the wall you had up around yourself to keep out Max Phillips begins to crack.

******

Dinner had finished with much lighter subjects being broached. Finding himself watching as you relax more as the night goes on. The seemingly heavy burden of fear and manners slowly slipping off your shoulders and instead of being weighed down, your spine straightens. Body starts to uncurl from the center and open up. He had excused himself, like a gentleman. Wishing you a nice night and disappearing quickly. Unsure of why he's so fucking protective of you and not liking it at all. He had thought about turning into a bat again. To seek you out, but instead, he finds himself roaming around the halls of the mansion like a ghost.

It’s silly. You know it is. But to still have silly things to hold on to at this point in your life is vital. So you make your way upstairs after dinner and putter in your room for a little while, deciding to change into pajamas before going out to see if anyone is in the sitting room. Eddie is still out and there’s no sign of Max so you slip inside and turn on the tv, allowing yourself to relax and even enjoy tonight. Dancing with the Stars is silly in a lot of ways. But sometimes, for the people competing and for you watching, it can mean a whole hell of a lot. It’s a window back to happier days, and that is something you are grateful for.

The noise is what attracts him. Hearing the applause draws him from the remote areas of the house. As if pulled by an invisible string. His feet quiet as he draws closer to the light flashing from the sitting room.

“Live, from Hollywood! It’s Dancing with the Stars!” proclaims the host loudly, and you sink back into the presumably antique sofa with a happy sigh. The little things — like reality tv — aren’t always so little. Next week, you think, you’ll have to make popcorn.

Reality TV? His head tilts and his eyes widen in surprise as he comes into the sitting room. Unable to believe that you would watch something as trivial as this. He had pegged you for a Lifetime movies girl, or maybe the Who Done It channels that constantly played murder cases.

“Max!” The last thing you had expected was company, and your cheeks burn hot in embarrassment when you realize he’s smirking, like he’s on the verge of laughter. “Did—uh—did you want to watch tv?”

"Sure." He immediately starts to shrug out of his jacket and unbutton his vest as he walks around the couch. "What are we watching?" He asks, like he just didn't hear the announcer. It had cut to commercial and he wants to see what you say.

“I—uh—” Your complete intention had been to surrender the television to him if he wanted it. The idea that he might want to join you had never even crossed your mind, so when Max plops down on the sofa beside you, you feel like a deer caught in car headlights. “It’s…Dancing with the Stars…” you let the truth out without even thinking. It’s not even worth lying about, since you’re the worst liar in the world. And what would the point be, anyway?

"Hmmmmm." He is impressed that you just admitted what you are watching and he glances over at you with a grin. "Does it make you nostalgic?" He asks.

You nod, a melancholy smile grabbing your lips as you twist your fingers on the edge of your sweater. “Yeah. It does.”

"Who's your favorite this season?" He asks as he settles deeper into the couch. "Any favorites yet?"

“Only one couple has danced so far, so I’m not sure.” The fact that he’s asking, that he’s not just teasing you about it and walking away, makes you want to just about throw your arms around him in a grateful hug. But since that would be extremely weird and you can’t even fathom the urge, you just smile a little wider instead. “Alyson Hannigan is on this year, though. Even if she’s not very good, it’ll be fun. I—I was kind of a Buffy kid growing up.”

Max snorts, chuckling quietly. "Yeah but it was so predictable." He tells you. "Every week Buffy would be up against some bad ass who she easily defeated."

"That's because Buffy was a badass," you counter without hesitation.

He huffs, pursing his lips in a pout and smirks when you just raise an eyebrow. "You mean there wasn't one vampire you didn't secretly want to live?"

"Spike did live." Did you love the enemies-to-lovers arc that Buffy and Spike went through? Abso-fucking-lutely. Some of the shine had come off of the adversarial relationship since, but you still see the appeal in feeling like you know the real someone they keep hidden from the world.

Max rolls his eyes. "Spike wasn't that great." He huffs. "He wasn't."

"Oh no?" That makes you smirk a little, and you shift on the couch to face him better. "You preferred Angel, did you?" Angel would be the more sentimental choice, and that actually is a bit of a surprise. You would have thought Max would be more into the snarky badass vampire character.

"Angel had a personality." Max insists. "There was the conflict of good and evil inside him. That's better than just....eye candy with spiky white hair."

"Spike got his soul back, too, ya know." Having a debate about a supernatural television show from your childhood isn't exactly where you saw this night going, but Dancing with the Stars is still on commercial and seeing Max get worked up about something that doesn't lead to anger is actually kind of fun. "And he could sing."

He rolls his eyes at your rational and tuts. "Whatever, you just thought he was hot." He's oddly pouty about that fact, since he's the opposite of what Spike looks like. The show starts back and he points at it. "Watch the damn dancers." He grumbles.

"I liked that he improved himself for the person he loved," you clarify quietly, but turn to face the tv again like you've been told.

Max sighs, feeling bad for getting snippy about a fictional character and watches for another moment before standing up and walking out of the room.

The second it happens you can feel yourself curling in again, embarrassed and vulnerable and mortified that he's upset with you. Maybe, you tell yourself, trying not to get so upset that you cry over the fact that Max got up and walked out of the room -- maybe he's just not into dancing. That wouldn't be the end of the world...

"You're a fucking idiot, Phillips." Max berates himself as he zips down to the kitchen, using the speed he couldn't show if you were nearby. "You know she's fucking sensitive and more than likely abused. And yet you fucking get moody with her."

Mrs. Taylor had been clearing up the last of things from the day's work and starting on a little preparation for tomorrow as well when she heard Max in the kitchen. Some of the clothing that she had pulled down from the third floor needed mending and she has a needle and button in hand while Max talks to himself and she hears cabinets open and close.

"Fuck." He shakes his head and throws the popcorn in the microwave. "Okay, snacks, what kind of snacks does a human like while watching dancing?" He asks himself as he starts to pull out crackers and search for something sweet. You seemed to like that. He figured he would apologize with a little snack tray while watching your show.

Smiling to herself, Mrs. Taylor slips across the hall from the sewing room and leans in the kitchen doorway. "She likes hot chocolate," she murmurs, arms crossed and an expression of pure amusement on her face.

Max looks up guiltily and swallows. "Oh, uh, okay." He shrugs when he looks back into the cabinet and grabs the box of deluxe hot chocolate mix. "She wanted snacks." He lies. "Something about being peckish. You know humans."

"Sure, sure." The housekeeper doesn't buy that for a second, knowing that you would never ask for anything. Even after only a few days, she knows that. "Humans."

"Right?" He huffs and rolls his eyes, grabbing the milk and pouring it into the cup to froth in the espresso machine. It would be the best way to scald the milk and make the richest hot chocolate. It's the way he had made it when he was a barista in college.

"There's whipped cream in the fridge." Mrs. Taylor hums, pushing off from the doorframe with a knowing grin. "Enjoy your night, Max."

He grunts, watching the milk scald very carefully before he scoops the cocoa powder into the milk and stirs vigorously to mix it together. Cursing to himself when he realizes he didn't get a mug out, he sets it down to grab one of the big cocoa mugs and delicately pours it in, using the foam to finish the top before he moves to the fridge to grab the whipped cream and a bar of chocolate to shave over the top.

He barely manages to get it all done before the microwave beeps, but he does get it. The popcorn is buttery and salty just the way humans like it and the cocoa is exactly the way he would make it in his barista days.

Carrying the tray up the stairs takes a little bit longer than it would have without it, so he doesn't spill anything. The covered cup for himself is filled with a blood mixture, so he can 'participate' in the snacking. "So what did I miss?" He asks when he walks back into the sitting room.

The look of astonishment on your face when he strolls back I should be plenty enough to tell him that you didn’t think he was coming back, but you manage to sputter out that Alyson Hannigan is about to dance and nearly melt in sheer shock when you realize that he not only came back — he came back with snacks.

"Good, I didn't miss it." He sets the tray down on the coffee table and picks up the hot chocolate and saucer to hand to you. "It's hot, so don't burn yourself." He cautions as he looks at the tv with interest.

Careful not to fumble the cup as he sits down beside you again, you must look like a dope with the little smile of surprise in your lips but you can’t help it. “You didn’t have to do this…”

"Mrs Taylor." He lies with a small shrug. "She insisted. You know, housekeepers." He rolls his eyes for dramatic affect. "If they aren't making things perfect, they aren't happy." It wasn't Mrs. Taylor at all, but he won't admit that it was him even if it's completely obvious it was a lie.

“If you say so.” You nod, though you know just from looking at the cup that Mrs. Taylor didn’t make it.

"Popcorn?" He offers, holding up the bowl. "I - Mrs. Taylor - figured you were a popcorn kind of girl."

“You were right.” Even if he hadn’t given himself away, the tray would have. Mess. Taylor never would have forgotten a napkin. But you dip your hand in the bowl after setting it on the couch between you, and you just smile. A wide, genuine, personal smile.

Max huffs, settling in the cushions with his own cup and focusing on the tv. You didn't reject his tray, or think that it was a shitty idea, so that's good. "Oh, she looks hot." He hums as the couple starts to dance.

“She’s very pretty.” The costume is bright and colorful, fringe and sparkles everywhere, reminding you of so many teenage competitions. When you were growing up your mother swore that everything you owned had sparkle.

"Oooooh." Max winces and takes a sip of his drink. "That's gonna cost them." He predicts as he watches the first misstep of the routine.

“Familiar with ballroom salsa?” You ask, surprised to hear him have any comments at all beyond the costuming. Max is meticulously well dressed, so you had figured that would be the most amusing part for him.

"I just- uh, heard the crowd react." Max tells you, cutting his eyes over to see if you believe him or if you are suspicious.

“It’s okay to say yes…if you do.” It makes you wonder if he really would find it so terrible to have something in common with you.

He blows out a sigh and contemplates lying but apparently he is obscenely bad at lying to you. "I might know a thing or two."

“Did you…ever dance?” It’s equally possible that he dated a girl who danced, or even that he has a friend who he picked it up from. There could be any of a million reasons, and you’re not quite sure why you’re hoping for one over the other.

He closes his eyes and blows out another breath. "I've....danced." He admits slowly. "Comp...etitvely.

“Well I’ll be damned…” That was not what you expected to hear, and the smile on your face creeps a little bit wider than it had been beforehand. “So you know exactly what you’re watching.”

“Her timing is off a quarter of a beat and his arms are not rigid enough.” Max breaks it down as he watches. “The first quarter turn was sloppy and he’s letting her lead.”

“Salsa’s tough for a beginner. She’s got to build her confidence in herself and in him.” Going for a few pieces of popcorn, you can feel yourself relax around him to a whole other degree. “Don’t you remember getting your first competition partner? It was terrifying.”

“Yeah.” He can’t tell you that everyone had spent countless hours practicing before that began. A side effect of not needing sleep.

“When did you start?” Finding this common thread is a revelation for you, and as the judges critique the performance on screen you almost don’t even care that it’s on now.

“In Romania.” He admits. “You had to take an elective and since I was there late…” he shrugs. “Ballroom dancing it was.”

“You must be good, if you started relatively recently but got all the way to competitions.” For you, ballroom had started early. It had been your entire childhood, in a lot of ways. Coven meetings, trips to the library, and baby ballroom.

“A lot of practice, but I have natural grace.” He boasts with a small wink.

It’s bragging, of course it is, but this time it doesn’t run you the wrong way like it has at others. It’s just…like he doesn’t want to admit how much it means to him. “Sounds like you would put that ballroom downstairs to good use.”

“Depends on who I’m dancing with.” He teases. “I don’t think Mrs. Taylor would dance with me.”

“You don’t have a partner?” As soon as it’s out of your mouth you hear it — the sound of you accidentally asking him if he’s seeing anyone when what you meant to ask was if he had a competition partner. And yet? You are curious. In a backward kind of way…

It seems like the question is more loaded than just a dancing partner and he shrugs. “Not for a long time.”

“I hope that changes for you.” It’s meant to be cordial. Slightly more than polite. That’s all. You swear that that is all you meant. The twist and pull vibrating through you and making your stomach turn to knots is far beyond what you swear to yourself that you meant to ask. “I-if you want it to, that is.”

Max nods. “Been a long time since I’ve danced.” He admits. “College.” While he had enjoyed it a lot more than he would ever admit, he had people to prove wrong. The grand ideas of showing his parents how wrong they were and getting revenge on Evan had taken priority and ended up making him lose everything. Even his connection with his soulmate.

“It’s never too late for a second chance.” Your father’s favorite advice, this time, as you sip the cocoa that he made for you and hum in utter bliss. It’s better than Mrs. Taylor’s, but you’ll never tell. “And thank you for this. It’s…really wonderful.”

“Can’t watch a guilty pleasure without snacks.” Max scoffs. “It’s a crime.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be arrested for a lack of popcorn,” you hum, picking up a few more kernels.

He snorts, grinning at you before he takes another sip of his own drink. “Nope. I don’t think orange is your color.”

"I'll trust your judgment on that." You tell him with a smile. "I think you have better fashion sense than me."

"You should start wearing eccentric outfits. Play up the ‘strange owner of the mansion’ bit." He chuckles.

“It takes a lot of courage to be eccentric.” Something that you had once — wearing princess dresses in school pictures and dressing up in wild ballroom costumes — but it’s been a very long time. Too long. All that confidence got lost along the way.

"Fuck it, you're rich." Max shrugs. "Who gives a shit what people think about you?" He asks seriously. "They don't feed you, fuck you or pay your bills."

“So whose opinion do I care about, then?” You ask, half-serious and half-intrigued by the idea, even though you know you don’t have the guts to follow through with it. “Mrs. Taylor is the one who feeds me now, so just her?”

"Those you care about." Max explains like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Some rando on the street doesn't mean shit. Who gives a damn if that person thinks that you're strange or you shouldn't wear three-piece suits?" He tells you as an example. "You like the way they are cut, how you look, better yet - how you feel wearing them." He might be projecting slightly, but he reels it back in to focus on you. "Those that care about you and you about them, they just want you to be happy. And if dying your hair fuschia and wearing a dress from 1892 while rocking combat boots? They'll love it."

“That’s…very good advice, Max.” And surprisingly sweet. Sweet enough that that invisible wall cracks again, but you don’t voice the thought that it’s been a long time — too long — since you had anyone who truly cared about you like that. And that you’re too terrified to your very core to hope that any of the people you’ve met so far in Newport might grow into that sort of person.

"That's me." Max winks playfully. "Full of good advice and sound investment choices." He teases, just to see if you roll your eyes or get embarrassed.

“I’ll remember that.” Instead of doing either thing he expects, you fluster slightly and turn back to the tv, wondering why you’re having butterflies over something so…Max.

The rest of the show is surprisingly entertaining, both of you offering your opinions on the routines and even rating them. By the time it's over, you're obviously sleepy from the extra snacks and the hot chocolate. Max hums as he looks over and turns off the tv. "You should go get ready for bed, Dolly." He urges you. "I can clean this up."

“I liked Queenie, too,” you hum, smothering a yawn as you reach to put your cup and saucer back on the tray but Max is faster than you. He obviously means it, which means far more to you than you can say. “Good night Max. And thanks for…you know. Everything.”

"No problem, Queenie." He hums, grinning that you like his nickname for you. "Goodnight." You stand and walk out of the room, his dark eyes on you the entire time as he tries to discern why he has the greatest urge to follow you and tuck you in.

Teeth brushed, face washed, and the day stripped away, you climb into bed in your tank top and cotton pajama pants without bothering to look in the mirror. Once you might have stopped, inspected the marks that adorned your skin from the person that the universe decree was the other half of your soul— but they disappeared years ago. Now, alone, you tuck your blankets around you and breathe in the fresh fall air from your open window, hoping that the racing thoughts won’t keep you up and you can end a pleasant day on a pleasant note.

******

He moves like a wisp of smoke. Silent, nearly invisible when he wants to be, which is often. It was how he was so good, instinct and talent can only take you so far. His skills honed through centuries of use. The fact that he was so good was why he was gifted, or cursed, with immorality. He uses it now. Slipping through the halls unseen. Even passing by his protegé without being noticed on his way towards his goal. A single room. A single person. Asleep and vulnerable in her dreams. His teeth flash in a smile, sharp and deadly as he anticipates seeing you again.

Dreams don’t always come anymore, and they certainly don’t come easily when they do. More often stuck in your nightmares, you’re grateful for dreamless sleep. Tonight though, as your head hits your pillow, your unconscious mind has a different destination. The little farmhouse in Indiana where your bedroom was painted sunshine yellow and all your favorite dolls are lined up on the shelf beside your Nancy Drew and Magic Treehouse Club books was always the setting for encountering your invisible friend. Though he visited you everywhere, he would always make sure to tuck you in at night and wish you sweet dreams. Words of kindness and encouragement from a man with curly hair the color of your father’s coffee and a voice tinted and coloured by travel to places unimaginable and beautiful. It’s the first time you’ve seen him in your dreams in longer than you can remember…but his eyes still crinkle in the same kind way…

Standing at the foot of your bed, he observes you. You're different. Obviously. He's not seen you since you were a child. Unable to because of the power magic of your mother. The spell binding until death. While the loss is bittersweet, he greedily takes note of the curve of your cheek and length of your lashes. Frowning slightly when he sees the way that you seem worn, the weight of your life's challenges weighing you down. He steps closer, leaning down and brushing his hand over your hair gently. Touching you with an almost tender yearning and the slight undercurrent of sadness.

The flashes in your dream are slight at first — showing you a great whirling of people and bright colors in amber light with vibrant music in the air. Catches of the image seem familiar but you can’t place them, until you hurry out a side door of the room to step out onto a small porch to a sprawling garden, and you recognize the grounds of the house where you now live. A hand on your shoulder. A soft voice in your ear, thickly accented but familiar.

"What do you think, muñequita?" He asks, gently. "Is it pretty enough for my little doll?"

“It’s beautiful, Yayo.” It’s been so long since he appeared in a dream of yours, yet the moment he does you recognize him instantly. Your sleeping mind has always welcomed him. “Unbelievably beautiful.”

"My greatest dream has come true, my sweet girl." He hums, his fingers curling around your shoulder in a comforting embrace. "Having you here."

Without hesitation, your head finds his shoulder and you welcome the comfort of his frame, feeling his presence even in the dream. Even when you know he isn’t real. In the dream he is as real as you are. “I’ll stay here forever then.”

"I hope you do, muñequita." He sighs, smiling at the thought and turns to press his lips to your temple. "It is my greatest wish. That's why I brought him here for you."

“Who, Yayo?” The embrace feels like being wrapped up in the best hug in the world. (edited)

"It will be obvious soon, my sweet." He promises, kissing you again and inhaling your scent. "Te amo, muñequita." He murmurs. "Te amo."

“Te amo, Yayo.” There is no doubt or hesitation in it. The friend that stepped into your dreams as a child has always defended you, and reminded you through far away memories that the world is vast and mysterious. That so much is possible. It is only the last few years that have made you lose sight of that.

Standing straight, he smiles as he tucks your covers up over your shoulder. Happy that he has seen you again and reached out to you through your dreams. You are no longer the young child that would believe he is your imaginary friend. Stepping back, he watches you sleep peacefully, his muñequita.

______

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My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Max Phillips #Max Phillips x you #Max Phillips x reader #Max Phillips x female reader #Max Phillips x f!reader #Eddie BtVS #Bloodsucking Bastards #soulmate au #deceased parents #vampires #spooky season

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