#good for you mate keep it up i'm rooting for you

[gojorgeous]

"creature of myth."

pairing: vampire!gojo x fem!human!reader summary: when you receive an offer of marriage from a mysterious wealthy lord, it’s too good a deal for your family to turn down. but nothing could be so perfect... right? content: MDNI (18+  ONLY), dark content, nsfw, gets dubcon/noncon in some spots, yandere behavior from gojo, implied death/k*lling of a character (not reader or gojo), arranged marriage, victorian au, plot that ends with porn lmao, spooky dooky vibes, blood, blood sucking/eating, praise, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, virgin!reader, discussion of virginity, cherry popping, pain, pet names (princess/love), reader is highkey clueless about sex, discussion of masturbation, ideas of masturbation as “sinful”, very minor religious themes, fated “mates”, gojo is highkey insane, coercion and manipulation, like SO much neck kissing, ooc gojo??? (had to alter his character to match a victorian vampire lord LMAO). a/n: PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. THERE IS DARK CONTENT AHEAD. is this a gojo fic or a twilight fic?? Going back to my roots fr fr. straight down to the “SAY IT, SAY IT”. this fic is also way too long my apologies bbs. i hope you like a hefty side of plot with your porn. parts of this fic feel way too cheesy to me but sometimes i eat that up, yk?? this fic was inspired by this amazing work by @rice5x ! and, finally, thank you all for the support on my most recent fics. i'm just getting back into being active on this blog and it's been amazing reading each and every comment/reblog/ask. they genuinely fill me with so much joy. keep them coming hehe. anyway, i hope you enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. banner art by @ndsoda on twitter. wc: 11.6k (sowwy)

You remember perfectly the way your mother’s jaw dropped when Satoru Gojo proposed to you. You’d never seen the man, and you still hadn’t. He’d asked to marry you via messenger, a simple letter delivered by hand with a list of all the things he’d be willing to pay for your hand. Offers of money, land, protection, connection- anything so long as he got you. You’d thought it was a joke. Your father nearly took a shovel to the head of the poor messenger, thinking the letter was some kind of cruel prank, some sort of targeted disrespect. You’d only started to believe when you really looked- saw the Gojo crest embroidered on the man’s suit, the fine leather of his boots. If it was a prank, somebody had spent a great deal of money and effort to pull it off. 

You’d asked for proof nonetheless, and you’d gotten it. Documents signed and sealed with a well-known waxen crest, gifts that could only have been purchased by a wealthy lord. The one thing you never got was the lord himself. He refused to see you, to come down from his mysterious castle on the hill. It didn’t surprise you. He rarely deemed town worthy of his presence. He had a reputation as a recluse, as a man who only ever liked to see and never be seen. What little glimpses people got of him were usually through the dark window of his carriage. Still, his appearance preceded him. White hair, light eyes… “haunting” said those who had the luck to see him. Those who went to work for the lord tended to return… changed— if they returned at all. 

You accepted, of course. How could you not? You were a peasant family with no status or wealth to your name. The promises Lord Gojo had made would make your parents into aristocrats all on their own. But that left you wondering… why did he want you? You offered him no benefit. If anything, you sullied his bloodline. The question scratched at the back of your mind. It came to you while you ate breakfast, while you washed your clothes, while you weeded in the garden. Some part of you told you that you needed the answer before you ever stepped foot in that castle. You needed that answer, but you’d never get it. 

Your wedding wasn’t even a wedding- just a piece of paper that had already been signed and witnessed, once again delivered by a familiar messenger. You signed at your dining room table and… that was that. You were married. 

Later that night the carriages arrive. Men flood your home, all dressed in blue velvet, the Gojo crest embroidered on their chests. They seem puzzled when you tell them you’ve packed all your belongings into a measly three bags. 

You say a quick goodbye to your parents, drawing them into stiff embraces. You love them, and they love you, but you can’t bear to see their faces as they send you away to a man who couldn’t even show his face for your wedding. 

The carriage ride is somehow longer than you’d thought it would be- apparently, the castle’s size makes it seem deceptively close. The trip is rocky and twisty and altogether unpleasant as you steadily make your way toward the castle gates. By the time you reach them you think you’ve probably dozed in and out of consciousness at least half a dozen times. 

The castle is even more intimidating up close. Spires that swirl into the clouds, sculptures that stare, doors that look more suited to being locked than opened. It’s… terrifying. 

When you finally roll to a stop, you move for the door. When you swing it open you get your fair share of strange looks from your attendants and remember that you should have waited for the footman. Your face heats as you climb out anyway, unwilling to subject yourself to the further humiliation of waiting for assistance. 

Your feet hit gravel and all you can do is stare- up, up, up, to where the castle’s peaks disappear into the fog. When your eye flashes to a window on the east side of the manor you think you see a swaying curtain. You tuck your arms around yourself and shiver, but it’s not from the cold. 

You nearly stumble over your feet on your first step inside. The entrance hall is larger than your former house, with ceilings that stretch so high you can hardly make out the figures on the frescoes that adorn it. Silver and blue drape everywhere, the Gojo family colors. You swallow when you see a chair that is most definitely worth more than your family’s annual income. 

The floors are marble and when your worn heels clack against it, you only feel reminded that you don’t belong here. That question pricks in your mind again as you pass portraits of every Gojo heir to have lived in the last three hundred years. Why me? Why me? Why me? 

Your footman deposits you in your room, a place more lavish than you’ve ever seen. You have a four poster bed with a canopy of blue velvet, a window that overlooks a sprawling estate, and more square footage than you’ve ever dreamed of. 

“Pull this if you need any sort of assistance, ma’am.” 

You turn to see your footman referencing a silver cord at your bedside. You assume it’s one of those contraptions that rings a bell in the servants’ quarters. You try to hide your amazement- you’ve never seen one in real life before. 

You clear your throat and give your most ladylike nod. “Thank you, um-” you pause, your brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked your name.” 

Your footman appears stunned to silence, like he’d never expected you to care about his existence, much less his name. He recovers quickly, though, and forces a small smile. “Thomas, ma’am.”

You smile and it’s genuine. “Thank you, Thomas.”He bows and makes a beeline for the door, but you have one more question. “Oh, um, Thomas-” He freezes, turning slowly on his heel to face you. 

“Yes, my lady?” 

You cringe at the title. The sound of it creeps across your skin, foreign and… wrong. Why me? Why me? Why me?

You clear your throat again. “Do you know, um, well-” You shift, trying to word your question properly. “Do you know when I might see the Lord?” 

There is a pause, a moment of tension and silence, and then an answer. “No, my lady.”

Thomas does not stick around for more questioning. The door clicks shut behind him and then you're left with only the sound of retreating footsteps. 

You’re stunned to say the least, mouth still halfway open, more questions on the tip of your tongue. Should you seek him out? Was that proper? Would he come to you? Would he meet you for dinner, perhaps? Surely he would come to your room tonight to… consummate. Would that be the first time you lay eyes on him? When he’s over you? 

You sigh. There’s nothing much to be done about it now. You find your way to the bed and sit down hesitantly. It feels like a crime to rumple such primped and polished cotton. You do it anyway- it’s going to happen sometime, right? You fall back against the mattress and don’t fail to notice how utterly comfortable it is. The silvery patterns on your canopy swirl and bend together. You’re tired. You didn’t sleep much last night, anxious for the morning… and it’s only mid-afternoon now. You had time for a nap, right? Your eyes are closing before you can convince yourself it’s a bad idea and then you’re swept away into a world of warm darkness. 

You wake with a start. Your first thought is that it’s dark now. Your room is pitch black except for the stream of moonlight passing through your stupidly large window. Your mouth feels dry and your skin is cold, like you’ve just woken from a nightmare. If you have, you don’t remember it. Perhaps that’s a blessing. 

You sit up, combing a finger through your hair and laughing pitifully when you realize that you left your shoes on as you slept. You hope Thomas didn’t walk in to find you in yet another unladylike position. A glance at the foot of the bed reveals he might have. Your bags have arrived- all three of them. You eye them with a combination of longing and contempt. They don't match this place. They’re worn and used- everything here is shiny and new. Still, they’re all you have, and all you have left of your life before. All you have left of home. 

You stretch your arms above your head, nearly groaning at the burn in your muscles. The carriage ride did your body no favors and you suspect you’ll be sore for many days to come. 

You rise, no longer content to lie in bed. You’ve had your rest and, from the state of darkness outside, you suspect your new husband might be joining you soon. The thought twists a certain tightness into your gut, but you push it aside. If that was the price you paid for all he gave your family… then you’d pay it gladly. 

You start with candles, finding a box of matches at your bedside. You light every candelabra you can find. The room, the castle, seems so perpetually… black- like it soaks up every ray of light it touches. Even when you’ve finished it doesn’t feel like enough. You make a note to ask Thomas for more in the morning. 

You find a meal, carefully prepared and preserved, on a table near your dresser. Judging by the fact that it’s still warm, you conclude that it can’t be much past mid-evening. You originally intend to pick at the food as you unpack, but one bite has your mouth watering. It is the most delicious thing to ever touch your lips, complete with dessert waiting on the side. You clean your plate before moving onto your bags. 

You lay your clothes out on the bed. A few dresses, riding pants, undergarments, an assortment of ribbons and bows. At one time these items had been the finest things you owned- now you owned a castle. 

You find an armoire that looks like a master sculptor carved its edges and grab a dress, intending to hang it. Instead, your dress hits the floor when you part the doors to find the hangers already full. Your lips part. Luxury dresses of silk and satin line the rack, fading into some that appear more casual outfits of cotton and linen. You stretch a hand out, curious and utterly… amazed. To think your new husband had gone to all the effort… Your hand brushes purple silk and- 

“Do you like them?” 

You screech, jumping to face the voice at your back. It takes a moment for your eyes to find him, leaning casually against one post of your bed. Your breath is stolen for a second time. Snow white hair, piercingly blue eyes, pale soft skin… you know who he is even without looking at his dress, at the air of authority he claims. He’s your husband… and he is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

He laughs, then, and it’s a warmer sound than you’d thought it would be- rich and full. A sound that seeps into your bones and settles in your soul. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but the twinkle in his eyes makes you think that perhaps that’s a lie. 

Your heart pounds and your eyes flash to the door. It’s shut. You didn’t hear it open, nor did you hear it close behind him. You also didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear breaths, didn’t hear him. 

He follows your gaze and laughs again, though it sounds a bit… strained? 

“I have a habit of being unintentionally lightfooted. I apologize.” 

Your heart is still pounding but you find it in yourself to have some decorum. You snap your jaw shut and bow your head slightly in respect. “You must be Lord Gojo. Forgive me for my insolence.” 

There’s a beat, and then footsteps– ones you actually hear this time. You clench your jaw when he stops before you and then nearly gasp when he takes your hand and brings it to his lips. 

“Satoru, please,” he winks and you think you might stop breathing. “I am your husband after all.” 

You force yourself to nod, to swallow, to act normal. But how can you in the presence of a man that looks like… that? There’s something too unreal about him, too perfect. It’s almost… unsettling. 

“Of course… Satoru.” 

He straightens and shows you a close-lipped smile that digs a dimple into his left cheek. You have to look away to avoid stumbling over your own feet. 

“So, do you like them?” Your brows furrow- “The dresses,” he clarifies. 

“O-oh.” Your features relax into an easy smile. You turn back to your armoire, running a hand along another gown. You don’t think you’ve ever touched something so… finely made. “I like them very much. I don’t know how to thank you.” 

There’s a little chuckle as you turn to face him again and you have to steel yourself before you meet his eyes. He’s mesmerizing, too mesmerizing. You think you could probably lose yourself in those eyes forever… 

“No need to thank me. If they don’t fit, we’ll call for the seamstress in the morning.” 

You nod softly, still lost to the situation. There’s a beat of silence in which your husband does nothing but… look at you. His eyes roam freely and the hair on your arms stands under his gaze. He traces the lines of your nose and jaw and lingers on your pulse. Can he see just how fast your heart is pounding?

“Did you… get dinner?” It’s a stupid question, you know, but you don’t think you can bear another second of that look he’s giving you. “I fell asleep and found a plate. I hope I didn’t prevent a proper meal…” You trail off. Perhaps you shouldn’t have pointed out your own shortcoming? 

He gives you another smile and you swear he inches just a little closer. “You did no such thing. I’m… perfectly satisfied.” 

You nod, glad that he doesn’t seem upset at the very least. Your lips press together, unsure of what to do or say. You’ve never had a husband before. Wasn’t he supposed to just sort of… put you on the bed and… do it?

Your eyes flit to said bed and your husband must see because he hurries to continue. 

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, hm?” His eyes flit to your armoire and back again. “Wear the blue dress with the lace to breakfast, yeah? Been dying to see it on you.” He chuckles like he’s just told some sort of amusing joke.

Your brows furrow. That was… not the topic you’d been expecting. “You’re not…” You feel your cheeks heat and tighten your jaw. “Not staying the night?” 

His lashes lower a fraction and those eyes pierce you again. You don’t think you could move even if you wanted to, even with him prowling closer, each step eating up the space between you. He doesn’t stop until you’re nose to nose and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. It’s cold somehow, chilling, and you shiver. He smirks. 

“Not tonight.” 

His head dips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he’s bypassing your mouth altogether and- his lips connect to your pulse. His mouth is cool, just like his breath, and you shiver uncontrollably under his touch. 

His touch is just a fleeting moment, just a wrinkle in time, and then he’s gone. His footsteps are quiet brushes on the hardwood and the creak of the door even seems tamed in his presence. 

“Goodnight,” is all he says, and then he’s gone. 

You climb into your bed an hour later wondering what in the world just happened. 

~  

You do wear the blue dress to breakfast and you can only gape in the mirror when you realize that it fits perfectly. It has you second-guessing yourself. Had you sent your measurements in advance and forgotten about it? No, you’d only sent a handful of pieces of information to the Lord prior to your marriage and you remembered all of them very clearly. Everything had gone through a messenger, everything had been clear and direct– you would have remembered sending your measurements– you didn’t. So had he just… guessed? 

That seemed impossible with how everything fit you like a glove, but it was the only explanation you had. The only one that made sense. 

When you join Satoru for breakfast it’s in a sitting room as lavishly decorated as the rest of the castle, but perhaps organized to be a bit more… liveable. He has no plate in front of him, only a tin cup that hides the contents of whatever he’s drinking. You assume coffee or juice. Perhaps he’s just not a breakfast person. 

“It fits!” he says. His hands clasp together in front of him and he smiles again, dimples and all. 

You nod and fight the heat that bubbles beneath your cheeks as you take your seat. “Yes, perfectly.”

A plate is set before you and a glance up reveals it’s Thomas serving your breakfast. You smile, hoping for some acknowledgement from him, for a small piece of comfort. Instead, you get his averted gaze and quick retreat. Your brows furrow, but before you can say anything, Satoru is back to speaking. 

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?” 

You glance up, but Satoru’s eyes aren’t on you, they’re on your footman. His smile is bright, but it’s anything but friendly. You fight a shiver. 

You glance at Thomas. He’s perfectly still, perfectly straight, but you think you see a muscle clench in his jaw. You clear your throat. “Y-Yes. Thomas was very helpful.” When Satoru keeps staring the boy down you add, “-and very respectful.” 

That seems to satisfy. Satoru breaks his stare and some of the tension in the air instantly eases. He shoots you another dimpled smile, this one with a little more warmth. “Perfect.” 

There’s a beat and then he’s standing, draining whatever he has in his cup and then straightening his jacket. “Well, I have some work to do. I’ll see you for dinner?” He’s grinning again, like it’s so normal for a man to abandon his bride on their wedding night and then again the morning after. All you can do is nod. He chuckles. “See you then, princess.” And then he’s gone.

~

If this is to be your life you don't know how you will survive it. You spend the day milling about. Through the gardens, through the castle, through the stables. Thomas is never far behind, but any attempt at conversation is nipped in the bud by hit shortness. It’s like he fears coming too close. He’s never closer than a couple paces except when he has to bring you something, only to retreat again as soon as possible. The other servants barely pay you any mind apart from giving you a respectful greeting and then immediately averting their eyes. There is no work to be done, no guests to be had, no parties to plan… and no Satoru. You don’t see your husband once on tour around the grounds. You ask Thomas where his office is only for him to vaguely point out a window in the east tower. You don’t see so much as a ripple in the curtains. 

Dinner comes around at the pace of a snail. When it’s finally time to get dressed a lady’s maid whose name you don’t even catch arrives to help you lace your dress. As soon as your corset is deemed tight enough she’s back out the door with a curtsy. Thomas leads you to the dining room and your eyes roam the whole way. Even after having spent the whole day exploring, there are halls and corridors that you’ve yet to step foot in. 

The dining room is just as gorgeous as the rest of the place– filled with singular items that could feed entire families for years. Somehow, you think you’ve already grown accustomed to such things, since the only thing you truly care to look at is your husband. Satoru’s already seated, but he stands when you enter, looping around the table to pull a chair out for you. 

You give him your most genuine smile, accepting a kiss to your knuckles in greeting before you settle. “How was your day?” you ask as he takes his seat again. 

He chuckles. “Perfectly fine. And how was yours, princess?” Your nose crinkles. That’s the second time he’s called you that. Something about it feels wrong. You’re still getting used to being a lady. Princess feels even worse. 

“It was… good.”

You watch a perfect white brow arch in the candlelight. “Oh? Just good?” You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the corner– to Thomas. 

You hurry to elaborate. “Well, I just– I can’t help but feel as if there’s not much… use for me.” Servants flood in, some carrying wine, others carrying trays that hold more food than the both of you could ever possibly consume. 

That brow arches impossibly higher. “Use?” His lips crack into that smile again, but it’s tight this time. Too tight. “You have no use. You only enjoy yourself. Surely Thomas has told you that.” 

A plate of steaming food plops in front of you. Even its heavenly smell can’t quell the sudden dread in your gut. “Of course! Of course he did.” Your stomach twists and you decide that perhaps now is not the time to press the subject. “I’ll just… I’ll try riding tomorrow.” You hate riding, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. 

Satoru’s smile thaws into something less menacing. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.” 

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.” 

You grab your fork, eager for a new subject. From what you can tell, dinner is roast chicken and vegetables, though it’s the luxury version as everything seems to be. The spices are intoxicating and the green beans are even arranged in a pretty little pattern that makes them look too good to eat. You do anyway. The first bite nearly makes you moan, but you chew slowly, delicately, trying not to let your upbringing show.

It’s not until several bites later that you realize you’re the only one eating. A quick glance reveals your husband has no platter, no chicken or green beans. He’s only… watching you. You clear your throat, dabbing at your lips with a napkin. 

“You’re not… eating?”

That permanent smile grows a little wider and you can’t help but feel as if there’s something… menacing about it. “Ate before I came.” 

Your brows furrow. “Oh. Were you on the road?” 

You think you see something wild flash in his eyes. “No.” 

The rest of dinner passes slowly, almost painfully. Satoru doesn’t eat a bite, doesn’t even look enticed. You wonder how that’s possible when it smells like a spice bomb went off in the dining room. 

By the time you’ve cleared your plate you’ve discussed everything from the number of horses in the stables to kinds of crops grown on the estate. It’s comforting to know a little more about your new home, but it’s not enough. 

“Is there a library?” you ask. You’re on dessert now. It’s the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had and it takes everything in you to hold back a moan each time it touches your tongue. 

“Of course.” Your husband’s eyes flicker to Thomas again and you’re honestly starting to fear for the poor footman’s life. Everytime you ask a question it’s like Satoru is angry it hasn’t already been answered. “It’s yours to use as you please.” 

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.” 

He softens a bit at that. “Is there anything specific you wanted to read about?” 

You shrug. “The estate, I suppose. I should know my home’s history, no?”

His eyes get that wild look again, that sparkle that you know speaks to nothing good. “Oh, absolutely. I have some personal favorites to recommend. I’ll leave them aside for you?” 

You swallow and give him a shallow nod. “That would be perfect. Thank you.” 

He chuckles. “My pleasure.” 

When dessert is finally over, you stand slowly. Satoru’s not far behind you, saying he’ll walk you to your room. Your heart leaps at his words. Will he stay with you tonight? 

He offers you his arm in the hall and your mouth runs dry when you feel the corded muscle beneath his jacket. By the time you reach your room, you’re thinking of tugging him in behind you. His denial to stay with you last night was not only confusing, but… off putting. Nearly offensive. Did he not like how you looked? Did he think something was wrong with you? 

You muster all the courage you possess and force your lips apart. “Will you stay with me tonight?” 

His eyes spark again and you hold your breath. He presses closer. This is it, you think. His lips hover over yours, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. And then he dips his head, his mouth pressing to your pulse. 

“Not tonight,” he whispers– and then he’s gone. 

~

You wake suddenly. It’s the middle of the night, you gather. The light streaming through the window is weak enough to only be that of the moon. 

Your heart is pounding and your skin is slick with sweat despite the chill in your bones. A nightmare, you think. It must have been a nightmare. 

As you settle back into your sheets you swear you see a ripple in the darkness. You close your eyes. If your nightmare is real, you’d rather not see it coming.

~

The library is huge. It’s sprawling and smells of paper and leather and everytime Thomas lights a candle you flinch at the idea that one misplaced spark could end thousands of years of knowledge. 

The books Satoru left you are… perfect. Just what you were looking for. They’re all comprehensive volumes of the history of the estate, many of which reference each other. You’re stunned to see that several are written by very well-known authors of both the past and the present. You knew the Gojo family’s influence reached far, but not that far. You peruse the titles. The Gojos: A History, A History of the Gojo Crest, History of the Gojo Castle, Revisiting the Gojo Family: A Comprehensive History. Altogether you have well over a few thousand pages of information– but there’s one book that doesn’t fit with the rest. It’s relatively unassuming. A black cover with some sort of gold rune etched onto its front. When you flip to the title page it reads “Creatures of Myth and Where To Find Them”. Your brows furrow. You slide it to the side– must have gotten mixed in with the others, you think.

~

You ask Thomas to bring the books to your room. He does. Very respectfully. He sets them on your bedside table and then retreats like a kicked puppy with only a polite goodbye. You sigh. His behavior has only gotten stranger in the past few days. You think the servants’ coldness must have something to do with Satoru, but you can’t figure out why. Had he ordered them to stay away? Why would he? 

You decide it’s a question for another day and dive into your books. You spend hours, days, reading every chapter, page, and word. The pure amount of information is dizzying. Apparently this specific estate had been in the hands of the Gojo family since the eighth century (with several razings and consequential rebuilds). You also learn that Satoru was not only the most wealthy lord on the continent, but the most wealthy man. Even wealthier than the king apparently, though that fact was kept fairly under wraps to protect the crown’s ego. The estimates of your husband’s net worth made your head spin.

Satoru joins you for breakfast and dinner every day. You never see him eat a morsel. It’s… unsettling to say the least. It’s always just that tin cup, filled with something you could never quite see. You develop a pattern of waking in the night, too, with the overwhelming sense that something is watching you. Sometimes you could swear you feel the bed shift as you jerk awake. Each time you simply close your eyes and try your best to slow your heart, convinced your mind is playing tricks on you. 

Your days feel a little more productive with a book in your hands, but you’ve read them all three times over by the time a fortnight has passed. You find yourself packing them up to return to Thomas when a certain black cover catches your attention. You grab it from the pile and settle back into your seat. You’ve nothing better to do, right? 

You flip back the cover, revealing a familiar title. “Creatures of Myth and Where to Find Them”. You don’t recognize the author’s name. A quick scroll through the table of contents reveals nothing particularly interesting, but you pick a random chapter on ghouls and decide to start there. 

It’s fascinating. Nothing about the style is boring and the words fly by. Your silly little myth book is a page turner. By the time you notice the light has started dying you’ve read about ghosts, fairies, werewolves, and goblins– all of which have been a delightful little read. A glance at the clock reveals you have a half hour before dinner. One more chapter, you think. Your eyes skim the title. “Vampires [Vampyr]”. 

You skim the first paragraphs until your eyes settle on a line that catches your eye. 

“Contrary to popular belief, vampires are not always crazed blood-hungry monsters. Many live among humans quite comfortably and are able to avoid detection with a little well-placed effort.” 

You purse your lips. What a… terrifying thought. You skim a little further. 

“A vampire’s key characteristic is, of course, their desire and need to drink human blood as sustenance. However, a vampire can be spotted sooner if one is able to recognize their subtler traits. Vampires often have skin lacking any sort of flush. The lack of blood in their veins results in a sickly pallor, even after the most rigorous exercise. Their skin is also noticeably cold to the touch. At best, a vampire’s body will reach room temperature. Vampires can also be noted for their preternatural beauty. They will stand out as the most attractive person in any crowd. Finally, a vampire will have fangs. If one wishes to identify a vampire, one only needs a good look at their teeth”.

A chill settles over your skin. You flip ahead a few pages. 

“Vampires are unable to consume typical human food. Should they attempt to, their bodies will immediately reject any and all foreign substances.” 

Your stomach drops. You don’t want to think about why. You skip the rest of the paragraph. 

“Vampires possess several supernatural abilities that set them apart as a human’s predator rather than their equal. Vampires are known to move unnaturally fast and are notably light footed. If a vampire does not wish to be heard, they will not be. A vampire’s strength is inhuman, well over ten times that of the average man. They also have a penchant for darkness, an ability to hide away in the shadows that cannot be explained. Oftentimes they will seem to appear from thin air.”

You skip ahead again.

“Vampires have been known to take mates. Mates usually come in the form of another vampire, but in some cases a human has been chosen. Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly. Oftentimes, vampires make these decisions with haste, with little regard for whether or not the threat was real. A vampire will do everything in their power to please their mate, but have been known to forcibly restrain their mates in situations of unrequited feelings. Above all else, vampires wish to possess their mates. Two bonded vampires will sometimes spiral into gloriously destructive fits in their endless desire to protect and possess one another. A vampire bonded to a human will show an increasingly protective nature, often isolating their mate from others.”

Your heart pounds. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You flip the pages, desperate– desperate for a piece of information that will save you from the thoughts spilling in your mind, from the thoughts you will do anything not to believe. You reach the “Where to Find Them” subsection and nearly gasp with relief. Surely, vampires do not pose as wealthy lords of Europe? 

“Vampires can be found everywhere. They do not exist in only one country or continent, but all over the world. Odds are that you have faced at least one vampire in your life, unknowingly or not. Some vampires choose to live solitary lives, surviving in the wilderness where human society will not attempt to tame their wild nature. Others choose to live among humans, some even existing in positions of very high authority.” 

No, no, no. This can’t be happening to you. It can’t be real. You’re dreaming, you’re having one of those nightmares again. You’re going to wake up any second. 

“One tale recounts a razing of the Gojo estate in the 12th century.” 

You’re panting, hyperventilating. This isn’t happening. 

“Soldiers of the enemy force recounted a singular man, the son and heir of the then Lord Gojo, taking out a minimum of 800 men. He was described as having his family’s characteristic white hair as well as blue eyes. Eyewitness accounts depict the Gojo heir as covered in blood and killing savagely and with inhuman strength.” 

No, no, no. 

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

Your fingers tremble but you can’t stop them. There’s no way. It’s not possible. 

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you. 

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You nearly scream. Your door rattles angrily, but you’re not sure you can answer it, not with the knowledge flooding your mind. The knocking continues. You run your hand over your face and smooth down your hair. You feel frazzled, dirty, despite not having moved from your chair all day. Another knock prompts you to set your book aside and stand. You do your best to compose yourself, to put on a straight face. You fail instantly when you pull back the door not to reveal your faithful attendant, not Thomas, but Satoru. 

You bite back a shriek and instead force a smile. You’re suddenly very aware of the blood pounding in you veins and of the fact that he most likely knows. 

“Hello,” he says, but his voice is lower than usually, more intense. 

You force a breath into your lungs. “Hello,” you answer, but it sounds more like a squeak than a greeting. 

Something flashes in his eyes, something familiar, something that is no longer interesting but rather terrifying. “Are you alright? You seem a little… flushed.” The concern on his face feels anything but genuine. 

“I’m fine,” you answer, but even you can tell that reply too quickly, too eagerly. You rush to cover it up. “Is it time for dinner? Where’s Thomas?” 

His lip twitches and you see a muscle in his jaw flex. “Thomas has… left us.” 

No. This wasn’t happening to you. There was no way this was happening to you. 

“He… what?” There’s an unmistakable wobble in your voice that only causes Satoru’s face to fall further. 

“It’s no matter. He’s gone. Now it’s just you and me, hm?” He chuckles and the sound rattles your bones. “In fact, I was thinking I’d cut down on the number of servants we have entirely…” 

You mind races with the memory of knowledge you wish you didn’t have. “Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly.”

You nearly stumble, but lean against the doorframe just in time. Your husband had disposed of a man, all because he brought you meals and books?

“What have you been up to today, princess?” The question breaks your trance just in time for you to see your husband’s eyes flicker behind you. 

You wet your lips. “Just some reading.” You plead that he doesn’t ask anything further. He does. 

“About the estate?” he asks. 

You nod and try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes.”

His smile returns and this time it’s not forced. “You got my books, then?” 

You try smiling back, but you’re fairly sure it looks more like a grimace. “Yes.”

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Does he know? Does he know that you know? “Yes, of course. Lots.” 

He pauses and you see the debate and then the decision in his eyes. You think it’s the first time you’ve felt true terror when he meets your gaze again. “I think we should skip dinner tonight. It seems we have so much to discuss.”

You don’t even have the wherewithal to scream when he steps into you, forcing you back until he’s shutting your door behind him. He doesn’t stop there, though. He keeps pressing, keeps pushing until your knees hit the bed and you’re falling to the mattress. He crawls right after you.

“Who knew my little wife was such a reader? All those books in such a short time… You must be simply spilling with information.” 

You retreat across the mattress, squeaking when your back hits the headboard and his arms cage your waist. You’re trapped.

His hands find your hips and you’re all too aware of how cool his touch is. Even more so when he pulls you right into his lap.

“Satoru-” your voice is pitiful, breathless, and you’re ashamed to say it’s not just from the fear in your gut. He’s never been this close before, never touched you, held you like this. “Thomas-” 

“Don’t speak his name.” His face pulls into the first scowl you’ve ever seen and the sight is enough to root you to the spot. Never have you seen anything more frightening. A creature so beautiful, so perfectly angelic, filled with an insurmountable rage. It’s wrong. “He’s gone. He’ll never bother you again.” He’s closer now, his breath skating over your skin. It’s cool and now you know the reason why. 

You shake and tremble and you know– Thomas is dead. Your husband killed him– killed him for getting too close when all he did was stay at a distance. Satoru killed him. Killed him. 

He buries himself in your neck, his voice a near whine. “Thought I could put up with it, just so you’d have someone to take care of you…” He groans. “I was so wrong, princess. Couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the way you smelled more like him than me…” 

You feel him melt against you then, relief washing over his body in a wave. “But he’s gone. And now it’s just you and me, hm? Just you and me…” He hums, like remembering that fact is all he’s ever needed.

He’s kissing your pulse again, now, and your heart is racing faster than ever. Your fingers curl into his shoulders. You should push him away, away, away. He’s a killer, of thousands no doubt. You’ve never felt at home here, never felt like you belonged. This is why. You’re not even the same species. He’s something else, something your hands were never meant to touch. 

Your mind screams at you to do go, to shove and kick at him and leave this place behind. Go, go, go your gut says… but you don’t. You can’t. It’s too… good. The feeling of his cool lips against your skin, of what you’re sure is his tongue prodding at your pulse… it’s intoxicating. He is intoxicating. How could anyone blame you for wanting more of someone, something, so divine? 

“Have you figured it out yet, love?” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, licking a long stripe up your neck, before he settles back at your pulse. Always your pulse. “I can feel those little gears turning. Tell me, what have they discovered?” 

He knows you know. But he’s going to make you say it. You swallow and feel his grip on you tighten. “You’re…” Your breaths come faster. You can’t. Not aloud. Aloud makes it too… real. 

“Yessss?” he prods. He’s licking at you again, all the way across your throat to find your other pulse-point. 

“You’re not…” Something sharps nicks at your skin and you bite your lip to hold back a whimper. 

“Go on, princess.” You think he’s just smelling you now, just burying his face as close to you as possible and taking you in. 

You close your eyes tightly, holding back tears. “Not human,” you breathe. A piece of you breaks with the admission.

He huffs a little laugh against your skin and pulls back to look you in the eye. “That’s good,” he purrs. “But I think you can be a little more specific, no?” His lips press to your chin, then the corner of your mouth, then down to your jaw… “Tell me.” 

Your lips wobble, muscles clenching tighter with each passing moment. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to speak it into existence, but you also don’t dare to disobey him. 

“You’re a…” You shake and tremble. He draws a line up your neck with the tip of his nose.

“Mhm?” 

You open your eyes, thinking this might be the last time you see. “Vampire.” 

He chuckles and you feel his teeth press to the skin of your neck. “That’s right, princess. So smart.” 

He smiles and you suddenly realize you’ve never seen his teeth before. Everytime he smiles at you it’s close-lipped and dimpled. But this… this is the smile of a predator– all white and pointy and fitted with a set of menacingly long fangs. You sob at the sight. 

“Shhhhh,” he coos. He has your chin in his hand, forcing you to truly look at him, to see him for what he is. “I won’t hurt you, love.” You want to believe him so badly it burns, but his laugh washes away any fire and turns it to ice. “Not unless you want me to.” He wiggles a brow like it’s just a little joke, like he’s not an actual fucking vampire that had his fangs over your neck just moments ago. 

“Satoru,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re begging for. Release maybe? But, no, that’s not right. You don’t want him to let you go, not when you finally have him close after all this time. “Why did you pick me?” 

The question slips out. You hadn’t even been thinking about it, hadn’t even noticed it scratching at the walls of your mind, but it made its way out nonetheless.

His brow creases, but not in confusion. Moreso in… thoughtfulness. “Do you think about that a lot, princess?” 

You nod and you suddenly want him closer, want him to touch you everywhere, hold you like his life depends on it. You want him, no matter how horrible it might be. 

He nods and hums, kissing the tip of your nose lightly. “Well…” he says. His thumb swipes over your lips when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “At first I wanted you for this.” His head dips to your neck again and you feel the familiar brush of his lips against your throat. “You smell…” he chuckles. “Like heaven. Which is a place I’ll never get to on my own, so I had to bring my own little slice home, no?” He laughs again, a little louder this time, genuinely amused. “Went into town one day and caught your scent on the street. At first I thought I must be walking past the bakery, but, lo and behold, there was no baker in sight.” He’s still kissing at your pulse, worshiping it. “Went crazy, princess. Didn’t think I was going to be able to contain myself when I found you. Thought it might be quite the scene.” He huffs a laugh and you shiver, somehow both terrified and intoxicated. “But then I saw you–” he groans and something clenches deep at your center. “And I knew I needed more than just your blood. Needed you.” He’s rocking into you now, and your breath catches when you feel something firm against your backside. “Went to you in that little room you slept in every night. Watched you. Couldn’t stay away. Knew I had to have you.” You feel him smile against your skin. “After a week I couldn’t take it anymore. Sent you that letter, married you. Made you mine.” He groans again. “Then I met you and you were so pretty, princess. Already knew it, but hearin’ you talk to me, look at me.” Teeth graze your pulse. “Needed you more than ever. Almost took you right on the fucking floor in here while you were lookin’ at those dresses.” You whine when his hips roll into you again. “Oh, but I knew I couldn’t. You’re so fragile, love. Had to wait, had to make you feel safe, yeah? Spent all this time forcing myself to stay away, ‘fraid of what I might too if I was in your presence too long. Had to control myself. Had to make you realize you could trust me.” He panting, like he’s so pent up he can hardly sit still. “Do you trust me, princess?” 

Your brows scrunch. Say no, say no, say no a part of you screams. Run, run, run. You can’t. “Yes,” you breathe. 

You feel him smile again, feel the pleasure of submission. “Good girl.” 

You’re on your back. It happens so fast your eyes don’t even have time to gasp. You don’t see Satoru, but you feel him. Everywhere. His hands are roaming your body softly, sliding under buttons and laces and popping them off. Your dress loosens with every passing moment until Satoru reappears above you, diving straight for your neck again. “So good, princess. Let’s get you out of this dress, yeah?” 

You nod wordlessly, entranced. He finds your mouth as he rids you of your clothes. His tongue presses in and you flail against him, unsure of what to do, of how to handle the intrusion. The kiss is heavy, too heavy, but Satoru can’t seem to stop. He devours you as he gives up on laces and buttons and simply shreds your dress down the back. You tremble when the cold air hits your skin, when his cool fingers dust your collarbone. 

“I always forget how many damn layers they make you ladies wear,” he chuckles. His hands run beneath your shift, up across your bare thigh. You gasp at the touch. No one has even been so close to you before. You feel the threads of your corset snapping away, feel your breaths growing deeper. You tremble when he pulls your sleeve down past your shoulder and runs his mouth along the newly exposed skin. 

“Satoru,” you gasp, and your hand pulls at his flowing white shirt. 

He chuckles, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You wanna see me too?” You nod, lips parted and eyes glassy, and he laughs again. He lips dust over the corner of your mouth. “Alright.” 

His hands shift from you to himself, working at the laces on his chest. His movements are speedy, practiced, like he’s been lacing and unlacing shirts for hundreds of years. Your throat tightens when you realize that he has. 

You gasp when he reveals himself, when his shirt slides away to reveal an expanse of pale skin and carved muscle. You’ve never seen a man like this and seeing one this close up for the first time is nearly blinding. He’s art, you think- nothing less. 

“Touch me, princess,” he says. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He’s too beautiful, too perfect to be beneath your insignificant hands. “Need a little help?” he asks, and there’s a lilt in his voice that makes you sure he’s grinning. 

His hands find yours and bring them to his chest, running your palms over his collarbones, his pecs, down, down, down across his abs that you can feel each and every one… You whimper, watching your own fingers grope his skin. He pulls you lower, lower, lower, and you gasp when your fingertips brush the waistband of his pants. But then he’s laughing again and he’s throwing your arms over his shoulders and pulling you closer, kissing your neck like it pained him to be parted from your pulse for so long. 

“Not so fast,” he says, like he wasn’t the one nearly stuffing your hands down his pants. His hands are on your corset again. You can feel it dangling onto you by a thread, literally. All he needs is a couple more pulls and you’ll be bare. By the look he gives you, you can tell he’s 

thinking the same thing. “You touch me, now I touch you, yeah?” There’s a tug and a tear and then so much… cold. You’ve never realized how cold this castle is, not until you’re exposed to its elements fully. You’re naked. 

Satoru sits back on his knees and just watches. His gaze is searing, burning, despite the iciness of his being. It’s too much. Your hands move to cover yourself, to maintain some modicum of your dignity- 

“No.” Strong hands find your wrists and pry them apart. “Let me see you,” he says. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. 

Your jaw clenches and your frame shakes, but you do as he asks, letting your hands fall limply at your sides. There’s silence for many more moments and it seems to go on so long that you can only squeeze your eyes shut under his gaze. Surely he will turn you away now, get up and leave, tell you this was a mistake, tell you that you’re– 

“Beautiful,” he breathes. Your eyes snap open to find him already staring at you. “Beautiful,” he says again, and then he’s on you, lips at your pulse, hands on your skin. His touch is cool and you squeak at the chill that runs up your spine. You’re not sure it’s entirely from his temperature. 

His mouth seeks yours and he devours you. You feel as if he’s sucking your soul out through your lips. “Tell me you’ve never done this before,” he begs. “Tell me I’m the first to touch you.” 

You whine against his mouth, both aching for more and overwhelmed by what he’s already giving you. “Y-You’re the first,” you whisper. 

His groan is deep, primal. It rattles through your chest and you whimper when his hands dig into your waist hard enough to bruise. “Yes,” he breathes, and you shiver again. “Lie back, princess.” Your eyes widen, with anticipation or fear you’re not sure. Probably both. He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.” 

You pray he means that. “Just relax, love. Here, hold my hand.” His fingers find yours, twining them together. When you swallow, his eyes follow the bob of your throat. He leans back again and your body twitches when his free hand skims the skin of your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he finds your knees and you gasp when he parts your legs, revealing you so completely to his gaze. The way he stares, like he’s committing you to memory, it’s nearly enough to make you snap your thighs shut, but a squeeze from his hand reminds you to relax, to trust. 

His palm skates up your thigh and settles near your hip, his fingertips inching closer to where you can feel an embarrassing throb. 

“Tell me, love. Have you ever touched yourself here?” His fingers dust low on your tummy- just low enough for you to catch his meaning, but not low enough to give you any relief. Your face heats and your teeth dig into the flesh of your cheek. You have, you have touched yourself there, but it’s the last thing you want to admit to your new husband. It’s shameful, it’s dirty, it’s- “Don’t think I’ll judge you, princess. Just wanna know.” 

You gulp down a breath. You should come clean. “Y-yes,” you stutter, and the sound of your voice so weak and helpless only makes you flush further. 

He chuckles and squeezes your hand again. “On the outside or the inside?” 

Your eyes widen. I-inside? You’d never considered that… “J-just the outside,” you answer. 

Your eyes grow even wider when his head rolls back and he moans straight up to the ceiling like your answer is heaven-sent. When he looks back to you his fangs are on full display. “Well, I think you and I are in for a little treat today, hm?” 

Your brow furrows and your lips part to ask him what he means– his fingers travel those last few inches down your tummy and find your clit. You squeak and jolt so violently that he presses a hand to your hip, holding you to the mattress. “Somebody’s sensitive,” he chuckles. He holds you still for a moment and then lets your hips go free. “Try to stay still. I promise it’ll feel good.”

You nod hopelessly, but this time you’re prepared for when he touches you again. Your muscles clench at the first touch, at the foreign sensation of a touch down there that wasn’t your own. But then it’s more. It’s languid, slow circles around a spot that you’ve never been able to pinpoint so well on your own. It’s heat building in your tummy that seeps through every vein and into every pore. It’s relaxation that you’ve never known, that has you melting into the mattress despite the chill of the touch. 

There’s a little huff of a laugh and then his voice. “Good girl. Feels nice, yeah?” You nod hesitantly and squeeze desperately at his hand, searching for an anchor. His head cocks to the side and you watch the smile slide across his lips. “It’s about to feel even nicer.” 

By the time you realize what he’s doing it’s far too late to stop him. His mouth closes around your cunt and you yelp, trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation- but he’s got his freehand on your hip again and his grip is bruising, punishing, as he holds you in place. He licks a stripe through your folds and you find yourself jolting again, uselessly so against the pressure of his palm on your hip. “Stop that, princess.” Your heart drops at the admonishment until you feel his guiding touch. “Rock into me like this.” His hand rocks your hips into his mouth and the pressure of his tongue against your clit is so delicious that you whimper. “Good girl,” he says and your heart rises right back up. “Keep doing that, now.” You don’t dare defy him. You rock like he showed you, a little jerkily at first, and then you find a rhythm that has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love,” he says, and the sound is muffled against your cunt. “Here, put your hand in my hair.” He finds your wrist and guides you forward until your fingers are tangling in those snowy locks. They’re even softer than you’d imagined. “Good girl,” he whispers and suddenly he’s taking one last long lick and lifting his head to meet your eyes. “‘M gonna put my fingers in you now, princess.” Your chin wobbles. “It might hurt a little bit, but stay still, okay?” You can’t do anything but nod. 

His eyes return to your cunt and you can feel him prodding at your entrance, circling the hole as you clench in anticipation. “Relaaaaaax, love,” he says and you nod. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth– 

You feel the exact moment he pushes into you and a whine of pain rips from your throat. Your walls clamp down like a vice, angry at the intrusion– but it’s already too late. There’s a beat of silence, of anticipation, and then he’s– laughing? 

Your brows furrow when you hear it, your head lifting to a sight that locks your limbs in shock. Satoru’s hand is lifted in front of his face, his pointer finger coated in– blood, you realize. Your blood. And he’s a fucking vampire. 

“Oh princess,” he coos, and the manic look in his eyes makes you tremble. “You really are perfect.” 

Things seem to slow as you watch him take his blood covered finger into his mouth. You’re sure you’ve never seen an expression more blissful, more lost to sensation. His eyes roll back and his body shivers, like he’s ascending to some higher plane. Maybe he is. 

When he pulls his finger from his mouth it’s completely licked clean. You hold your breath. He’s going to go for your neck now, right? He’s had a taste and now he’ll want more of it, all of it?

“Fuck,” is all he says. His mouth is back on your cunt so fast you don’t even see him move. 

Your mouth falls wide. It hurts, the way he is so desperately licking at you. You feel his finger again, pressing in, in, in, only to pull back and suddenly be joined by another. The stretch tears at you. You thrash and jolt, but Satoru doesn’t bother telling you to stop this time. His arm wraps over your hips, holding you in place. He seems immune to how hard your legs squeeze at his head or your hands pull at his hair. He’s lost. You can feel him licking, lapping, and prodding at you like you’re a fucking gold mine. He’s lost to desperation, to the need for more, more, more. Every so often he lifts his chin and you see his mouth smudged with a mixture of your wetness and your blood. He laps at his lips like an animal, dragging his thumb across his chin and sliding it into his mouth to make sure he gets every last drop. 

You’re not quite sure when the ravenous pain turns to a ravenous pleasure, when it turns from terrifying to downright delicious. You don’t notice your moans filling the air until Satoru joins you, groaning and whining into your cunt and telling you to keep going, to keep making those sounds. The hand you have buried in his hair doesn’t fight to push him away any longer, only to pull him into those now practiced rocks of your hips. His fingers thrust deep, curling into a spot that makes you feel so good and his mouth has found your clit again. He sucks your nerves lightly between his lips, tongue swirling in little circles. Your thighs start to shake. 

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.” 

“S-Satoru–” you breathe. Warmth and tightness pool in your tummy, and you recognize it as your approaching orgasm, though you know this one will be far different than any you’ve ever managed to give yourself. Your body shakes and your breaths tremble and then– you fall over the edge, rocking your hips senselessly, losing all form of rhythm. Warmth tingles in your spine and seeps all the way down to your toes. You think you cry out, cry for your husband, cry for more, cry for less, but if you do you don’t hear it. All you hear is the pounding of your pulse, of pleasure throbbing in your veins until the world slowly seeps back in through the corners of your vision. 

Satoru is grinning. A speck of your blood clings to his chin and his fangs peek out from behind his lips. The sight makes your blood run a little colder. If any part of you doubted what he was before… well, there was no doubt any longer. 

There’s a shift between your legs, his hips slotting between them, and you’re suddenly snapped back to reality. From the look in his eyes, you’re not done. 

Frantic hands find his pants and he undoes each button with a quickness that is almost inhuman. You wonder if he could go even faster, if he’s holding back so as not to scare you. If he is, it isn’t working very well. Fear surges in your veins right alongside anticipation. 

“S-Satoru–”

“It’s alright, love.” His hand finds yours without his eyes ever looking up. His grip is just a little too firm, a little too cold. “Just stay still.” 

You whimper, but you don’t think he’s paying attention to that, and soon enough, neither are you. His pants slide down just past his hips, just enough. You gasp. 

You’ve never seen a man in the nude, never even dared to think about what it might look like, though it seemed you no longer had to guess. His hand wrapped around his shaft, giving one long and slow stroke that made his breath hiss through his fangs. The tip was flushed, angry, and leaking something that looked clear and sticky. You couldn’t help but notice it was a lot thicker than a finger, or even two. If his fingers had hurt…

He moves with that alarming quickness again, leaning down to hover over you, chests nearly pressed together. “Gonna take you now, princess. Gonna make you mine.” His eyes bore into yours, blue and shimmering with something wild. His hand presses into the mattress beside your head. “Stay still, now.”

It’s all the warning he gives you. You feel like you’re splitting– straight up the middle. You wail, hands flying out to claw at his back. It hurts. It hurts. 

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–” 

Lips catch yours– hungry, feral. The kiss is not gentle, not soothing. It shuts you up, it keeps you quiet, it keeps you still as you feel him sinking further, deeper into you. It’s too much, you try to say, but the poke of sharp teeth against your lips keeps you silent. Your hips jolt and wiggle trying desperately to escape the stretch but it’s no use. By the time he’s fully inside you, tears are streaking down your cheeks, fat and heavy. His lips break away and his eyes reappear. You shake when you see that none of the wildness has been tamed, that you’ve only just begun.

“Good girl,” he coos, and a cool finger traces a line across your jaw. “Took me so well.” You hold back a sob when his hips shift a little, testing, prodding. He must see the pinch of your eyes, the twist of your mouth, because he’s quick to comfort. “Just hold my hand, princess.” His hips rock in earnest this time and you whimper, squeezing down on his hand with all your might. You’re panting as he chuckles. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Soon you’ll be begging for more,” he laughs. It’s not long before he’s rocking into you sincerely, setting a pace that stretches you to the brink of breaking. At first it’s all you can do to grasp onto him, to bite your lips through the whimpers and hold his hand. And then it’s… more. It’s heat and warmth despite the coolness of his body on yours. It’s sensation and… pleasure. He laughs when the first moan slides past your lips, burying his face in your neck once again. You hear him at your ear, panting his hot breath across your skin. 

“Feel good, princess?” You nod, letting your hips rock against his as he showed you before. It feels good– it feels right. He chuckles, but there’s nothing light about the sound. “Wanna feel even better?” Something sharp pokes at the skin of your neck, hard enough to make you squeak, to make you freeze at what you know he wants. 

He pulls himself back, pressing his forehead to yours, searching your eyes with his. Something like a cruel smile dances on his mouth. “Just a taste, love. I promise it won’ hurt.” His tongue darts out and licks across your lips, his thrusts rocking just a bit faster. “You’ll feel s’ good an’ I’ll only take a little.” He laughs again and it sends a chill through your bones. “Promise.” He sounds breathless, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. The increase of his pace makes you whine and you squeeze his hand again. He buries himself back in your neck, panting. “Come on, love. Say yes. Say yes f’ me.” Your eyes glaze over. Your body justles with each new thrust. He’s desperate now, seeking a release that you don’t think is any kind you’re familiar with. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants in your ear. You’re not sure when his words twist in your mind, when they settle on your tongue and push past your lips, but you know it feels so right when they do. 

“Yes,” you whisper. 

His fangs clamp around your pulse. You scream when the sting rips through you, violent and savage– but it only lasts a moment. Pain fades to… ecstasy. You feel his throat bobbing with each swallow, feel your blood seeping from your skin and onto his tongue. You’d thought it would feel slicing, draining, like the life was being sucked from you. It doesn’t. It feels wonderful. Heat spreads under your skin, emanating from your neck and down to your toes. It feels like breathing for the first time, like sugar being pumped into your veins. It feels like heaven. Your hand tangles in his hair, holding him close. You don’t want it to stop, not ever. You could die like this, have him suck every last drop of blood from your veins and thank him for it with your dying breath. 

He’s moaning now, hands curling into your hips while he fucks into you relentlessly. The pace is grueling and brutal. You know it should hurt but only feels perfect. Anything less would not be enough. Anything else would leave you wanting. You feel it building, feel that familiar twinge at your core. The ecstasy flooding through your veins has it coming faster, has you teetering on the edge in moments. 

“Satoru…” You hadn’t noticed how dizzy you felt until you tried to speak. You wonder why… “‘M gonna…” 

He fucks you harder, something menacing and deep rumbling in his chest. The sound makes you shiver, makes you whine, makes you come. 

Your body shakes and a cry rips from your throat, cunt clenching like a vice around him. Your eyes roll back, hands scraping trails down his back. Your thighs quake with the intensity, with the overwhelming senses of pleasure that erupt throughout your body. Every nerve is firing, every hair rising. It’s an unstoppable current, one that sweeps you away, helpless to its pull. 

His thrusts grow sloppy and untimed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place while he makes you his. His teeth break from your neck and when you look up through blurry eyes you see his head thrown back, your blood streaming down his chin in thick little globs. You feel it when he cums, feel the thick ropes of it seeping into your womb, feel the way he keeps fucking you, pushing it deeper and deeper inside. He’s moaning, chanting your name like a prayer at the heavens. 

When the moment ends he slumps over you, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s a familiar grin on his lips, one that inspires both comfort and uneasiness in your gut. You can’t help but stare at him, at the blood that stains his chin and cheeks, that reddens his lips so beautifully. You want to reach out and touch him, touch his blood-soaked skin and see what it feels like, what it tastes like. What you taste like. 

His eyes slide to the side, finding your pulse again. You groan. Yes, you think. Please, yes. More. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of that. Of his teeth in your flesh, of the euphoria flooding your veins. More, more, more, your mind chants. 

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, princess.” He raises a finger to trace the curve of your neck. “I took more than I should have…” His expression doesn’t tense with worry. His cheeks pull into a smile, those little dimples shining through. “But what can I say? You just taste so good.” Like he needs to emphasize his point, his tongue darts out to trace his lips, lapping up some of the remaining blood on his chin. “You taste like mine.”

You whine. More, more, more. It’s all you can think about. You lift an arm weakly. You want to pull him to your neck, to make him drink, to make him fill you with the heaven you had just moments ago. 

He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply. His lips split into another grin and you see his eyes spark again with the wildness you crave. 

“Not yet, princess.” he coos. “But soon.” His smile grows even wider, until those fangs are on full display, until you’re trembling again. “Forever,” he whispers.

taglist (dm me or send an ask to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina, @keiva1000

please consider leaving a comment, sending an ask, or reblogging! interacting with authors is the best way to support them! thanks for reading ♡

#gojo #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #satoru #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader smut #vampire gojo #vampire #tw: loss of virginity #tw: yandere #jujustu kaisen #gojo x you #bree's fics!

[leclercings]

My Papaya Boy | Lando Norris x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Lando Norris x Russell!Reader

Summary: After hiding your relationship with Lando for the past one year, you finally decide to make it public.

A/N: So this was a tricky one. I made it for a request and realised much later that I'd made a very much conflicted protagonist. Hope you all like it though.

Part 1 | Part 2

Masterlist

yourusername

tagged georgerussell63

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, georgerussell63, and 9456 others

yourusername: Australia, you have been kind🤍

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georgerussell63: ilysm sis🤍

↳yourusername: i love you too!

mercedeslover1: are you dating someone?

yourbff: good luck georgie!

You open your eyes to see Lando next to you. He's staring at your angelic face with the biggest smile you've ever seen. He gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you wrap the sheets around you.

“Good morning, love.” His hand travels along your arm, giving you goosebumps.

A warmth spreads across your cheeks. You give him a soft kiss on his lips.

“Good morning, Lan,” you respond, your voice husky. “What time is it?”

“It's 5 am.”

“Why are you up so early?” You ask him, rubbing your eyes groggily.

“Because, today is race day.”

Right. You'd almost forgotten.

You boop him on the nose.

“Hey, what was that for?”

“You're a cutie patootie.”

It makes Lando laugh. You've generally noticed that his laugh is super infectious. So you start laughing as well.

“Sometimes I'm so conflicted whether to root for McLaren or for Mercedes. I want you both to win.” You say, wistfully.

Your brother, George Russell is a Formula 1 race driver. Your boyfriend of one year, Lando Norris is also a Formula 1 race driver.

However, F1 is a dangerous sport. Sometimes, you're afraid for both of them considering the kind of history this sport has. You only wish that they will be safe and sound in each race.

You met Lando through George. He was smitten the moment he met you. You took your time with your feelings until one fine day he asked you out on a date when you were in Monaco, supporting George, last year.

You've been hiding this relationship from George though because he had told you not to date a driver. Your brother has always been skeptical of drivers because of their player kind of lifestyle.

Lando and George have always been good mates so you didn't hesitate when Lando asked you out.

You've done a good job keeping this a secret so far, but there are times you'd almost got caught. Like that one time in Silverstone last year when you'd disappeared with Lando after the race in the McLaren garage. You'd come out to see a few missed calls from George and your mom.

You were grateful that there were no paps inside the garage, except for the fact that Oscar had found you both. He kept it a secret as long as you kept baking your famous brownies and gifting it to them. The only other person who knows is your mom, who has been nothing but supportive.

You chuckle.

“Wish me luck,” he kisses you on the lips and gets up.

You're mesmerised by his toned body. You keep staring at him while he gets ready.

He grins.

“Like what you see?”

“Love, I would say.” You respond back, winking at him. Lando is a cheeky boyfriend, but you also know how to be cheeky as well.

“Go, Lan. You got this.”

*****

You're standing in the Mercedes garage. The camera pans at you and you give it a smile.

George is having a really good race. It's almost the last lap and suddenly, George crashes, the impact leaving him in the middle of the track.

Your heart starts beating a little faster. You're conflicted.

On one hand, Lando is going to get the third position and on the other, George did not finish.

You stare at your mom standing next to you, your eyes brewing a storm of emotions.

The race ends.

George is safely out of the track and coming to the garage.

As George arrives, you hug him.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, worriedly.

“I am.”

But you also look at the TV to see Lando going up to the podium.

Your mom nudges you.

“Go,” she mouths.

“Y/N, where are you-”

“I need to go see Lando.”

“But-”

“Georgie,” you call him by his nickname, “I'm dating him.”

George stands there, shocked, unable to speak. You make your way through the cameras and the people and towards the podiums.

You see the McLaren mechanics, and you try to make your way through them but you can't. Surprisingly, a camera is following you.

Lando spots you on the TV. He gestures to one of the mechanics.

Everybody turns to look at you.

You make your way to the front and he's standing there, waiting for you.

You give him a kiss, and everybody starts clapping.

Lando won. The fans will be having a chaotic moment. So will George. You can deal with all of it later.

What matters right now is your brother is safe, and your boyfriend won.

yourusername

tagged landonorris

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, carlossainz55 and 6329 others

yourusername: my papaya boy🧡

view 589 comments

papayagirlie: finallyyyy

↳oscarbabe: I'm deaddd

carlossainz55: 🔥🔥

tifosi16: they're so cute together!!

↳landolover: agreed🥺

georgerusselling: shame on her, she should be supporting her brother

↳oscarish: it's her choice, I'm sure she loves george a lot too

#ln4 leclercings #f1 #formula 1 #lando norris #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 x reader #leclercings #ln4 x y/n #ln4 #ln4 x you #lando Norris x you #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader

[astonmartinii]

dj got us falling in love | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x dj!reader

a new hobby can sometimes open many new avenues, sometimes even lead to love

landonorris

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55 and 604,446 others

landonorris: the morning after the night before

view all comments

user1 lando really be on his hobby game rn

maxverstappen1 so that's where you were the entire night?

landonorris i saw you dancing your heart out so don't complain maxverstappen1 you are overestimating just how much of last night i remember

user2 dj!lando unlocked ... does this mean photographer!lando is dead?

user3 he's so so sexy oh my

user4 the backwards cap is WORKING

danielricciardo so how long is this one gonna last?

landonorris i swear this is the one for me

yourusername

liked by landonorris, arianagrande and 1,204,556 others

yourusername: life recently... check out my boiler room set in the link in my bio it was super fun xxx

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user5 eating up the dj game i am obsessed with her

user6 i need to be at her next set or i'll become a threat to national security

landonorris sick set y/n !!

user7 bro what are you doing here? GET OUT OF HERE

danielricciardo ah i now see where the new inspiration came from ...

landonorris i need you to shut the fuck up yourusername awww thanks lando, send me some of ur stuff we can compare x landonorris on it 🫡 maxverstappen1 i don't know how you've pulled this off but i am impressed

user8 what actually is going on in this comment section

landonorris added to their story

[caption: bestest teacher in the world]

yourusername

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 1,437,892 others

yourusername: life recently

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user6 ALERT ALERT MALE ALERT

user7 heavy emphasis on the mug rn

danielricciardo @maxverstappen1 whoa that hand looks super familiar

maxverstappen1 you're right daniel that hand does look familiar .... yourusername yall crack me up user8 lando you gonna let them do you like that? landonorris my pr officier said not to reply carlossainz55 bro... landonorris oh shit

user9 mclaren really keep all his brain cells i can't

silverstone

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 55,128 others

tagged: yourusername, f1

silverstone: big announcement coming in fast ! y/n y/ln will be headlining the silverstone main stage for this year's british grand prix - the dj will take the stage for the sunday evening slot. see you all there!

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user10 idc this is fuelling my lando x y/n agenda

user11 i'm so fucking excited

landonorris i'll be there

oscarpiastri you are contractually obligated to be there mate landonorris let me be supportive !!! user12 oscar is done with the pining

yourusername thank you so much for having me !! i won't let you down

carlossainz55 by all accounts you're too good to do that user13 have they all just collectively given up on the secret? maxverstappen1 yes too much effort

landonorris

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri and 1,209,677 others

landonorris: P2 in quali at home !! super, super happy, lets see what we can do on sunday

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user14 I AM LOSING MY MIND

user15 this is crazy i'm so proud

yourusername lets go landoooooooooooooooooooooooooo so sick

landonorris blah blah blah something about a certain someone being a lucky charm ;) yourusername does this mean paddock passes for life? landonorris it might have to

user16 they're so cute

user17 the crowd cheered when they showed her in the garage silverstone is ROOTING for this relationship

oscarpiastri let's get this bro

mclaren

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 663,201 others

tagged: landonorris

mclaren: LANDO TAKES HOME P2 AT HIS HOME RACE

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user20 OMG THAT OVERTTAKE AT THE START I AM GAGGED

yourusername unbelievably proud of you lando

landonorris love you too babe user21 BABE? user22 LOVE YOU TOO?

danielricciardo i saw that shoey man i'm so proud 🥲

landonorris miss you danny danielricciardo i miss you more yourusername am i a joke to you? landonorris i'm sorry i love you yourusername love you too ❤️

user23 why is danny always at the scene of the crime?

yourusername

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 1,660,351 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: best weekend ever!! silverstone you're the best, my favourite crowd ever !! p.s. lando i am so so so so proud, though if you try to kiss me after a shoey again we're breaking up.

view all comments

user24 CONFIRMATION CONFIRMATION OMG

user25 them saying i love you under mclaren's post wasn't enough for you?

landonorris noted.

landonorris ALSO YOU WERE SO SO GOOD I LOVE YOU SO MUCH yourusername i love you more, thanks for the gig baby xx

maxverstappen1 do you take bookings? my birthday is in october

martingarrix i see how it is yourusername i'm not getting involved in this domestic you're on your own max

user26 god when is it my turn

landonorris

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1 and 1,774,871 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: dj got us falling in love or something like that, love you baby.

comments are disabled on this post.

note: I'M BACK - so my absence was a lot longer than expected, i graduated uni (with a first, i'm so stoked) and my housing has been a whole mess. i worked at silverstone, hence the inspo for this imagine... ENJOY !!!

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #lando norris insta au #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris

[darlingofvalyria]

❝—Aemond, just shove your fist up my skirt!❞

part 02 | baby, all you gotta do is trust me

chapter summary:

[ Cregan is a menace in bed (sexily), Aemond is a menace on social media (derogatory), Helaena is a menace (lovingly). ]

[ 4,715 ] [ series masterlist ] | best friend's brother!aemond targaryen x f!reader, ft. cregan stark x f!reader & aemond targaryen x alys rivers,

contains— smutty beginnings, a bit angsty, mostly fluff - nsfw: p & v sex, orgasm denial, degradation kink, mating press - lemme just introduce you to firefighter!cregan stark ahe - toxic alysmond but both of them are at fault, fwb situations, fake dating, slow-ish burn - sad sack aemy is a pathetic meow meow - viserys i has a spank kink, no i will not elaborate further - no use of y/n - no gods, no kings, no betas.

a/n— it's entirely my fault, i know. i made cregan too hot. aemond might be a bit op w/ his relationship with reader, but he & her have a comfortable past...soz. comment, reblog & like at will, mwa ♡

There's this thing that Cregan does with his hips.

It's always that sweet spot when your legs are either over his shoulders or haphazardly splayed against his waist, wide open as he drilled into you like a miner trying to find gold (and he would argue that in fact, your orgasms are gold to him)—

There's that moment when he feels you clenching, when you're so close to the precipice of seeing heaven that the motherfucker of the North slows down, sweat-slicked and breathing hard, he slows down enough at the haze of you reaching orgasm where he just.

Produces waves across his body, keeping a slow, toe-curling momentum with his hips, body-waving his dick in and out of you in a slow but purposeful movement— and he's smirking down atyou're fucked out state growing irritated doing something for him.

And before you're truly out of that orgasmic state, about to curse his entire bloodline of ruined orgasms forever or push him off his own godsdamned bed and break his stupidly good penis, he's bracing himself against the side of your head, laughing— not meanly, just amused, the asshole —and asks, almost like he's just asking you for the weather, "Does the pretty little slut want to cum?"

And he's not really asking, because he's grasped your thighs, shoving you into a mating press, and having you see stars in seconds.

"You think my neighbours called 911?" he muses, fixing his hair while in front of the floor length mirror in his room as you lounge about lazily on his bed, already washed and dressed for your own shift at Meleys, sans your pants. That's still in the living room from where Cregan yanked it.

"Hm?" you ask idly, not really focused on the conversation as you scrolled through IG, rolling your eyes at Aegon's post; Hel's big brother was in Ibiza getting sun-tanned in the morning (as much as his pale as fuck skin could tan) and getting it down at clubs at night, liking it nevertheless.

"Your scream at the end there was so loud, I'm pretty sure you broke Mrs. Beesbury out of her coma." You look up at Cregan's menace of a grin, playful and goofy in his tight shirt and thick work pants for his shift at the fire station. "I might be expecting five jars of honey from Mr. Beesbury as thanks."

You roll your eyes at him, laughing. He always got like this post-orgasm; loose and goofy and prone to making the dumbest jokes. It's cute, and on a good day, it does it for you.

It's not like you don't find Cregan attractive. It's how you got into this FWB situation with him in the first place; the dark hair, the scruff on his face, the firefighter bod— and by the Seven, what. A. Bod — when he and his co-workers stumbled into Meleys two months back, seeing your former high school crush aged up and hot had you on your knees for him in the back alley faster than he can hold you from the roots of your hair and grunt.

On a good day, it's easy to see getting past the easy arrangement of sending emojis to alert you wanna get dicked down and him sending a tongue and a heart, sending memes just for the hell of it at random parts of the day— breaking the easy friendship, the nice arrangement, and see where it gets you two, with Stark. On a good day, you can be submerge in the what-if, cute couple-y scenarios and giggle.

But despite the orgasm that could shatter a septa's vows quicker than you can say 'Oh holy Mother', your good day was tentative, broken with a click.

Aemond had made his first social media post since breaking up (the latest one) with Alys.

A darkened bathroom with explicit, orange-glowed lights that covered most of his person but not the slick show of water, freshly showered, against his torso, his chest, his abs. Droplets clung in places one would imagine licking him all over.

You know that bathroom to be the one in his high class gym, one of his favourite places. Since the toxic cycle with Alys started, he frequented it more. Aemond Targaryen was a man of routines and sharp o'clocks, so you know this isn't particularly off-key for him. But the posing (mostly) completely bare with water on his wiry muscles?

"Oh, this whore." You can't help it, as much as it irritated you— because it is clearly a means to get it across that he is newly single without actually saying anything, you can just imagine his DMs firing up with notifs — you couldn't help but giggle at the absurdity.

Aemond Targaryen. Publicly posting a thirstrap.

As public as his social media can get, it's a private account with less than 200 people.

A call rings in your phone, Helaena's face flashing, and you're still giggling when she half-shrieks, "DID YOU SEE HIS IG STORY OH MY GOD."

Your gaze meets Cregan, his bushy, dark eyebrows firing upward upon being able to hear Hel's voice while you winced. You put her on speaker as Cregan giddily comes closer to the phone.

"Good evening to you too, Helaena," you say warmly, giving Cregan's arm a light kick, mouthing, 'Don't you have work?'

Stark had the audacity to shush you, pressing a finger against his lips. You mouth, 'Gossip.' In a mature response, he stuck his tongue out.

Truly a wonder that not twenty minutes ago, this man had you keening over an orgasm.

Helaena continues on, "— I've had enough of this. I already have one slutty brother, I cannot have another one. There can only be two sluts in this family and no more. And that backlit? Seven hells, the whorishness."

"Hel, babe, you are not a slut." You meet eyes with Cregan who waggles his eyebrows, pursing his lips in an air kiss. "Trust me."

Hel snorts. "I know that, I meant my father. The whore of Babylon got nothing on Viserys first of his name, spank king extraordinaire."

If you could simultaneously choke on air and saliva, you would. "Helaena Targaryen!"

Cregan smacked his entire face down on his bed and ate his covers to muffle his laughter, his body shuddering as he did his best. His ass did look good in this view.

"What? Stranger may have mercy on me, but I tell you, before he died and before their marriage imploded, and at times traumatically problematic, they sure did get it freaky when they could. They gave it a good run and traumatised me in the process. I shouldn't have insisted my room was that close to them, maybe I would have ended up being an upstanding citizen of the community."

Cregan flips up, giggles spilling him as he muffled it with his hands. You kicked him again, trying to keep him away from your phone lest Hel figure out where you were again.

"Helaena, my love, compared to your brothers, you are such an upstanding person of the citizenry, the mayor should be giving you an award at this point."

"Right? Maiden have mercy, how busy do you think your shift is going to be tonight?"

You bit your lip guiltily while Cregan smirked, standing up as he finished lacing his boots. Hel thought you had gone straight to work, making up excuses about trying out a new recipe for next month. "Um. Not sure? Probably not by much, it's a weekday."

You don't lie, not really. Cregan mouths 'liar' and throw a pillow at him.

"Good, I'll send Aemond to you tonight. I already told him yesterday and he kind of just made a noncommittal hum— praise hands for another traumatised child of Alicent Hightower who has his own brand of communications issues —" You can just see Helaena's hard eye roll, and you massaged your lips to keep your laughter. The first time you met Hel, you never would have thought she slapped-back self-deprecating jokes out of her pockets faster than you can think a response to the last one. She was sweet, kind, a floral, bohemian girl with her pastel lavender pants and daisy flower clips.

And then you met her, vibed, and there was a dark funny humour to Helaena Targaryen that you always fought just bursting out laughter at the most inopportune of moments.

As sweet and floaty as she appeared, she was a menace.

"— anyway, Mr. Social Whore is going there later tonight, I made him promise. I said if you don't tell me he didn't come, I'm posting every photo I have of him from his naked baby pics to pre-pubescent Teen Teeny-Weeny Aemond, I do not care."

You whistle. "Damn, Hel, okay, I'll tell you when he comes."

"Good. OPLAN Get Aemond Out of This Bad Track Before He Fully Becomes Aegon 2.0 has now commenced. I love my brothers, I truly do, but I can only handle one Aegon at a time. I cannot be scrolling through social media in fear for my life times two, bestie, I refuse." Hel's voice pitches. "I'll talk to you later, bye, babe."

"Bye, Hel!"

Before you could put the phone down, she calls out, teasing, "BYE CREGAN!"

Silence. Then Cregan laughs, calling out, "Bye, Hel!"

The last thing either of you heard is her tinkling giggle before she drops the call.

"Fuck," you mutter, call finished.

Cregan wolf-whistles. "She's good."

You throw another pillow. "It's because you kept giggling like a schoolgirl!"

"Excuse me, that was a manly schoolgirl giggle, I'll have you know." He picks up his keys, winking. "Come on, I'll drop you off at the bar before I pole dance the night away to my job."

You cracked, snorting through the mental image of Cregan Stark, Lead Firefighter of the Ice Wolves Division, shaking his ass on the pole. You pad to the living room. "I'll give you a dollar for your troubles."

"Cheap ass!" he shouts after you.

Aemond arrives two hours into your shift, a little awkward— no doubt remembering your silent judgment of him the morning of his post-break up affair as that has also been the last interaction you've had with him before this, almost a week ago, and now here, meeting you at the insistence (and plotting) of his sister.

Your eyes meet ice water blue. He freezes, then straightens up, giving you a shrewd tilt forward. A nod. It's jerky, mechanical. You roll your eyes, mouth twitching, before you motion him over.

You are already making his favoured drink starter, Sazerac, when he slides into an empty seat on the bar. Your back is to him, refusing anymore interaction, and you know the usual comfort he finds in the eased silence you provide is nonexistent.

Out of all of Helaena's brothers, you've always liked Aemond the most. You teased him it was because the others are Aegon, duh, and Daeron, still in high school and never really around you "old people", but it's also because it's so easy to be around Aemond. When Helaena introduced you to the tall, lithe man who hummed politely at his sister's introduction of you, you found him intriguing.

It's not just the scarred eye, or the pretty, almost marble-statue visage (because by gods, seriously. The Mother took her sweet, loving time crafting the fourth Targaryen, bloody hell— like those cheekbones? With that cupid's bow lip? Okay, Mother, you have your favourites, we get it), or that he tended to keep himself in the background, let everyone else stretch into the conversation.

He often dipped in and out of the social pool like a mirage; a trick of the eye. A nod, a hum— almost, always an answer to someone else's direct question or someone— usually Aegon — dragging him into the conversation with an anecdote needing an input, not matter how inane.

And it intrigued you.

You took yourself and your drink of choice at the time— a Shirley Temple — and sat right beside him. He looked up at you, that one eye of violet widening slightly because you had just. Plopped beside him, thighs touching, before he smoothens out his expression, shifting at your direct eye contact and small smile.

"Can I... help you?" he finally asks, thoroughly waylaid but trying not to appear so.

"The scar." You nodded to his face as he froze. "Tell me about it."

His face had been so controlled, so guarded, when he tersely said, "My sister didn't tell you?"

"Nope. It's not something for her to tell me, isn't it? It's a personal thing. Most scars are." You shrugged. "Even if they aren't, I'd prefer if you tell me. It's your body. Your body your story."

He stared at you for a quarter of a minute before he asked, "Are you drunk?"

"No, why?"

"You're too... forward."

You smirked. "I've been told. So are you telling me or nah, pretty boy?"

And he stared at you for a minute longer, or two, or three— the stare flickers to emotions so fast; shock, confusion, flatter, his own intrigue — before he told you about a stupid fight between children, about a stupid reason par another, and though his words had been concise, obviously keeping a hell of a lot more between vowels and tightened jaw, you don't press him. You let him talk.

At the end, you said, "Badass. Definitely less of a lame reason than what I was imagining, but 9/10 story. Your voice really sold most of it. It's good for telling stories."

In his brain, you could just see the click when his eyes flicked to his sister and back to you. Ah, so that's how they're friends. And he hums, truly, more than anything, stumped by you. And you smiled.

"You're definitely going to be my favourite Targaryen Brother."

It's no wonder then, that you two had gotten close. You had forced a friendship out of him, and the very unattached guy to literally anything new— suspicious of offerings, angry at pity, wary of kindness — had taken into it with a white flag.

So when the whole Alys situation happened, things shifted.

"Sazerac," you announce finally, placing the drink in front of him. He thanks you with a quiet hum, having stopped fidgeting now that you've acknowledged his existence. You raise your eyebrow as his sips turns to gulp, crossing your arms.

Just because you had promised Hel you were going to help him, doesn't mean you were going to make it easy for him. He knows you're pissed; despite the calm structure he had composed himself in, you can see the twitch in his fingers, the way his eye turned away from you the moment you refused to project your normal, warm aura with him.

He settles his drink down, watching the rim of the glass for a minute before he speaks, low and steady. "You're angry with me."

You snort softly. "Wonder why you think so?"

He sighs. "I didn't mean to. To let it get this... messy." He winces at the word, hating it.

You sigh. "Aemy." He comes alive at the familiar nickname, sitting straighter, a relief on the edge of a cliff. "Honestly, I don't give a shit. You want to be trapped in this mess? You don't want to listen to other people tellign you, 'hey dude, maybe no?'"

He winces, remembering the third time he and Alys had broken up. The police car, Aegon vomitting, Hel crying. It makes you roll your eyes.

"Sure, have at it. Have fun, in fact. There's only so much sympathy I can give you for seeking out the problem that you know is a problem before I get tired. Before I stop giving a shit, because there's someone else I love that is starting to get hurt by it. I can only love you enough as much as you are willing to help yourself." Your eyes then narrow, half-glaring into him. "But what I'm truly getting angry about is how much this is affecting Helaena."

"I understand." He sighs again, calling your name but you raise a hand.

"Hold on, I have a bone to pick with you."

"Okay."

You look at him. A second. He waits. And waits.

He speaks up. "Yes?"

You sigh. It's hard to stay mad at him, you've always found so. "I don't know. I had paragraphs to say to you in front of a mirror, but now that it's you I'm looking at, everything just went away." Under your breath, you mutter, "stupid pathetic meow, meow face."

His mouth twitch. Ah. The familiar Targaryen smugness. Pinch Cocky Aemond is back. "Did my face distract you too much, ñuha riña my lady?"

You roll your eyes, unable to hide your own smile. If you called him Aemy, he called you the High Valyrian, his ancestral tongue, my lady. To tease, to establish comfort. You've always liked this better, being closer to Aemond than despising him for his stupid choices and big feelings he has a hard time unraveling, so he makes said stupid choices.

It's ease, it's familiarity, and you both fall into a high step.

"Okay, nerd, so what did Hel—" A customer calls you. "—One sec. Sorry about that, what can I get you? Ooh, nice choice, alright give me a minute." As you pulled a measuring cup and gin, you nod back to Aemond. "What did Hel tell you we're doing exactly?"

"That you're helping me... with Alys." A hesitance. "I know you don't like her—"

"— whoa, hold up, Aemy, I like her. I like her very much. I think she's a bad bitch, absolutely sexy, and clearly, she has good tastes which I respect her for." He had the good graces to blush, still sort of unused by the compliments you so freely give him. "What I don't like is how your relationship with her— here, hey, you're welcome! — has evolved. You were so good with each other, Aemy. And then..."

You mimic a sound of a crash and burn, and a tiny person screaming. He huffs out a laugh before sobering.

"I know." He sighs. "I don't... I don't understand it myself. There's a part of me that recognises I should walk away. And then there's another part that is just... it's Alys."

His palms, open and upturned, falls on the counter. Pensive. Begging. A confused, wanting penitent looking up at a god asking for direction. "I've loved her for so long." His voice quiets, like the words are sacred.

"I've loved her for so long," he repeats as if the words have worn itself out on his tongue, "it's hard to see past her. Ñuha riña, she has always been my future. It's all her. I don't know anything else outside of her."

You pour an Arbor Gold in a stemmed glass and pushes it to him. It's his favourite drink and he smiles at you, at the care, at the memories.

"I understand that," you say carefully. "And I already promised Hel I'd do it, whatever you need of me, to make her see you. But you should know that I'm doing this more for her than for you because... Aems, I believe you deserve so much more. A love that's exciting without it being harmful. A love that's pretty, as easy as breathing. One that doesn't hurt at the edges and pinches like a barbed wire."

"Is that possible for me?" he asks ironically, trying for a joke but you catch that lilt at the end. At that exhale. So much of his history had been broached by pain, borne from it. There are injuries that run so deep, they continue to bleed.

"Honestly?"

He places the wineglass down. "Yes."

You smile. "Yes."

You don't know if he believes you, or if he just indulges in your starry-eyed view of his future, but he smiles nevertheless, as best as he can and murmurs a gratitude.

It's pacifying, insecurity. You let it go for now because there's nothing you can say to a person truly down to trust your words.

"You're going to do this, then?" he asks. "For Alys and I?"

You shake your head. "I'm doing this for Hel and no chores for a month." And you, to show you that there's more past a future that you and I both know doesn't exist anymore. That if you prolong it, ignore how deep the barbed wire has gotten into your skin, it'll be too hard to untangle it when you realised you've bled out enough.

So will you just wear the pain proudly after that?

You shake another order in place, pulling ice and mint. You raise an eyebrow. "I've always known I was going to help. Are you willing to do this? Honestly Aemy, this can go two ways. One, she'll realise losing you is the worst thing that can ever happen— truly losing you to someone else, or two, she thinks you're truly moving on from her. And that's assuming she even thinks it's real, like I mean come on, it's me and you."

He arches a perfect silver eyebrow. You had already asked him if he gets his eyebrows done, and apart from Helaena messing with him back in high school, has been all natural. You think he's lying.

"And what is me and you?"

"Aemy, come on. I'm your sister's best friend. We're like... I dunno, family? She's always known that."

"Doesn't mean she's never felt jealous of you," he hums, swirling his wine with pinch fingers. It's elegant. Entrancing. The red liquid swirls and there are knots and strain in his hand, going through his arm.

And despite the bags under his eye, he still looks so good. Silvery blond hair wrapped in a low half updo, the shirt that hid nothing of his muscled chest.

His words sink in, breaking you from the hypnotizing reverie of looking at a marbled statue. "What? She felt jealous of me?"

He smiles gently, a little bit cockily. "Ñuha riña. Of course she did. Just because she understood your place in my life, in Hel's, doesn't erase the fact that you're gorgeous and we get along well. She liked you, truly, but she isn't blind. It's nothing that you've done, even she knew that. You're just too perfect."

You blink at him, unable to stop yourself from blushing. He chuckles meanly.

"Shut up."

He exhales a laugh. "I didn't say anything!"

"You know what you did." You give him the stink eye before you serve two more customers, thanking at a pretty hefty tip from one of your regulars, bidding him goodnight as he left. It is a slow night, you didn't lie to Helaena.

You almost don't catch Aemond murmuring, "I've missed this. I've missed you. I never like it when you're pissed at me."

"Good," you joke. "So you can watch yourself better. But yeah, I've missed you too. So how are we doing this?"

"I thought you had an idea, having agreed to Hel's plan before I even knew there was a plan."

You roll your eyes. "Well, I've had a few ideas here and there... it's more your comfort I'm worried about."

He frowns, pouty lips pursing. "My comfort?"

You place your palms behind the bar and hitch yourself up by your physical strength. He leans forward, confused still. You smirk. "Well, Aemy, I'm wearing a skirt."

"I... I don't know what that means, ñuha riña." He blinks his one good eye. "Nice skirt? You look pretty."

You force a pout instead of getting flustered by the compliment out of the blue. "I forgot you weren't all that popular in high school."

"No need for insults," he deadpans.

You laugh. "We're going to make Alys jealous, right? It'll be too much to hard launch my new status of existence in your life when you just broke up... but... if we can allude, at least..."

"I-" His frown deepens, the skin on his other eye, the scar, pinches as you see his mind whirr and whirr where your mind was reaching. "I'm still confused."

"Gods, alright, I'll just show you."

"Dude, bro, just put your hand under my skirt—"

"Ñuha riña—"

"Yeah, you know what, godsfuckingdamnit, if I alienate you that bad just shove your fist up my skirt, yes, Aemond, just shove your fist up my skirt!"

He calls your name, tips of his ears beet red, as a few patrons turn to you two, bewildered and a little amused. You wave at them but you sigh noisily at him. You're sat beside him on the counter, your phone on one hand with the camera app open, and you're glaring at him.

"Are you seriously telling me you've never placed your hand on Alys' thigh?"

"Of course I have!" He lets out a strangled sigh and groan.

"What's the difference?"

"I've never done it so publicly," he explains as calmly as possible, as if he's talking to a child. "And with the idea of posting it for everyone else to ogle. I've always just done it... under a table. Or. On her knee..."

"You're blushing so hard, you look like a tomato?" You snort. "I'm your fake Alys now, and we're soft launching an intimate relationship. This is basic."

"You're not my fake Alys. You're not my fake anytihng and you're not Alys." he says seriously, frown sharpening into a point before he exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Can't it just be my hand over yours?"

 You frown, forgoing the uncomfortable twinge from not my anything and not Alys. "Is this uncomfortable for you? Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"It's not that, never that." He purses his lip. "It's the opposite. I don't want to make you uncomfortable with my touch."

"Aemy," you say softly, smiling slightly. "I am giving you permission. Wouldn't have suggested it otherwise. And you touching me has never made me uncomfortable. Now, come on. Hand on my thigh, pretty boy, so I can take this pic and get the ball rolling."

There's a second more of restraint, of holding back, and before you sigh and suggest something else— maybe he is truly uncomfortable with you, with you not being anything to him, and not being Alys, but is too polite to say anything — he places his palm, warm and heavy, against your exposed thigh.

It's a... new sensation. You've held hands with Aemond before, smacked it a few times even, but it's different when it's on a more... well, when it's not on a non intimate area of your body. New skin, new nerve endings to his familiar warmth and crease.

It makes you swallow how big his hand is compared to your whole ass thigh. Thumb to pinky and he nearly swallows the gaps.

He really has pretty hands. Knotted veins twisting upward to muscled arms.

Both of you nestle in the quiet, just staring at his hand over your thigh.

"Okay," he says, voice even. He's taller than you, always taller even when you're both sat down, and he's closer to the top of your head at this distance, his breath flutters against your hair. "What now?"

"I... take the picture." You blink, shaking your head slightly, as you take his drink and add your hand within the frame so it looks like you mean to take a photo of your drink and not the glaringly obvious hand on your thigh, before you you angle it. You take one, two, three. A few different angles before you feel you've got a few nice ones. "Okay, done."

It feels cold when he takes his hand away, giving your thigh a soft tap before it's back on the counter. He hums.

You get back on the work, choosing one and posting it promptly on your stories. You place Meleys' location and a kiss mark emoji before you post it.

"It does look intimate," Aemond hums, observing the story from his own phone. "But why did you post it on your account and not mine?"

"She's your ex, Aemy," you say, hopping off the chair and moving back behind the counter. The world re-orbits. Everyone back in their positions, the lines clear. The planets move in their normal trajectory again.

"She'll know it's your hand. And if we post it on mine, it has more of an impact, don't you think? We're friends on IG. She sees it on my stories, a man's hand on her thigh, in a background that's no doubt a bar. The hand is sorta familiar. And you posted that slutty mirror pic earlier tonight."

He blushes, you smirk. Planets and moons orbit back, their pace slow, their lightyears fast. Best friend's sister. Sister's best friend.

"If she doesn't recognise your hand at first, your story will prompt it on her brain. It's not a hard connection, you've been together for years. It's a girl thing. An exes thing. Bingo bango, the brain is running. Surely it isn't Aemond's hand? Even if it is... is it truly romantic?"

He exhales. "You're... kind of an evil genius."

"Just kind of? Damn." And you smile because he laughs, the sound spreading warmth across your chest.

Yeah, this is better. It always feels good when you and Aemond are on the same team, when you're not mad at him and vice versa, no matter how stupid the reason.

Saturn rings snap, black holes sink and swim in galaxies so far, far away.

You put your phone on DND as soon as the first five notifs pop up, prompting a barrage of other notifications. When you took a glance at it, it's all a varying degree of 'WHAT THE FUCK', 'WHO THE FUCK', and 'GO GET THAT DICK, GIRL OMG!!'

Only Helaena's message matters, and it brings a smile on your lips.

 'Noice'.

Another ping.

'Also— what a bunch of harlots'.

You show it to Aemond and both of you burst in stupid laughter.

TAGLIST (message to be added! please ensure you are able to be tagged to get notifs): @fan-goddess @snh96 @valeskafics @opheliaas-stuff @tempo-rary-fix @fantasticpeaceharmony @diannnnsss @iamavailablesstuff @spinachtz @at-a-rax-ia @bespinnn @tsujifreya @moonlightfoxx @kemillyfreitas @joyouart @bananzaa @honey-on-mars @alexa4040 @cinnamonbambii @wintrr13 @wxb-slingrr

#aemond angst #cregan stark x reader #best friend's brother!aemond #aemond fluff #cregan smut #hotd fluff #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #hotd x you #hotd smut #cregan stark x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒 #aemond fanfiction #aemond crack #aemond targaryen x reader #tshbft ༊*·˚ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ

[writingstoraes]

can you do an insta au where ur max’s sister and ur dating charles 🧡🧡

choose a lane 🏁

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!verstappen!reader

type: instagram imagine/social media au

notes: not proofread hehehe tysm for requesting this anon! hope u like it 🤍 lmk what u guys think!

about: you can never win between your brother and boyfriend.

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen, scuderiaferrari, and 567,091 others

yourusername race day ready ❤️ glad to be in monaco!

maxverstappen You're wearing Ferrari colors again 😒

yourusername there's red in red bull, take it as a win :D

charles_leclerc Guess she loves me more than you hahahaha

maxverstappen Act funny and you will never see her again!!!

yourusername ??? such children

charles_leclerc Mon porte bonheur ❤️ My good luck charm

yourusername rooting for your p1, babyyyy 😘

maxverstappen EXCUSE ME

yourusername

liked by lewishamilton, isahernaez, arthurleclerc, and 456,213 others

yourusername been back and forth in the paddock today, can't seem to watch the race peacefully without max and charles arguing 😴 anyway, best of luck today, scuderiaferrari and redbullracing!

scuderiaferrari We thank you for the endless support, yourusername! ❤️

redbullracing Glad to have you back, Y/N!

maxverstappen You wanna know how to not have a hard time going back and forth? Choose a lane and stay here in Red Bull.

charles_leclerc She's wearing the prancing horse isn't she? She stays with Ferrari 🤷‍♂️

yourusername keep it up and i will head over to mclaren and support lando instead

lestappenfan Wonder how tired Y/N must be from dealing with Max and Charles 😭

yourusername

liked by lilymhe, alex_albon23, maxverstappen, and 605,223 others

yourusername charles and max love arguing in my mentions but this is really how they are in real life. sometimes i feel like i'm the third wheel but that's their secret of course 🫣

congratulations on p1 and p2 this weekend, charles_leclerc and maxverstappen! ❤️ please stop giving me headaches now.

charles_leclerc Thank you for the support, chèrie! Je tàime ❤️

maxverstappen Ew?????

lestappenrocks LMAOOOOO MAX

maxverstappen Happy to always have you at my races, dear sister! I'm your brother so you should always pick me 😁

charles_leclerc Stop using genetics as an argument mate

yourusername maybe this is the last race ill ever watch

charlos23 lol lestappen being petty as hell here but being bffs off track they are so ??

-----------

tagging: @slytherheign <333 hope ure doing well love mwah

notes: this was a cute idea hehehe tysm anon! lmk what u guys think 🤍

#writtenbyrae #charles leclerc #max verstappen #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc insta au #charles leclerc social media au #charles leclerc instagram imagine #charles leclerc fluff #formula 1 #f1 #formula 1 social media au #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 insta au #f1 fluff #f1 instagram au #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x oc #max verstappen imagine

[lizzieisright]

Moon peppers (3)

(2)

Palestine: what can you do

were!Abby x witch!reader

Summary: Abby runs away from her (former) pack and into your forest. You're not happy with your new (woods?)mate.

Tags: fantasy au, sloppy worldbuilding (fuck it we ball), fem!reader, alpha!abby, witch!reader (so not an omega), sentient forest, stubborn idiots in love who annoy each other.

Notes: near-death experience, Caitvi being the cutest.

Taglist: @abbysbae @poxismind @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @pjmispunk @herdelreydear @lmaoo-spiderman (if you want me to tag/untag you for the whole series dm me please)

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Annoyance prickles you all the way home. You feel a little exhausted after having your shields around yourself for so long, and if it wasn't for the stupid wolf, you'd be fine. You can't shake your irritation: you even offered the wolf peace, and it still attacked you! You keep in mind that the wolf might not be lucid - like it was with the bear, and you had to bring it back to the human form while avoiding getting killed - but on the other hand, it moved away when you threatened it with magic. 

“Fucking weres.” You spit and trip on a root. “Ouch. What, you have a soft spot for them?” 

The woods don't answer and you huff. You're used to the forest’s weirdness and mood swings, but sometimes you don't understand them. Who would have thought you can have an argument with a forest? But you had, on multiple occasions, and it showed that the forest remarkably worse at communicating than an emotionally stunned man.

When you see your hut, you let your shields down and take a long, tired breath. The wolf destroyed your sense of safety in the woods, and it makes your blood boil from fury, but you take another breath and try to calm down.

After all these years your anger is still the hardest to control. You still shake with the desire to just hit something, but it is still better than the desire to choke someone until they go cold and stiff. But it's hard to let go of this irritation and you haven't found a way to let it out-

Oh. Actually, you know a way. 

You sigh and slump on your porch to take a small break and recharge. The shields around the hut are not powered by your flow of magic, rather than by the bunch of stones and threads underground that you have to charge from time to time, so at least this is not draining you right now.

Fucking werewolf. 

You look over the edge of your shields and get angry again at the wolf. Your anger springs you into action, and you go inside your hut to get your things together. You take the fish out and put it in the chest full of ice - you're not cooking dinner today, you have no patience for it. 

You put another bottle of special tincture and head out, eager to go somewhere where there's no crazy werewolves. You're grim and the woods feel it, and they're rightfully offended by your attitude, but you can't bring yourself to care right now. Your mood is not directed at them rather than at one furry monster, and you know the forest knows it too, so you don't bother with sorries or excuses: you are not going to lie about your feelings, and you're tired from bottling up your anger.

As if not feeling anger is a goddamn requirement to be a good person.

When you're out of the forest, the sun gets closer to the horizon, and the evening's lights are beautiful enough for you to forget your spite for a moment. 

Then you continue stomping your way down the path and past the village, until you reach the odd house. 

You knock, shifting from foot to foot, and wait for someone to open the door. It takes a moment, but then Vi opens the door and the suspicion on her face turns into surprise when she sees you. 

“Damn, what happened to you?” 

“Can you spar with me?” You ask impatiently and come inside when Vi lets you in. 

“Is it a bottle in your sac, witch?” The dwarf grins and you roll your eyes. “I'm always happy to kick your ass, don't worry.”

“Thanks.”

Vi leads you to the kitchen where Caitlyn is cooking something and you shiver when you feel her magic: elven magic comes from stars, so it always feels cold. It's unnerving and makes you feel deep loneliness, and you don't know how Caitlyn deals with it. Do all elves feel as lonely as her magic makes you feel? 

But then Vi leaves a quick kiss on Caitlyn’s cheek and you chuckle. Vi, as any other dwarf, works with fire and metal, she always runs hot or is covered in coal, so you guess she balances Caitlyn and keeps her warm. 

“Darling!” Caitlyn smiles and hugs you, sending another wave of shivers down your spine. “You came back earlier than I expected.”

“She is going through some shit.” Vi immediately tells on you and you throw her a nasty look. “Listen, I didn't come here and ask to spar instead of saying hello.”

You huff and sit down on a soft chair, unloading your sac on the table. Vi grabs the bottle right away, but Caitlyn gently takes it and places it on the shelf. 

“Did anything happen?” The elf asks carefully and you let out a depressed snort. Caitlyn pours tea for all of you while Vi grumbles that she wanted her booze, but she still takes a sip.

“Another fucking were.” You say, defeated.

“No fucking way.” Vi groans. She was the one who had to deal with the bear after you brought it back and let's just say, they both didn't enjoy the experience, cursing and cussing at each other nonstop.

“It chased me to the hut, tried to jump me at least five times, refused to change back into human form and took Sevika's den. And when I warned it that she will come back and kill it, it made me walk backwards until I was out of its territory, growling and snarling at me. Un-fucking-believable.” You sigh. “And I'm so anxious my magic became unstable. I almost boiled myself alive.”

Caitlyn's face is so full of sympathy and concern it's hard to look at, so you look at Vi instead. She looks puzzled and just as annoyed as you are. 

“Is it a bear? Again?” Vi asks and it's almost funny how she is still full of spite after the werebear. “Why do you always get the crazy ones?”

“They fucking sense my own crazy.” You grump. “It's a wolf. A giant one, I've never seen them this big.”

“Probably an alpha, then.” Caitlyn says. “It's strange. Wolves live in packs.”

“Well, this explains the aggression.” You try to joke, but you sound more anxious than before. “I fell into the river today because of it.”

Vi cackles and you want to punch her. 

“So I'm angry. This is why I want to spar.”

“I think it is not wise for you to spar with Vi when your magic is unstable. I much prefer my starlight healthy and happy.”

Vi is clearly embarrassed by being called starlight - as always - but Caitlyn's loving look stops her from complaining and you from teasing. Elves are infinite and their love is too big and encompassing for mortals, however long they can live (Vi has another 500 years ahead of her, you think), and it's too much sometimes. 

“Have you been meditating like I showed you before?”

You feel stupid. 

“No.” You sound embarrassed, as you should be, but again - your anger management is still work in progress. 

“Well then. Let us go to the garden and I will guide you through it. Then you can spar with Vi, if you still wish to.”

You nod and follow Caitlyn. 

It's dark when Abby wakes up, and she feels better. The food and sleep helped her recover, and now she can finally change into human form to treat the rest of her wounds. 

The problem is, she doesn't have any supplies, since you took all of the moon peppers. So she will have to find something that will help her before she returns to her human form. 

For a brief moment she considers talking to you, since you are too weak to be a threat, when she gets better, but then she remembers you standing next to her blood stains near the den and the consideration is forgotten. 

So Abby cautiously shows her nose out of her den and takes a long sniff. Thankfully there is no one around who can hurt her, so Abby gets to her feet and goes for her search. 

Her wolf nose is more sensitive and she can smell more plants and animals around her than when she is a human, and it takes her less time to get to a comfrey bush. It's not in bloom, but Abby can still use it on her injuries to help with some of them that still bleed. 

Abby takes a breath and turns into her human form. She stands on her fours, shaking and grunting as the new level of pain washes over her body, but it slowly subsides. Abby is breathing deeply through it until her head stops spinning and the shaking goes away. Then she is able to sit down and check herself. 

Abby slowly raises her shirt up and winces in pain. Her right side has three deep long scratches that have been closing but not fully, so her shirt is soaked in blood, but that is what comfrey can help with. Her left thigh and calf have seen better days, and the hole from the claws stings painfully when Abby tries to move. It might be infected already, and this thought terrifies Abby. She thinks about going into the village to see their healer, but she might give herself away, so she will have to deal with it herself. 

Abby slowly breaks a few stems and starts turning them into mush - it would have been easier if she actually had a mortar, but alas, she has to adapt to her current situation, so she just kneads the stems in her hands until it's as gooey as it could get. Then she applies it to her side and moans in pain. 

“Fuck.” Abby whispers, but the mush helps immediately: her werewolf healing is way faster than anyone's in the world and her wounds finally close for good. It doesn't mean it's healed fully, but at least Abby stopped losing blood and avoided infections. 

Abby smells her former packmates one second, and the next second she is back into her wolf form. They're surrounding her from every direction and Abby tries her best not to panic, but somewhere deep in herself she knows she is not going to make it this time. There are obviously more wolves than before, hell, did Isaac bring the whole pack just to end her?

Abby hears growling from behind and turns around to face her threat, but the blow comes from the side, and Abby falls. She expects them to immediately go for her throat, but the wolves step away, clearly waiting for her to get up. 

Oh, so this is going to be a whole humiliation party, Abby thinks, but stands up anyway. They want to make an example of her - well, she is not going to let it happen. If Abby is going down, someone will go down with her. 

Abby narrows her eyes and tries to pick up Isaac’s scent and attack him, but he is nowhere to be found. Abby then moves to her closest target and attacks the wolf, going straight for their neck - it's a weaker one and Abby is sure she is going to kill it, but they're quick and Abby misses, falls on her feet again.

Someone jumps on top of her and bites into her shoulder, but Abby throws them off and leaves a nasty bite on their stomach - even if they escape, they will die on their way home. That brings her some satisfaction, but it's short-lived: another wolf jumps and bites her scruff. It hurts, but Abby throws them off again.

Then they're relentless: she throws off one wolf and another attacks her. Abby is getting exhausted and it's hard to get up now, but she still does. Her hind legs are shaking and her just closed wounds are open, but she snarls at her previous packmates, not giving up. 

Abby is happy she doesn't pick up Manny's scent among them. 

Suddenly wolves stop and step away, and Abby smells Isaac. Fucking coward waited until his wolves tired Abby out so he would stand a chance against her. He'd never win in an alpha on alpha fight, and everyone knows it. It makes him look pathetic and Abby knows wolves can smell her contempt and feel how Isaac's presence triggers her alpha’s pheromones. Some wolves whine, scared of her even when Abby is so weak she takes two tries to stand up, and Abby's smells like boasting. 

Isaac growls and shows off his own pheromones, but Abby overpowers him by a mile, which in return pisses him off and he lunges at Abby. 

They clash and Abby puts all her strength into most fatal attacks, clawing at his most vulnerable spots, but Isaac gets away from her.

Abby is panting and shaking, she is getting dizzy as her body starts to give up, and Isaac feels it. He lunges again with more force and keeps biting and clawing, waiting for Abby to slip up. 

And Abby slips up. 

Fangs sink into her throat and Abby whines as a piece of meat gets ripped out of her. She can't breathe, she is choking on her own blood as everything starts to fade away. 

Her former pack leaves only when all of them are sure Abby is dead and her heartbeat can't be heard and her scent can't be smelled. 

Isaac huffs in triumph at Abby's lifeless body and leads his pack out of the woods.

“So, do you still wish to spar with Vi?” Caitlyn asks after you finished your meditation. It's not the most comfortable experience and you'd really like to have some hot tea now, but you feel calmer and the flow of magic in your body is more stable. 

“No. Thank you, Caitlyn.”

The elf smiles gently and leads you back to the kitchen where Vi is already sipping your tincture. 

“You can't be left alone, can you?” Caitlyn sighs lovingly and Vi grins. 

“Try it. It's great. Not to your posh elven standards, your majesty, but you will like it anyway.”

Caitlyn huffs, embarrassed, and lightly slaps Vi's bicep. She just chuckles, catches her hand and leaves a gentle kiss on her palm. 

“You're adorable.” You coo and Caitlyn smiles at you. “I think I'll be going now. The forest wasn't happy with me.”

“Just like that?” Vi complains. “Next time bring two bottles.”

You laugh and leave after saying your goodbyes to the odd couple. 

It's dark outside now, and you come back to the forest with a lighter heart than before. The forest is silent, but you don't feel any anger towards yourself, so you're a little puzzled. 

And then your path suddenly makes a wrong turn. You don't question it and just follow wherever the forest leads you: it happens from time to time and you're always happy to help, especially now, when you're in such a good mood. You get suspicious when you recognise the path leading to Sevika’s den, but then it takes a different turn and you calm down. This is the way to comfrey and you walk confidently since it's familiar.

You reach the bushes and then you see blood on the ground. Oh, this is not good.

You follow the blood and you see the big shadow of the wolf on the ground. You flinch, scared it will attack you again, but it doesn't make a sound and it doesn't move. You come closer and now you can see it’s covered in blood and its back doesn't rise like it's supposed to if it was breathing.

“Fuck." You whisper. "Hey!” You call, but the wolf doesn't react. 

You make a few steps closer and then you run to the wolf when you exactly how much blood is there. There's a giant hole where its throat is supposed to be and you feel the cold dread crawl on your back. 

“Fuck. Fuck! What do you want me to do?” You ask the forest angrily. “I'm not powerful enough, I can't do shit!” You're on the verge of tears: yes, the wolf is annoying and scary, but it doesn't deserve to die! 

The woods respond with a gentle warm breeze and you take a deep breath as your fingers grip wolf's fur. Okay. Okay, there is an option which you're afraid to use, but it will work. Well, if the forest agrees, of course.

“Give me one of your trees and I'll be able to save the wolf.” You say quietly, knowing you have no right to ask for it, knowing the woods have no reason to trust you or believe you won't become dangerous again, but it is literally the only way. 

You're also afraid and you don't trust yourself, but the wolf is dead and you can save it. You can bring it back to life. You have no idea what happened to the wolf, but it simply doesn't deserve to die. 

You sigh and go around the wolf to the tree behind it. Your hands are shaking but you firmly put them on the bark and gasp: you feel the life energy flow in it, the forest will let you do this. It's so much your breath hitches but you calm yourself and begin to drain the tree.

You hear the rusting of the leaves as they turn into ash and your body gets filled with the life force of the tree. It's exhilarating and you can't help your surprised giggle when you feel your magic grow. Fuck, it's been so long since you felt so powerful and you feel alive.

The half of the tree is gone and you now notice that your hands are glowing. But it's not your hands that are glowing, these are your tattoos and runes. It makes you flinch in terror as memories flow through your head, but you keep going and try not to pay attention to every line and letter and patch that glows through your clothes. You haven't seen them in years and you'd much prefer not to see them ever again, but alas, the power comes with consequences. 

Everything now is covered in ash and you feel like you're going to burst from this amount of life energy in your body, so you quickly come back to the wolf and hold its head between your hands, and then you start pouring the energy into its lifeless body. Your tattoos stop glowing so violently as time passes and you see how the wolf's throat grows back and gets covered in fur. The wolf finally exhales loudly and inhales again, and you feel its heart restart. 

You sigh, relieved, and sit down, still holding the wolf's head and putting more energy into it, but now you're calm: the wolf breathes and gets warmer with every second. 

You murmur a spell that will let you continue giving the energy to the wolf and then you cast another one that makes the wolf float and follow you to the hut. 

You notice the blood on your hands and take a shaky breath as an ancient temptation gets the hold of you: you can put this wolf in debt, you can make it leave you alone (which is a not a fair price, but you have priorities), you can do whatever you want since you have its blood. 

You swallow sickly and shake your head to calm down. 

When you get to your hut you're not sure where to place the wolf: it will take a night and a day to finish healing, but the moment the wolf wakes up it will try to kill you, so you need to do something. It's not your greatest idea, but you really have no other option except to leave it outside and risk the wolf running away and breaking the bond. So you go to your stillroom, put all the protective spells you know on everything so the wolf won't trash the place, and summon some furs so the wolf won't be lying on the cold floor. You stand there for a second and cast restraints on the wolf - again, stupid idea, but it's for your own safety. Tomorrow, when the wolf wakes up you'll explain everything and release it, of course, but if you want a chance on said explain, the wolf should be restrained. 

When you go to bed you become aware of just how much energy will stay in your body after this, and it makes your heart sink. 

You only hope it won't drive you mad.

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson #moon peppers

[merakiui]

thinking about fwb fics and even though i already wrote one for floyd (omegaverse fwb) i'd like to write one that's more fleshed out (like contractual codependency and tmdg).

azul's fwb was contractual and done out of a need for something (reader needed more resources for keeping ramshackle in good shape and azul wanted a convenient cover so drugging her with love potion would be seamless).

jade's fwb is defined by "you're not him, but you look like him and so it will do." he benefits from it because he gets to spend time with you and he uses your love for floyd to his advantage to get you to do things you'd never do with him.

for floyd's fwb fic i'm thinking,,,, ex-boyfriend floyd who becomes your rebound after your most recent (now ended) relationship with [insert twst character here]. part of me wants to make it jade for sibling rivalry antics, but then i also like the idea of it being someone from the basketball club. maybe you've dated everyone in the basketball club (everyone: jamil, ace, floyd) and you're back to who you began with initially: floyd. maybe you agree casual sex is fine because neither of you have feelings for the other, right? floyd's just in it to have fun and so are you. there's some sort of yandere to be found here... ;;;;; but then i love cheesy and fluffy romances. orz it is my greatest weakness, as is an angst-tinged romance.

i need to write floyd slowly realizing it's not just the horny grip that has him acting so goofy. he's genuinely in love with you and those feelings have stayed with him even after the two of you first broke up. i need him to realize the reason he gets so angry whenever he thinks about you with anyone else is because he's jealous and wants you all to himself; because he loves you and the thought of you being apart from him makes him shrivel with discomfort. i need him to be conflicted about the fwb because by mer standards the two of you would have been a mated pair already (because recurring fwb isn't a very common relationship dynamic in the sea. at least, not in the waters he's from).

i need him to know all of your favorites without faltering because when floyd likes something he commits it to memory and he really likes you. i need jamil and ace to be rooting for him in their own ways and maybe the lot of you can still be healthy friends despite being exes. :D i need azul and jade to scheme and push you closer to floyd so you can be more than his fuck buddy. maybe a little "kiss the eel" mischief in the mostro lounge. >:)

OHHHHHHH. perhaps that's it!!!!! azul's fwb was "no saying i love you." jade's is "don't let floyd find out we're doing this." and so maybe floyd's is all about no kissing because kissing makes it too real (in reader's opinion). the idea of floyd, who is so physical with his affections, having to withhold kisses (on the lips).......... aaaaaaaa he's going to go crazy...

but most of all, i want to write floyd fucking you in mer form because he never got the chance when the two of you were first dating because maybe he was worried he'd do something silly like admit his true feelings (also another thing he never got to tell you when you were dating). :O hmmmm,,,,, floyd wrestling with being "that silly guy who you sleep with every now and then" and actually wanting to be "that silly guy who is your forever and always." yummy!!!!!! he's so in love, but he's struggling to open up with raw, real feelings because he's so used to just being a goofy guy who never shows those sides of himself and he's not used to feeling vulnerable and and and and AAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!

i will file these ramblings away for potential future fics hehehehe.

#meraki mumbles #forgive how wild my ramblings are #as you can see i am plotting and outling as i write orz #i love fwb trope <3 i want to write it for many characters

[justyanle]

could you please write some sappy Lo’ak x gn!reader head cannon’s?

Sappy Lo'ak headcanons!

a/n: i was literally clenching so hard trying to write this because i didn't know how to stop hcs from turning into a full on story 😭 anyways, lets gaur!! reqs r still open

You and Lo'ak met while joining the warriors at the ground, the two of you supposed to be spotters, yet still disobeying orders and getting to the group of warriors handing out the rifles.

"Hey! Aren't you the Olo'eyktan's kid?" you yelled at the younger Sully son.

His eyes widened and lips parted slightly when he turned his head to turn his head to the source of the sound, the view he was being met with was almost sending him into a permanent shock, stunned by your features.

"Y-Yeah, aren't you one of the spotters that were at the campsite earlier?" he gives a wide smile at the sight of you, not believing that someone as beautiful as you could talk to him.

You laughed, "We aren't supposed to be here!" a giggle erupts from you, cocking the weapon handed to you.

A few months had passed since your first encounter together, growing closer since then, getting into more frequent trouble than ever.

The two of you would always be found leaving a place that looked like that was wrecked by a Thanator, you and your best friend being the cause of the ruckus.

He would often be bringing you trinkets, babbling you about the "useless shit" he found - in reality, he was practically blushing really hard from both the embarrassment and shyness he developed around his crush because he has observed that they keep all of the items he had retrieved for you.

He was also VERY, VERY, touchy whenever you guys are sneaking out, usually telling you something along the lines of "Shut up, I'm only doing this so you can go back alive to the camp in one piece or else your dad would kill me." but, he was always feeling jittery when he held you close to him, wanting to rush into his bed face first and let out a girly squeal with his legs kicking in the air due to the minimum distance you guys shared.

Once he introduced you to his family, you all basically clicked, although, he was being extra possessive and much more of a show-off when you two were close to Neteyam, being insecure that Neteyam would once take the spotlight again.

When the two of you would play with Tuk, you guys would play pretend marriage, smiling to yourself at the thought of Tuk in a make-shift gown made out of leaves.

"You may now kiss, newly wed!" The youngest Sully exclaimed, in the middle of you and Lo'ak that were facing one another.

Both of your hearts thumped in your chest as both of you awkward teenagers were just facing one another holding eye contact as if telepathically communicating.

"Well?! What are you two doing?! Waiting for air to push the both of you?! I said you may now kiss!"

Lo'ak engulfed your smaller build of hands into his five fingered ones, cupping them into his hands and landing butterfly-inducing pecks on your palms and fingers. Tuk squealing in the background.

He then soon lets go of your hands, cups your face, gazing at your perfectly sculpted features before bringing his lips closer to your forehead, leaving you blushing as your delicate skin and his hydrated lips made the intimate touch.

"OH MY GOODNESS!! AHH!! I DON'T THINK THIS WOULD JUST BE A PRETEND MARRIAGE ANYMORE!' Tuk cheerfully screamed with the butterflies in her stomach, thinking she could have just potentially found her sibling in law.

Ever since Tuk shared the eventful evening to her whole family, they were basically teasing Lo'ak to the point he couldn't even achieve a wink of a sleep.

They were all rooting for Lo'ak to make a move on the sweet Na'vi named [Y/N].

"Hey bro! Better make a move before they mate with someone else!" Neteyam says as he shrugs by his younger brother.

Though, not only his family was the only one teasing him. Your family was secretly observing the two of you from afar, often saying things like "Ah, our baby's all grown up already, ready to have a mate!" making you have a purple hue out of embarrassment.

More moons have passed, you and Lo'ak have made it a hobby to sing each other's songcords to one another.

You had already made it a routine to a point you had memorized his songcord, you had stopped because you had expected it to end already - though, what you failed to notice was that Lo'ak had added another cord to his songcord.

"I thank Eywa, for the gift she had given in the form of you. I let my heart choose, leading me off to, you. Ma [Y/N], Ma [Y/N].." his new cord ends as he kept his gaze on you.

"Ma Lo'ak."

a/n: its like 2 days ever since i started writing fanfics guyz pls spare me i dont know how to write good yet 😭😭😭 i literally dont know how to write headcanons bcs theyre not supposed to turn into long ass stories 💔 anyways, reqs still open

#atwow #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar movie #neteyam #neteyam sully #avatar neteyam #avatar lo'ak #lo'ak atwow #lo'ak avatar #lo'ak #lo'ak sully #lo'ak fluff #lo'ak x reader #lo'ak x you #lo'ak headcanons

[whitedemon-ladydeath]

SJM + Eugenics + Ableism in her Writing

thinking about how insidious eugenics can come up in writing- specifically SJMs writing. Personally I take a lot with a grain of salt bec I don't think a lot of ppl realize how fucking deeply entrenched and rooted it is in everything and more often than not its not intentional

and to an extent I don't think it was intentional by SJM. she does have a degree of plausible deniability in her story telling

however that being said:

the Cauldron "pairing mates" has allusions to being a breeding program of some kind of supernatural predestined idiocy. Sam + Melissa on Tiktok have some pretty great videos on it

However, while they think that SJM is providing commentary on the matter, I do have a different view, not that I really disagree with what they're saying

SJM has a track record of using disabilities as an aesthetic for her characters. It's often a point of suffering and/or there ends up being a magical fix (yay fantasy eugenics providing miracle cures!!! /sarcasm)

Chaol, severely injured with a spinal cord injury that left him paralyzed goes to the super special healing place to have the world's bestest healers where the magical healing trope + black girl magic collide. He spends the whole book, a duration of only six months, regaining the ability to walk, with a cane most days. Chaol spends a large part of the book feeling sorry for himself and immasculting himself. Yerene, a professional trained healer who helps him with PT snaps at him in frustration to "just get up" when he's being difficult with her Note: some of these detailed may be incorrectly remembered + I never finished the book bec I can't stand him

Lucien: he gets his eye ripped out and is literally blinded but now he has a magical eye that is even better and can sense magic and spells and all that good shit

Rhys: chronic pain; never addressed

Azriel: scarred hands and wings, but so far we've seen no real struggle or accommodation of any kind or even a real discussion on how he had to learn how to fly at an older age due to his captivity and scarred wings

Cassian: his wings were beyond shredded but between books they got fixed up right as rain. it would have been fantastic rep for this decorated veteran and leader to be disabled, esp for a culture of warriors where flying is so crucial + where thr women are also forceably mutilated and can't fly either

speaking of the illyrian women

the Illyrian Women: not being able to fly and use their limbs is a disability. We have seen zero repercussions of Emeries father (and brother(?)) for disabling and mutilating his daughter

the mental health crisis of NESTA for ONE. in both the Fandom and in the series the grating toxic positivity and lack of patience and understanding and support and willingness to meet her halfway enraged me holy shit. The tone policing, the lack of autonomy, the unaddressed childhood trauma that has made Nesta the core of who she was. it was vile and disgusting

Aelin: quite frankly should have difficulty moving as fluidly as she does. she was whipped to ribbons and beaten bloody. Her back should be full of chronic pain and difficulty

Elide: as far as I'm aware Elide isn't too bad and she's incredibly intelligent and resourceful but it's been a hot minute since I've read the series. I do remember when they talked about it at the end about possibilities to heal her ankle (they couldn't)

I haven't read CC yet but I heard that LIMBS CAN GROW BACK???? sure let's just completely erase and magically fix imputations I guess?

I find it a lit harder to forgive "accidental eugenics" when her disabled characters disabilities are either made into Aesthetics, not properly addressed, or just healed all together

and when you pair magical eugenics + aesthetics:

You get Rhysand, the most powerful high lord of ever that you just have to keep being told is the most powerful high lord ever due to his parents being mates that his father whisked away from moments before she became mutilated like all the other Illyrian Women at 18 years old to a 900 year old man

you get his entire IC who is made of The Night Courts super special powerful clique who now happen to be the most powerful illyrian EVERRRR (Cassian + Azriel), Amren who was some trapped angel of death or something and Mor who is just so super powerful a mountain quaked or something when she was born

the entire IC is a concentrated powerhouse who also uses a specific mindset of "might is right"-

-and have forced others hands across the entire series or just outright lied and stole. also trespassing and routinely breaking laws but hey

Rowan, Aelin, Aedion, Dorian, Manon are all ToG Powerhouses. Rowan is described as the "most powerful full blooded fae male alive". there's an implication that human blood "weakens" fae traits and magical abilities [this is rather common in a lot of fantasy books]

every single character in this series is seen as some sort of extraordinary person with some sort of extraordinary power or ability aside from maybe a few. Hell Chaol, the only fully human character with no powers is the "Captian of the Guard" which he got bec he's a nepo baby from being Dorians friend. He gets disabled and they immediately go to get him fixed

tagging: @feynessupremacy @bookishfeylin @andramoreaux

I thought yall would appreciate

#prev. wolfgeneralashryver #sjm critical #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #throne of glass #tog #ableism #eugenics in acotar #eugenics in tog #eugenics #my posts get good traction yall cowards better interact with these posts. i see yall scrolling whenever i talk about this

[irradiatedsnakes]

i need to know more about pennybun i have fallen deeply in love

PENNY MY BEST FRIEND PENNY!!!!

(by @/skypiea)

penny is my first tav and i love her. she's a white dragonborn circle of the spores druid. i finished her first playthrough a couple weeks back, and i've started on a second playthrough with her! slightly edited, and now that i understand more about the game and the story i'm refining her character and story. i missed a lot of stuff on that first playthrough!

pennybun's name comes from the mushroom, by the way. i'd decided on that before i knew that there was a mushroom-themed druid circle in this game, i was GOING to choose moon, but, like. it's perfect. penny buns aka porcini aka king bolete aka Boletus edulis are an edible mushroom that symbioses with the roots of pine trees. they're part of my research and they're quite adorable

she's from a circle of druids located in the shelterwood- a dense forest near baldur's gate. she grew up in the city proper- or at least, on the edges of it- before moving out to the woods to pursue life as a druid.

she's solidly good-aligned- as my first playthrough, her story is kind of the best-case-scenario for everything, savescumming the hell out of some fights (good god the last light fight with marcus). everybody gets their good ending, everybody gets saved, that kind of deal.

she had a generally good relationship with everyone in the party, but gale, wyll, and karlach are her best mates for sure. i missed out on romancing karlach the first go around, but we're doing it on penny's second save file. it's happening.

she's also quite close with shadowheart, especially after the events of act ii. her relationship with lae'zel is more tense.. but i'm still working on figuring out that exact trajectory- missing a lot of lae'zel's storyline was one of the biggest mistakes i made in the first go-around. she and astarion never get close, but there's not any malice there, either.

she's good friends with jaheira, the two get along like a house on fire, and she looks up to jaheira a lot. she didn't have a lot of time to get to know minsc and boo, but they were plenty friendly in the short time they crossed paths. halsin, i need to work on, i also kind of fucked up his stuff first go-around by neglecting to fix the shadowlands. to be updated when i reach act ii in Penny The Sequel.

overall, penny's a big ol goody-two-shoes. she wants to help as many people as she possibly can, and feels a massive weight on her shoulders because of it, having been thrust into this leadership role by apparent pure chance.

while i'm still working it out, the central theme of pennybun's story is trust, and who she puts it in. an early decision i made before knowing anything about the story was that penny trusts the Mysterious Dream Guardian completely and totally, which made for some EXTREMELY fun character moments later on- utilizing the tadpoles (her and gale both), becoming partial illithid, and eventually in act 3 losing her trust in and culminating with her turning on the emperor, plus her own ceremorphosis to wield the netherstones against the netherbrain.

gear-wise, she uses the default druid armor for most of the game, switching to the armor of the sporekeeper in act 3. she assembles the mourning frost in the underdark in act 1 and it remains her favored weapon for the rest of the game. she also wears the key of the ancients, and just before the start of the finale gains the nymph cloak.

other assorted Penny Facts:

she keeps a detailed log of every camp dinner the group has. good food is very important

she has a soft spot for parasites. part of why she was receptive to the idea of utilizing the tadpoles, and also part of why she lets astarion take a bite from time to time.

she got her eye poked out by volo

she has a -1 int modifier

she's a lot keener on necromancy than you might expect a druid to be. she views necromancy and the undead (for the most part) as a natural part of the cycle of life- after all, everything will eventually return to the dirt to be eaten by the fungi and the other decomposers, no matter how prolonged it is.

it is imperative that all her friends (karlach excluded for reason of cool hair) wear fun hats. ive posted about The Hat Tax before but everyone in the party gets a funny hat. it's so important.

she's my best friend and i love her

#egg-on-a-legg #bg3 #art #pennybun #tav #bg3 tav

[yellowkitkieran]

To Have and to Heal (Part 14)

Masterlist

Read part 1 here

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Single working dad Martin Odegaard is navigating the ups and downs of parenthood all on his own, and he’s struggling. That’s not to mention football, life and... love?

Martin should be focused on today's match. In less than two hours, he'll be out on the pitch to captain his side. He needs clarity. He needs precision. He needs to stop thinking about you. 

But everywhere he looks, he's reminded of you. He can't bring himself to delete the dozens of photos on his phone or the messages you've sent him. The note you stuck in his duffle one day still hangs in his cubby, shoved between the shelf and the back wall. Martin aches worse now than being plowed over by a defender. How is he expected to lead when he is a husk of who he's meant to be? 

Martin runs a hand through his hair. At no point did he expect to become this attached, to have his mood so dependent on another person. He doesn’t like it, not at all. 

"Mate, you giving this talk or am I?" Kieran's Scottish accent grates on Martin's ears for no good reason. Kieran has been doing that quite a bit lately; he talks quietly about the woman he’s started seeing, and is careful to avoid doing so in Martin’s presence, but it still stings. At least someone on his squad is happy. 

Though grateful for the offer, Martin shakes his head. Team talks ahead of games are his responsibility, and he'll be damned if he misses it because you dumped him. Heartbreak aside, he needs to be the captain his team needs him to be.

So, Martin clamors to his feet. He forces his shaking legs to work, to remain steady, whilst his mind works through the fog surrounding it. Each step he takes towards the center of the sparsely decorated away dressing room feels like he is wading through waist-high molasses. But Martin has always been a fighter, and today is no different. 

“Facing anyone away from home is tough," Martin starts a minute later. He sounds more confident than he feels, which he is grateful for. "Nothing we haven't won before, though. Their fans are harsh but we are strong. We've faced worse and come away with three points. I'm not saying this will be a cakewalk." Martin observes the faces of his teammates, noting which seem hesitant and which are hungry. There's fewer of the former thankfully, which bodes well for their chances. 

"This will be both a physical and mental game. We haven't been challenged like this in over a month. Our last fixtures have been easy wins. No frills, nothing fancy- go back to your roots, the basics. Let's show our gunners what they traveled all this way for!"

Though far more brief than his usual, Martin's words have the desired effect regardless. The lads all clap and cheer, raring to go. Slipping into his matchday headspace is easier now that his teammates are here to lift him up. 

Not that it matters- ten minutes into the match Martin knows they’re done for. Sevilla batters Martin's side, raking them across the coals. A 3-0 loss away in the Champion's League isn't exactly a morale booster. The changing room is quiet after the final whistle blows. Arteta doesn't bother to give any sort of speech. The gaffer lets the silence speak for his disappointment, which somehow hurts more than if he had screamed at them for hours. Martin himself is too caught up in his head; his loose passing led to the goal that sealed their fate tonight, and that's not something he'll forgive himself for any time soon. 

On the ride from the stadium to the airport, Martin turns his phone over in his hand. In a perfect world, you would be at his house comforting Atla right now. The two of you would be cuddled up on his sofa, Atla probably insisting on being wrapped up in the duvet off Martin’s bed- that’s always her favorite on match day. 

The worst thing about an away loss is knowing that Atla’s nanny, bless her heart, won’t be able to keep Atla from crying. She hates seeing Arsenal lose, especially when it’s in the Champion’s League. Her poor nanny is probably frantically attempting to soothe her, though Martin is certain Atla won't calm down until he is home early tomorrow. 

If Martin is sure of anything, it’s that he needs to get his mind off of his lackluster performance. Because if he fixates on it, he’ll be lost in his head for who knows how long. Martin, as the face of his team, needs to be focused on the bigger picture. Arsenal still tops their group, regardless of tonight’s result; though even that knowledge cannot lift his heart enough. 

Messaging you might possibly be the worst idea he's ever had. He convinces himself to tuck his phone away until he's on the plane. There, crammed between the window and a snoozing Aaron, he can no longer resist temptation. Martin connects to the onboard wifi and pulls up your contact. 

He shouldn't. 

It's a bad idea, right? 

Fuck it. 

I miss you. If I asked if you're free tomorrow night what would you say?

Delivered at 21:53. Martin stares at the screen until his eyes grow heavy. The 'no new messages' in the app hangs over his head. When Martin falls asleep against his will, he dreams of titans tumbling from their mountainous perches, crushed under the weight of unmet expectations. 

*********

Leaving Martin's message unread is an exercise in restraint. Your fingers itch to click on it for multiple reasons, not the least of which is genuine curiosity. You know it starts with 'I miss you' and includes some sort of question, though you have no idea what he'd be asking. Maybe he wants the kit he gave you back, but he's too afraid to ask outright. 

Whatever it is, it doesn't matter. It's Monday, which means your students are your focus, not your personal life. Throwing yourself into work has never been a problem; you find small tasks to keep you busy when your students are working quietly in groups. Things like testing whiteboard markers, sharpening pencils, organizing bookshelves. Anything that keeps you busy and on your feet is acceptable at this point. Motion means distraction, and distraction means you don't think about your phone sitting in your bag. 

Your prep period comes and goes without incident, as you plan your entire week of lessons in the hour-long session. Your best friend is absent today, meaning she thankfully doesn't barge in to bother you about your day with Martin. Thank the stars, because you aren't sure you could have that conversation without a breakdown. At least you only have a few more hours until the final bell rings, and then you only need to get through after school care before you can flop on your sofa with a container of ice cream. 

Your stomach ties itself in knots as you set up the gymnasium like you normally do. Coloring pages are laid out on the plastic picnic table, footballs are scattered around a child-sized goal, and snacks are set out for kids to grab as they come in. You keep yourself as busy as possible whilst they arrive. You recognize Atla’s laugh rising above her friend’s voices and force yourself to remain seated. After successfully avoiding speaking to Atla for nearly an hour, a glance at the clock confirms your fear: her guardian is late for pick up.

"Hey, Atla," you murmur, crouching down to her level and keeping your voice light. You're fully aware of how she bristles when you speak, her little shoulders going rigid. "Is your papa picking you up today?"

"I don't know." Atla turns her head slightly away, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. It isn’t her responsibility to know who is meant to pick her up, but if you can avoid calling Martin to clarify…

You sigh through your nose while offering the child a smile, "do you remember him saying anything about pick up today? If someone different was coming by, maybe your uncle Kieran?"

Atla shrugs, continuing to color her cotton candy bunny. She sighs, purposely not offering you a pencil like she normally does. You know why, of course. You can’t exactly blame her for being frosty. 

Rationalizing with children is no simple feat. It isn't your place to sit down and explain to Atla what dating is, and why it isn't a sin for Martin to be dating her teacher. She's a toddler, and in her mind her mum will be coming back. Her mum would be devastated to find Martin with someone else, and that's all that matters to Atla. 

Instead of talking, you communicate in Atla's language. You pick up a purple pencil on your own and leaf through the printouts until you find one of a frog, then set about coloring it in. Atla pauses, clearly curious about your design, and watches you with bright blue eyes. You let her, wanting to repair the relationship you have with her above all else. It doesn't matter that your heart aches when you look at her and see Martin's features in her delicate face; she is a student and you love her the same as the rest.

You draw bright polka dots across the frog, determined to communicate in an easy, stress free way. Atla is an artist and as such, regardless of her age, her mind is soothed by creativity. You allow yourself to relax as Atla shows no signs of rejecting your companionship. You are all too aware of her eyes on you, following each streak of color you lay onto the page. It is an effort to remain quiet, letting the soft music playing from your desk across the room fill the silence. 

Finally, Atla squeaks out a question- "why were you kissing my papa?"

You mull the question over for a minute. You could lie, try and convince her that she had made it up. That would not be fair to anyone, especially Atla. No, the truth is best, especially because she will find out sooner or later. "Because I care about your papa very much. He means a lot to me, and that’s how I wanted to show him."

"You do?" Atla pauses to look up at you. “But I care about my friends a lot. I don’t kiss them! Papa said that’s only for people you love.” You afford her your undivided attention, setting your pencil down and sliding the page aside. Conscious of your body language, you refrain from crossing your arms to avoid closing yourself off. You have to be careful with what you say; the last thing you want is to admit your feelings to Martin’s tiny daughter. 

"Yes, I do. I care about your papa. You know how sometimes in films, when the princess is really sad, the prince comes along and cheers her right up? That's what your papa is for me." 

Atla's brow furrows like she's trying to picture it. She then sorts through the stack of coloring pages and pulls out one of Ariel and Eric, tapping the half-scribbled sheet, "like princess Ariel and her prince?"

You nod, thankful for her understanding. "Exactly. And I care about your papa so much that I'd let a sea witch take my voice," you lean over and pretend to grab at Atla, imitating stealing her voice from her throat like in the film. You continue when a delighted giggle fills the room, "and use it for her own plans. I'd be quiet my whole life if it meant I could be around your papa."

"I like when you talk. I don't want a sea witch to steal your voice." 

"Well then I'll just have to protect it won't I? Can't have you getting upset!" You playfully tap Atla's nose, earning you another giggle. Her wide smile has her dimples on full display, a sight which you admit you’ve missed almost as much as her pa’s.

Martin clears his throat from across the gym. That funny feeling in your stomach reappears with a vengeance. 

“Pa? Pa!” Atla's head turns and she immediately clamors over to him, her knee knocking the table in her haste to get up. Pencils roll to the ground and you bend to pick them up, forcing yourself to keep your eyes on your task and not on Martin. So studious are you that you refuse to look up even when a pair of black trainers edge into your view, followed closely by a pair of tiny white ones. 

“Hello,” Martin murmurs. Your entire body tenses at the sound of his voice. You haven't realized how viscerally you've missed it until you hear it. 

“Hello Mr. Ødegaard.” 

Martin doesn't speak just then. He doesn't need to; the title you've used says more than a thousand words ever could. 

Square one. 

“I apologize for being late. Training ran long,” Martin says with perfect formality. Gone is the hint of flirting you had come to expect. There are no traces of fondness. Instead his words are punctuated by an undercurrent of mourning. 

“It’s not a problem. Don't fret about it. Atla’s bag is on the coat hook- these are hers from today.” When you stand to hand over the drawings, you train your eyes on the crest on Martin's chest. You refuse to glance any higher. If you do, you know you won't be able to control yourself. One glance at his eyes and you'll crumble, and you cannot allow yourself to be so selfish. 

“Atla, grab your things please.” 

“Yes, pa.” Atla's little footsteps ring through the gymnasium, piercing in the silence. You and Martin both remain frozen, as your feet are glued to the polished wood beneath your feet. Your heart is an ocean in your ears. It pounds on your ribcage, begging and pleading to be set loose. Your fingers twitch at your side, joints aching to reach for him. You crave the familiarity of his lips, the burn that washed over you with each tiny kiss you shared. 

“You got my message the other day, right?”

“Oh- yes I saw something from you. I didn't read it though. Just got so busy, I must have forgotten.” Your stomach flips when Martin's posture slumps ever so slightly. You nearly reach out to comfort him but stop yourself at the last moment. 

“Right, of course.” Martin shifts on his feet, glancing at Atla quietly stacking cones. “I was trying to ask if you had some free time this week. Thought maybe we could do something.” 

You think back on the conversation you just had with Atla. Though she is incredibly mature for her age, you still don't feel right about having anything other than a professional relationship with Martin. “Mar I'm sorry, I can't-”

“Of course, I understand. Just thought I'd try one more time.” Martin smiles softly. The gesture does not reach his eyes. Martin looks so unlike himself, so timid and small, that you scarcely recognize him. “Atla, are you ready søta? It's time we get home, uncle Kieran is coming by to steal your chicken nuggets. We have to get there first or there won't be any left for you!”

“I told uncle Key those were mine!” Atla screeches, stomping over to Martin and grabbing his hand. “Come on pa! We have to go!” 

Neither father nor daughter glance at you as they make their way out. You remain rooted to the spot long after Atla's laughter fades. Cleaning up and locking the door upon your exit are the result of simply going through the motions. Muscle memory takes you home, barely remembering snips of the drive. 

The emptiness in your heart remains long after you have sunk yourself in a warm bath, wine glass in hand. Not red, never a red anymore, because you cannot stand the color. Even a deep merlot reminds you of him, of sharing that bottle in front of his fireplace the first night he’d invited you inside to chat. Neither of you had wanted to leave, though you reminded him that you had to be up early in the morning. 

The pinkish washcloth you run over your arms was once a vibrant cherry red. Even that stings more than you care to admit. More wine, another glass, anything to stave off the tears threatening to fall. Why did you have to say yes to that first date? Why did you cross that line, blurring the boundary between professional and personal?

It takes one more glass of wine before you find yourself reaching for your phone, splattering soapy suds across the tile.

Could we talk? 

#martin Ødegaard #martin odegaard #martin odegaard fanfiction #martin odegaard imagine #martin odegaard fanfic #martin odegaard oneshot #arsenal fc #jac writes #thath #alt timeline lover

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

I was reading a story recently where Stiles and the Sheriff were talking about the things that keep happening around them and the Sheriff said something like Stiles talks and acts like veteran soldiers do and after thinking about it that analogy does fit his character so well. It also made me really want to read more stories to do with that idea so I was wondering if you knew any?

Here's some where he has PTSD.

A Little Bit of Encourage-Mint by Mischief_x_Managed

(1/1 I 3,273 I Not Rated I No Pairing)

Stiles goes to a therapist who doesn't try to kill him. Surprisingly it works out well.

Dating and Mating Stiles Stilinski by 1Ginger1Keyboard

(4/? I 4,838 I Teen I Sterek)

Derek isn't used to feeling anything as deeply rooted as the feeling revolving around the hyper teen that goes by the name Stiles Stilinski. It takes Derek a while to wrestle these emotions into a form that allows him to decided he wants to pursue them. Yet, he's normally the one being chased, Derek has never had a problem getting peoples attention, he has a good body and charming looks, so he has to work out how to win the heart of the hyper teen. And to put it gently, Stiles has his very own courting ritual that is unlike any wolf or human ritual. It's just, neither of them knows that. To make it worse, the wolf under Derek's skin is growing impatient.

///What am I?/// by Nel_Lino

(1/? I 6,068 I Explicit I Scallison)

Stiles: Why haven't burnt alive? How could Derek die? Why do I care if he died? *** Scott: I need you to own me, now. Isaac: turn around, little whore. *** Danny: And if you want to try some more of that stuff we did, count on me. *** Young Derek: come here you little superhero! Mietek: I am not a superhero, I am special human!

Dreams Will Be Unified by SilentMagic

(4/? I 16,585 I Mature I Sterek)

When Stiles woke up for his eighteenth birthday, he was expecting a day of celebration and maybe a pack party. He was not expecting to wake up beneath the Nemeton, nor sprouting four furry paws in an alternate reality to learn what it means to be a Guardian. He really should clarify to the universe that he would like a break for at least a whole year before the next supernatural event comes his way.

It Was a Wednesday by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(2/2 I 80,129 I Mature I Sterek)

“What happened? Where are you? What’s that sound?”

Derek jumped, having momentarily forgotten Scott was on the phone with him because Stiles had started moving. He’d stalked over to the other side of the cave, still eying Derek warily and growling, then settled protectively over a mass of clothes, leaves and animal innards. It was probably where he was sleeping.

Lovely. No wonder he smelled like death.

“Stiles,” Derek said, answering Scott’s question. Or, one of them, at least.

“Stiles? What do you—Stiles is making that noise?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“How fast do you think you can make it to the south lot of the Preserve?”

Daybreak by TheObsidianQuill

(10/10 I 70,382 I Mature I Sterek)

"There . . ." Stiles swallowed and looked down at the bottle in his grasp as he slowly swirled the amber liquid inside. "There's really nothing left. For me. Everyone is . . . gone, and it feels like I haven't thought of tomorrow in years." His words rang in the air like a gunshot, he took another heavy drink. "I would trade every last breath I take to just have another shot—not even a guarantee, just a chance to make things right and bring back even one of them." -----

The pack was gone. He had nothing left. He had no one. With nothing to lose, Stiles puts everything on the line to go back in time to try to prevent the future from becoming his past. Broken, guarded, and haunted by his past, only one overgrown-pup of a wolf seems able to get past his defenses. Changing the future? Easy. Finding a place for himself in the Hale Pack? Impossible.

I'm not real. Am I? by lady emebalia (emebalia)

(64/64 I 127,977 I Explicit I Sterek)

Derek is not real. He's just a pretty form Stiles came up with. At least that's what Stiles keeps telling himself.

You're stronger than you know by Littleredridinghunter

(15/15 I 234,195 I Not Rated I Sterek)

Set at the end of season 2, Stiles survives his encounter with Gerard and his goons, but it isn't easy.

The pack are letting him down again, his dad is not speaking to him, his life is just generally falling apart.

Until he has to get a bronze dagger to kill a siren and his whole world gets flipped on it's head!

Alpha, Mage, Pack by Foxfire2018

(48/? I 480,285 I Explicit I Sterek)

Set at the end of Season 2. Stiles was kidnapped and tortured for hours. Yet no one came for him. Hurt and cast out of the pack by people he thought cared for him, what is he to do? He finds himself accompanied by someone he never expected and someone he is eternally grateful for. Derek feels betrayed and foolish for what he allowed to happen. Out of anger and hurt he forced a valuable member he really started to care for out of his pack. With the pack scattered and people hurt, what will come of them? Will they bond together again in time for the next big bad?

AND

@neverdust suggested this one!

Play It Again by metisket

(3/3 I 53,206 I Teen I Sterek)

In which Stiles goes along with one of Derek’s plans and ends up in an alternate universe as a result. He should’ve known better. He did know better, actually, and that means he has no one to blame but himself.

“Laura wants to lure the kid in with food and kindness and make a pet of him, like a feral cat. Derek wants to have him arrested for stalking. They’re at an impasse. (And the rest of the family is staying emphatically out of it in a way that suggests bets have been placed.)”

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #ptsd #hurt/comfort #anon

[daliasmay]

"The past can hurt. But the way I see it you can either run from it or learn from it"

I desided to cintinue my old post with Lucien - Simba parallel🧡

My english is awful, I'm sorry, but I hope I can convey my thoughts🤓

Simba changed his diet, started eating bugs and chilling with Timon and Pumbaa according to their philosophy of life without rules and worries, forgetting his roots and his past for a while, but that didn't stop him from being a lion and a king.

The same with Lucien and his rejection of his potential future, power and responsibilities for a life which was full of hedonism (the focus on the ability to appreciate the enjoyment).

Remember Simba - he ate bugs, but beyond that he enjoyed the view, the beauty of the night sky and the adventures with his new friends. This manifested their freedom from the things which Pumbaa called vanity. I think that Lucien's life in the Spring (and in the Autumn too let's be honest, he did nothing there lol) was something so close to it. In the past. Before Amaranthe and everything that she did with the Prythian and personally with him.

Epicurus stated that the main criterion of pleasure is a successful life. The purpose of life is to avoid suffering and unhappiness because this is the only way to achieve the highest pleasure. Pleasure is good and pain is evil, so we should strive for pleasure and avoid pain. I keep thinking about Lucien's love of parties. Was it because he wanted to escape the pain, or because Lucien really loved being at the centre of society? Or both, and one doesn't exclude the other?

Lucien was always running away from his past and his life until ACOMAF, where his character changed and from that book on he lost his charm and the important parts of his personality. But at the same time I think that ACOMAF was the beginning of his personal journey of character development. Step by step from one episode to another, until he disappeared from the plot and became a character of the 100th plan lol. Sarah, please, just give us his book! His story potential is more important than some members of the inner circle.

We saw Lucien finally show his power and cool Cassian down with just one word. Cassian is the most emotional person in the IC and Lucien just said "Easy" to him, without any violence, calming him and his wild instincts. And it seems like Cassian didn't even understand and notice lol. I just hope we get to see more of this in the future.

All events that he went through all his life were his lessons, making him stronger and wiser. His life with his family, Jesminda and her tragic death, the murder of his brothers, the death of Andras and many other friends, Amarathe and the UTM, his life afterwards, the loss of Feyre as his "friend", the loss of Tamlin, SA and Ianthe's harassment, the lonely journey to the continent in search of solutions and help in the war, The loss of his second home and the place he loves, the loss of his reputation because of someone else's lie, his mating with Elain and her active ignoring his existence, his life as a hermit in the Mortal Lands with his new friends, the disrespectful behaviour of everyone in the Night Court, the potential conflict with Beron and Koschei.

He has to put his past behind him and stop living with the weight of his mistakes and his past, because even if someone prefer to believe that everything were only because of Lucien's faults or inaction, that's not entirely true. And I hope that Lucien, as a character, will understand it.

The past is in the past, but we can choose how we use it for the future.

Rafiki said to Simba: "The past can hurt. But the way I see it you can either run from it or learn from it"

For his personal growth and growing up as a character, he must take the path of self-awareness. To stop running away from pain, mistakes and trials, to stop thinking that there is something wrong with him.

Lucien must to accept his past, his mistakes and himself. He must also accept his power and the responsibility that comes with it. The responsibility for the future High Lord place from which he has always run away.

He must take the path of self-knowledge. Don't run away from pain, mistakes and trials, don't think there's something wrong with him, don't shut yourself off from the world and so on.

These are all challenges that I hope will make him stronger and wiser in the future. When he comes out of the crisis, realises his place and understands what he wants and how much he has to do, a new stage of growth, awareness and a sober look at things in his life without imaginary carelessness will begin.

Morrigan said that neither Lucien nor Elain are ready for a relationships and for the bond. And I think if they will be an endgame, they could be teachers for each other.

Both of them lived their lives full of joy and happiness. Lucien was in the Spring with his friends like Andras and Tamlin and Elain was with her human friends, society, father and Graysen.

Both Lucien and Elain must stop running. They need to stop and look around them. Face their fears and overcome them. To realise their place in the world and their role. To realise their worth and that they were born for more than gardens, a successful marriage and the status of prince or unloved son.

Realise and accept. Accept as adults. Accept all consequences, accept all burdens. Accept and work with it. Without it, there is no place for anyone to grow.

There is a lot for both of them to learn from each other.

This is what it means to allow growth and healing to take place.

#lucien vanserra #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #pro lucien vanserra #elucien #dasha: acotar thoughts

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

Nocorro declaration please. How this guys confessed their love to eachother?

I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS LATELY ACTUALLY.

How did Neteyam and Spider (in the accidentally mated au) get to where they were? How did they get to that tragic place? Let us discuss (sorry if this wasn't exactly what you were looking for).

-I think the boys sort of grew together. They grew up spending all their time with Kiri and Lo'ak (and later Tuk) in the forest, at Hometree, doing anything and everything together. They weren't closer to each other than any of the others, when they were little they were all just kids.

-It was only after Neteyam's iknimaya that their relationship evolved outside of the group. Neteyam's parents started keeping him with them more, having him shadow his father's duties and take part in more ceremonies. He sees Spider less and less, until it is just fleeting interactions as Spider leaves with Neteyam's siblings.

-One day Neteyam is feeling particularly overwhelmed. His dad was explaining to him certain rituals he completes at Olo'eyktan and what the proper words are. How it might be easier for him to start learning them now, so he isn't behind like Jake was. It's meant as a joke, but Neteyam starts thinking about all the things he has to master. How is he not behind already?

-Just as he's really starting to spiral Spider walks by, and says hi all cheerful because he hasn't seen Neteyam in almost a month. Spider takes one look at Neteyam and asks him if he wants to go on a walk to the stream they used to play in as kids.

-He finds himself telling Spider about all of his worries, things he has never shared with anyone, which all lead to the same root issue: what if I'm not good enough? Spider listens and instead of telling Neteyam he is the perfect child and he can't do wrong like he normally hears, Spider just says he feels like that all the time and doesn't it suck?

-It becomes a pattern. Walks when Neteyam has a free moment. Whatever secret the other has been hiding from everyone else shared over an ikran ride. Late night visits to Hells Gate to cram himself into Spider's tiny room and listen to Spider talk about whatever hurtful thing his foster parents said that day. They both have built up walls and masks to hide insecurities and fears, and the more they share the more they can see through each other. Spider knows when Neteyam says he's going flying and doesn't invite anyone it means he's actually going to go lie in a tree somewhere because he got overwhelmed. Neteyam knows that when Spider laughs at something someone says without throwing his head back it means he didn't actually find it funny and just doesn't want to upset anyone.

-They become each others safe place, the one indulgence. If Neteyam is always perfect then when he is with Spider he is not. If Spider is always a mess, then when he is with Neteyam he is not.

-They don't talk about it or acknowledge it, because that would hurt more than pretending it isn't real. But they have a vague conversation about it once, sitting on the roof of Hells Gate at night. The topic has changed to mates, because one of the boys in the village has a crush on Kiri. Neteyam tells Spider that when he finds a mate he wants that person to be almost exactly like Spider. Spider says that he won't ever find a mate, but if he did he'd want that person to be like Neteyam. It is as close as they get.

-Neteyam's decision to do his uniltaron early feels like the end as much as the beginning. Every Na'vi is born twice but it doesn't normally also feel like death to be reborn, but isn't that exactly what it is? And if he is dying and being reborn, then he is leaving his old self behind. He should leave all of him behind. They have always been each other's one indulgence, and after Neteyam is reborn then they have to stop. They both have other purposes to fulfill. So, the decision is made. The night before his uniltaron Neteyam will stay with Spider, and they both don't really say it, but they know it will be the last visit.

#rip #they be bringing out the emotions in me #neteyam sully #miles spider socorro #spider socorro #nocorro #avatar #avatar the way of water #james cameron avatar #melissa on avatar (cameron) #melissa's asks

[gabithefanwriter]

War

Neytiri x Female Reader

Angst. Mentions of character death.

I’m posting this and then I’ll post the request I got. I might also Start posting about Neteyam soon, or maybe for some other fandoms as well, but for now I’m planning more Neytiri and Neteyam, so yeah. Expect them.

I knew it's wasn't gonna be easy, but I had to fight. I had to fight for my mate. I had to fight for her home, for my new home.

I was on my ikran, riding beside Neytiri and trying to keep her safe, but the humans came in with their robotic armours. I shot an arrow just as a gun shot was heard and hit Seze, my arrow flying into the glass and launching deep within the human, and my heart lurched in my chest. Neytiri fell into trees with her ikran. I dove down with my ikran with her, trying to reach her.

I shot more arrows as I flew down with my ikran, finally landing on my feet as I saw her trying to push Seze off of her. I dropped my bow and arrows and pulled her now dead ikran off of her. I watched as she caressed the corpse, both of us watching in despair as I began shooting the machines making their way over, including a ship from above us. I climbed onto my ikran and shot directly in the glass, killing the pilot before I felt a bullet graze my shoulder, which made me lose balance and fall off my ikran.

He barely caught me, but let me land on the floor safely. Just then I watched the his wing get clipped, landing beside Neytiri, Seze and I. I looked at my Neytiri, holding her close as I looked up again, another hovering jet above us, shooting at the Na'vi riding Direhorses and being blown away by the explosions, direhorses neighing and Na'vi falling underneath them, crying out in fear and pain.

Another explosion shook the ground, and Neytiri let out a cry, and I held her tightly. I looked into her lime green eyes, caressing her face and planting a soft but passionate kiss before pulling back the bowstring and knocking an arrow, shooting the rest. "I see you."

Neytiri looked at me with wide, fearful eyes. "No, Y/n please, no. I can't lose you!"

"It's okay, Neytiri, I'll be back."

I went ahead and jumped over a fallen tree, shooting more arrows and watching the robots and humans fall. I felt a bullet enter my shoulder, making me cry out. More explosions were heard, and I grabbed onto a root of a tree, holding it tightly before shooting another three arrows.

Good thing I participated in archery competitions back on Earth.

They didn't all fall, but I knew that I had to distract them, get their attention off Neytiri.

"Y/n stand down! Do not Engage!"

Jake's voice rang through my ears, but I only replied back. "I'm sorry Jake, but I have to protect Neytiri."

I heard Neytiri's desperate cry, begging me to stop and go back to her, but I couldn't. She was in danger, and I would protect her.

I watched another jet fly over head, shooting closer to Neytiri. I ran and pushed her aside, shooting an arrow to the wing of the jets, successfully bringing it down, but the bullets were still firing, and I felt them tear into my skin, and I fell.

I cried out in pain, fighting to stay awake, but I was unable to. I felt myself being dragged away, behind a tree, where Neytiri sobbed and held me in her arms. I fought to keep my eyes opened, and I only saw Neytiri's crying face, her tears falling on my cheeks. "Y/n!" She screamed, trying to keep me awake. "Wake up, Y/n! My Y/n!"

But my eyes grew extremely heavy, so with what remaining strength I had, I got up and kissed her, cradling her cheek before all my strength vanished, and I was left all powerless in her grasp, until I finally had Eywa reaching out her hand, with me accepting it, and taking me from the world of my beloved. And given that I nearly died in my human form, and Eywa was able to let me stay as a Na'vi, there was no chance for me now.

Soon enough, I couldn't even feel my mate's touch.

3rd P.O.V

Neytiri cried as Y/n fell limp in her arms, her cries enough to send chills down one's spine; painful, the screams of mourning. She lost her father, her home, and now, her mate.

"Jake," she sobbed, "Y/n—she's dead."

Jake, flying on his ikran, widened his eyes, goosebumps all over his avatar. Y/n, his close friend, was gone.

He felt his eyes sting with tears, even as he tried to focus on the current battle. There was now another reason atop of millions of others on why they would win.

He and Neytiri would avenge Y/n. They were going to chase off every human off of Pandora if it was the last thing they did.

The screams and cries of fear surrounded Neytiri as she saw a direhorse on fire. She notched an arrow and aimed it at one of the humans, but Jake yelled at her through the comms. "Neytiri, do not attack. Get Y/n's body and get out of there now! Do not attack!"

Neytiri didn't listen, only focusing on the man who was responsible for her mate's death.

But Eywa had heard them, and aided them into battle.

Time skip

The battle with Quaritch that happened later was filled with fury, as when Neytiri found Jake unconscious, she shot an arrow at the tiny human in the giant robotic suit.

The arrow pierced out of his chest, and Neytiri grunted as she shot another one, protectively going to protect Jake's avatar, hissing at Quaritch.

Time skip. Again.

The battle was over. They won, but not one single life was forgotten. They found the bodies of their beloved ones, and made their own form of funerals for them.

Neytiri gently laid Y/n's limp body onto the grass, leaving a final kiss on her mate's cold lips.

Jake watched as he began crying over his friend, Neytiri going to hug him in search of comfort.

They lost a friend, a lover, a warrior, one of the people.

But they would always remember the impact that Y/n left in their lives.

#neytiri x fem!reader #neytiriavatar #neytiri x female reader #neytiri #neytiri x reader #avatar 2009 #na’vi x reader #fanfic #angst

[downundergarfield]

Racing with instincts

Sniper × reader fic

NSFW!!

<<This idea has been sitting in my head for a very long time, and finally, after discussing it with friends on discord, I decided to write this>>

A sunny evening, a Sniper took you to his weekend in Australia. It's very nice to visit his native country, you walked a lot, discussed various interesting things, he showed you so many places!. One day he decided to take you to one of the forests that he knew well. Although he still asked you to keep up with him so that you wouldn't get lost.

You set up camp on the edge of the forest, the sun warmed your face and you decided to get some air.

"-Tag!" You don't hit his hand hard and start running away into the woods in a hurry. Damn, really? He said to keep up. Mick ran after you, more worried about your health than from a great desire to play. You tried to deftly jump over logs, roots, not to get caught on bushes and branches. While the Sniper is not very interested in the game, he was a little behind, but still caught you by the shoulders. Actually, he grabbed you pretty roughly.

"-Oops, It looks I'm IT now!" You laugh flirting, while he leads you to your camp

"-I'm not goin' to play catch-up with ya. Not in the woods" his tone is a little angry, but you hear him shake a little when he says "not in the woods"

"-Oh come on, aren't you a professional at chasing people or animals in the woods?" You feel the grip of his hand tighten in yours.

"-Usually everyone I caught in the woods was then twirled over the fire until crisp, mate." He quickly uttered this phrase, finally leading you to the edge of the forest. You'll like this phrase. Technically, he always has a twirl with him, huh?

"-You should try something new then!" You say, running away again as soon as he lets go of your hand.

"Naughty girl" the Sniper growls softly under his breath. Then, he runs after you, this time more confidently, overcoming logs, hummocks, leaves, he keeps his eyes on you. You could have sworn he wasn't taking his eyes off you, he was boring into your back with his observation. You ran for a long time, putting all your strength into it. Once you felt like he almost caught you, but he immediately let you go without a word.

There is a contact. Just what you needed. He **loves** to catch up with you. You ran again, gasping for air, your breath almost turned into hoarse moans when he caught you on another, smaller edge. Mick didn't grab you, no, he painfully leaned on you, rolling in the grass in the sun, roughly grabbed your wrists and pressed you to the ground. You looked up. The Australian was a little reddened, his hat was strewn with leaves, and his glasses were slipping a little from his sweat-soaked nose. He regains his breath, breathing hoarsely over you as a predatory grin spreads across his face.

"-Gotcha, little mouse~" he growls predatory almost in your ear, grabbing your wrists tighter, digging his nails into them

"Is that what ya wanted...to be hunted? Aren't ya?~" He says it close to your face, moving the edges of his lips and showing his fangs. You can feel the heat from his face and breath. And because he throws a shadow on you, you see his eyes even through aviators. They are full of hunger.

God, he exposed you. But in fact, the thought that you wanted him to hunt you only made his boner get harder.

"You've been running too long, it's time to skin you~"

He said it as sadistically as he could. He giggled showing his fangs, and then with a sharp movement tore off your T-shirt along with your bra. He cut his lips sharply into your nipples, biting them, kissing them, pulling them roughly into his mouth. He enjoyed you eating like a wild animal. He sometimes bit your sensitive nipples so sharply that you screamed, it's good that no one hears this in the deep forest. Then, he took out the kukri from its scabbard. Hell. Was his huge fucking knife with him all this time? And you wouldn't even notice if he was too busy hunting you. He pressed the blade against the waistband of your shorts, and then with a sharp motion cut them without hurting your skin. It was, very close, you felt the cold of the metal against your heated skin. He sticks a knife into the ground next to you, as if to say that he is not going to be gentle here.

After, Mick took two of his fingers in his mouth, and then sharply plunged them into your soft flesh. His long, bony fingers quickly found your G spot. The pressure on it was unreal. He just harassed your tender point with his fingers, Again and again he ran his fingers into your tight pussy, smiling and growling predatory. He beat his inside of hand against your clitoris, again and again forcing the current to pierce your entire body.

"-Mick...God... Please, im close..."

Then, he abruptly yanked his fingers out of your tight flesh. Damn.. damn it! Your pussy curled up around nothing and he smiled maniacally

"-did you seriously think that I would let my prey cum? How naive."

He began to quickly unbutton his pants, the ringing of his belt plaque and the sound of zip, mixed with his sighs and the rustle of fabric, circled your head.

"-m'gonna fuck you like a fresh piece of meat, mate."

His husky voice made you shiver. He roughly grabs your thighs, pressing you against his own hot erection. You are already wet enough that he can slide over you freely, he uses this to lubricate himself enough. You feel how his hot flesh slides over your sensitive folds and you can't help moaning.

"-You have no idea how appetizing your body looks, little mouse..."

He enters you, rough and deep, you feel how his entire length is hastily stretching you. His head slams into your womb. You moan, throwing your head back and clutching at the grass beneath you.

"-Nggh...you so bloody tight..." He moans. An animal growl comes from somewhere deep in his chest. His hands are squeezing your wrists, painfully, very tightly and imperiously. He immediately begins to accelerate, slamming you into the grass and without holding back moans.

The Sniper will grab you by the wrists, sit you on his lap, quickly brushing your back off the grass, and will quickly push your small body onto his throbbing cock. You will throw your head back, exposing your neck to his bites, and he certainly will not hesitate. He will sink his sharp fangs into your flesh and you will grab his shoulders, squeezing his vest in your fists. He bites you again and again, you whine, shaking and whimpering. He will definitely leave a lot of bruises on your shoulders. He grabs your waist, scratching with his nails, and picks up speed, crashing into your womb a little harder. He bites you again, but this time so hard that he bites through your skin. You squeal and Sniper hums into your shoulder in pleasure. The taste of your blood drives him completely insane, his instincts completely take over him, he growls into your bites until he cumes without warning, biting you until you bleed again.

He crashes into you again and again, filling you to the brim. When he lets go of your shoulders and breathes heavily, trying to catch your breath. You feel dizzy, but when you come to your senses, you take his cheeks and pull him into a deep kiss.

"-M'sorry, luv...I think I got a little carried away." He looks at the wounds on your shoulders and the scratches on your sides.

"It's okay, Mister Mundy... Actually, that's what I wanted"

He takes you in his arms to your clearing, now you continue your camping

#garfieldwriting #tf2 sniper x reader #sniper x reader #tf2 sniper #tf2 x you #mick mundy