#so they'd just be doing whatever they did before but with more freedom

[drinkingteainthedark]

If Blade and Dan Heng weren't at odds with each other and still in love, they might not be involved in the plot at all. They'd most likely be on an eternal honeymoon (and too busy taking advantage of Blade's immortality for nasty sex stuff probably), which is bad because the plot needs them in order to happen according to Elio

#didnt these bitches fuck on a boat? #so its like canon that they're Like That #as for blade being mad about the immortality; he was protecting dan feng when jingliu killed him so That wasnt what made him so angry #so they'd just be doing whatever they did before but with more freedom #of course this is a joke post so take it with some salt #happy valentines and also james cook is dead day #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr blade #hsr yingxing #hsr dan heng #hsr dan feng #hsr crack #renheng #xingyue #hengren #:> #nsft mention

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Carpe Diem | Michael Gavey x fem!reader

Summary: After himself being ditched by Oliver, they meet once again. Both seemingly skirting around what happened in the Common Room when they last saw one another. | Word Count: 5.1k~ (oops) | Warnings below the cut!

Part One: Quid Pro Quo Part Three: Veni, Vidi, Vici

warnings: virgin michael, oral sex (f receiving), fingering

A/N: I feel...like the word count is overboard but FUCK IT it's my blog 😈

“Greek and Latin both belong to the Indo-European language family, which does not necessarily mean they are similar. The branches are totally different. Whereas Latin belongs to the Romance branch, Greek belongs to the…”

She half-listens to the lecture, caught between Professor Wardon’s monotone ramblings and scribbling whatever bits and pieces she can string together in swirly handwriting, trying to ignore Trevor two rows in front of her, typing loudly on his brand new Macbook that he no doubt got from his well-off parents for Christmas.

Pencil and paper for the peasants, she thinks bitterly.

The laptop she has back in her dorm is clunky, too thick for carrying in her bag, and any notes she makes now will have to be typed up meticulously later. She supposes it’s a good way of getting the information to be irreparably printed into her brain though. That’s the only thing keeping her from going insane.

Which is where she finds herself now, in the wee hours of the morning, her fingers so tired and eyes so strained she feels that all the letters and characters are beginning to merge together.

She's just about to close the damn thing when a notification blares in the bottom right corner of her screen.

‘m_gav_314159265359 is now online’

She presses her lips together to stifle a laugh at the username, it makes her giggle every time. Of course his username is fucking Pi.

After their little ‘happening’ in the Common Room, they'd talked for a bit over MSN, sometimes texting when she had enough credit and even more rarely meeting up at Trinity College campus. Their timetables never seemed to line up very often, so their meetings were quick and over before they could even get settled into really getting to know each other.

It felt strange to have done something so exciting and yet not really know someone.

The memory made her blush. She was never usually that impulsive and brazen. But she didn't regret it.

Everytime Michael saw her, his cheeks flushed almost without her even needing to try. And it felt nice to see someone act like that in her presence.

After lectures had started after Christmas into the New Year and then into Spring, she found herself somewhat self-conscious. Second guessing herself. Wondering if the freedom and calmness of the holiday period had given him a new sense of clarity.

After all, he'd not spoken to her once since lectures had started again.

A heaviness weighed in her chest, bitterly like rejection.

Maybe she was delirious from the time of night, but she felt a surge of courage, desperately wanting to just know if this was going to be more or not.

She felt her cheeks heat somewhat, rubbing the backs of her knuckles against her lips. There was no time to reply before he sent another.

And if what he'd said before didn't make her face burn, that certainly did. She nearly smirked when she thought to herself, 'you mean when I sucked you off in the Common Room?'

But she didn't type that. She decided to have mercy on him, if only a little.

His replies were so blunt and to the point that they were so quintessentially Michael. She found herself wondering if what he'd typed before had been for the intention of making her blush, but she doubted it. He seemed the type to be somewhat oblivious to how words could affect the opposite sex.

Or anything to do with the opposite sex for that matter.

Her stomach fluttered with excitement as she typed off a few quick goodbyes and with a soft, plastic tap, shut her laptop for the night.

“There are no fit guys in my class this semester, fucking livid,” Priya rolls her eyes, nursing a stale pint and a cigarette.

“Did you really expect Modern Languages to be teeming with attractive men?” She smirks in response.

“No. But I at least expected a good shag within the first three months.”

“Does they have to be within our course?”

“No, course not. I'm not lazy as fuck. Can’t be arsed to go off campus.”

She laughs, waving the smoke trail that's formed between their faces, the smell of cigarettes and damp, beer-soaked carpets fill her senses, nursing the only pint she's capable of downing.

“Don't shit where you eat, Priya.”

“Don't you fuckin’ start,” she grins with all her perfect teeth before checking her phone, “fuck, is that the time. Sorry mate you've got like half your pint left-”

“Don't be silly, just go. Whoever you're meeting is bound to have a bigger cock than me anyway.”

“You're a nasty bitch, you know that?” she smiles, standing and pulling her mini-skirt down, “see you later? Catch up?”

“Wouldn't miss it for the world. Have fun!”

“Oh I will!”

She smiles, sipping the stale beer as Priya rushes out the door excitedly tapping the keypads on her phone in reply to a guy no-doubt, nearly running right into a lamppost.

She pulled out her own phone, spotting a new message from the ex-boyfriend she hadn’t heard a peep out of since Freshers Week, groaning with a displeased expression at the first few lines of text that read as if he were desperate. Even over the crackling sound of the speakers and Daniel Powter’s ‘Bad Day’ lulling quietly through the pub, she was still sensitive to the sound of his voice.

“-get me another pint please, Oliver? Thanks.”

She had to crane her neck, half-swivelled on her chair, but it was undoubtedly him. Only one person had that hissy, direct way of speaking, had dirty, blonde hair that touched the nape of his neck and was likely to wear such an…interesting selection of clothes.

Her mouth was barely open before she realised it was Michael, and by then he was too far away to shout from across a busy pub. She found herself with a sort of stupid grin, watching him walk with such a lanky gait, as if walking were an inhuman thing for him to do. 

It took her a few moments to text back a reply to her ex before she looked up again, eyebrows furrowed when she saw that whoever Michael had been with, was now umming and ahhing about whether to join the popular lot, for which she recognised Felix Catton amongst them, shockingly ill-dressed in a ‘what happens in Kassiopi stays in Kassiopi’ t-shirt, with a cigarette between his lips that had been inhaled to a nub. 

She grimaced. Only rich people could dress so fucking shocking.

And then her heart leapt in a different way when she saw Michael look distantly at Oliver, his hand half-raised in an awkward wave, his face crumbling in a way where she knew he was disappointed and yet, not surprised in the slightest. 

It was when Michael pushed his glasses up his nose in a way she couldn’t help but find sweet and go for the door, that she slipped from the stool she was on, a quarter of her pint left, and took off after him.

“Michael!”

The late winter air nipped at her skin, cursing internally that his legs were so fucking long he could stride a hell of a lot further than her. 

“Michael!”

It wasn’t hard to see the glint of his glasses lenses off the streetlights once he’d turned to face her, his lips parted in surprise and a heat rising to his cheeks.

He swallowed visibly, “H-hey..”

She felt her own heart rattle in her chest at how easy it was to fluster him, “Hey, you alright?”

For a moment, the self-proclaimed mathematical genius seemed genuinely lost for words, his throat closing up on him like he was having a sort of allergic reaction to the opposite sex. So with all that, he simply nodded, his hands clenched as if not knowing what to do with them.

“Sorry about your mate, that was a shitty thing to do.”

“Oh, he’s…he’s not my mate.”

She nodded, rubbing her hands together to warm them from the chill, “d’you wanna go somewhere?”

Michael’s eyes behind his glasses widened, “like…together?”

“No, I’ll make you go off on your own,” she grinned, “yes together!”

He huffed an embarrassed but elated laugh, and only now her eyes studied his shirt, cocking her head in amusement at the ‘that’s how I roll’ shirt with what looked like a maths equation beneath it. The actual meaning was lost on her, but it was so dorky it made her smile.

“U-uh, my mum bought it me for Christmas...” he muttered quickly to which she cracked an even bigger smile, the two of them laughing quietly for a moment before he spoke up again. 

“Do you wanna come to mine?” he asked, and it was so direct it made her blink, her lungs feeling as if they were fluttering, “I mean-my dorm.”

She wet her lips from the dry cold, watching how nervous and twitchy he was. And how it reminded her of the last time they were alone together. 

“Like…catch up or something. I-I’ve got alcohol if you-”

“That’d be lovely, Michael.”

He at least seemed grateful that she’d actually replied to save him from rambling, and even cracked a thin-lipped smile himself, clearly and delightfully nervous. Thirty-minutes ago, he’d have never considered this to be the ending to his evening. 

Michael’s room is disturbingly tidy, she wonders if he actually even lives here. It’s like those university rooms that they take photos of to advertise the ‘spacious’ and ‘community-driven’ atmosphere of campus life. 

At least it was clean, she mused as Michael passed her a bottle of the only alcohol he had, which were lukewarm WKDs.

“Thanks,” she smiles, taking a sugary sip and looking about the room. Michael has since cracked open his own drink, but seems disinterested in it as it rests on his bouncing knee, looking up at her from where he’s sat on his desk chair from under his brow.

His laptop sits shut, pencils in a neat line next to it. His walls are bare, with what she can only assume are blue tack marks from the previous tenant’s last year. With the exception of a wall-mounted calendar next to his desk.

“No posters? Was hoping I could be nosy, see what you like.” 

When she turns back to Michael he quickly looks down as if not wanting to be caught staring, “It’d just be maths stuff.”

“And Carol Vorderman?” she teases mindlessly, not catching the way his cheeks go alight.

She hums an amused laugh behind the bottle at her lips, “It’s very tidy.”

When he just replies with a shrug, she scoots off the bed to have a roam about the place, needing only a few steps to cross the room to his bookcase, filled to the brim neatly with books. She runs her finger along some of the spines.

“You’re not going to mess anything up are you?”

She laughs, coming out more of a snort, which makes her cheeks warm, “Sorry. Just curious about your books. ‘Mathematics of Language. Sounds like a bit of me and you.”

There’s that flush again.

That deer in the headlights look.

“Uh…just sounded interesting.”

“And is it?”

“Is it what?”

She smirks, “interesting.”

There’s a silence that for a moment neither of them are able to shake. 

Michael swallows visibly, “don’t know yet..”

She sees something in his expression when a playful smile lifts across her face, suddenly the memories and implications of what they’d done before now weighing heavily on them. And all at once, he’s able to smell the body scrub she’d used in the shower that morning and eyes flitting to the glint of her stud earrings. He’d remembered brushing past them with his fingers when her mouth wrapped around his-

“And who says you’re not a languages man?” she presses with a teasing lilt to her voice. The tone and sing-songy nature of her voice has his heart doing backflips, feeling as if he could feel the erratic beating between his ribs. 

Michael seems stuck in the position he finds himself as she lazily crosses the room, slipping back on his bed, one hand brushing across his bedsheets and the other setting the drink on his bedside table. For a long moment, his eyes couldn’t leave her. The whole situation was suitably extraordinary. A girl who had come onto him (to say the least) was now in his room, sat on his bed, touching his things…all while wearing something he personally deemed unsuitable for the cold, a dress with black tights beneath.

She turns her head to him, smiling, “you seem nervous.”

He swallows, trying to claw at any sort of reply, “is that an accusation?”

It comes out a bit harsher than he probably expected, but instead of recoiling, she bites her lip as if to stifle a full-toothed grin, “an observation.”

He shrugs, “just never had a girl in here before.”

“Worried I’ll mess up your feng shui?”

“My what?”

She genuinely laughs at that, nearly smacking her head on the bed frame, but a hearty chuckle all the same. And Michael doesn’t know why his own cheeks start to heat up at that, taking this opportunity that her eyes are shut to look down at her legs. For some reason, making her laugh just makes him want to try more. 

He’s never had that feeling before. Wanting to make someone laugh.

“No, really, my what.”

She meets his eyes brightly with her own, “feng shui, it’s like…the vibe of a room, a space. Like,  how you place your furniture or whatever.”

Michael raises a brow, his lip quirking on one side, “sounds like bullshit.”

“It probably is.” she laughs.

“Can I ask you something?”

The quick u-turn and tone in conversation has her eyes meet his nervously, her interest and curiosity piqued. Her hands find themselves nervously stroking her legs, the texture of the tights providing some level of comfort, “yeah sure.”

She can't quite figure out what expression he's trying to put on. His brows are furrowed in judgement and a curious sense of guarding himself. And yet he's sat back in his seat, looking at her like he is trying to figure her out, and yet wants to know why she is the way she is.

“Why did you do that?”

She blinks at the accusatory and monotone rhythm of his way of speaking.

“Do what.”

“Don't play stupid. Doesn't suit you.”

She nearly scoffs at that, “what? Why have you gone all weird all of a sudden?”

“Why did you do…that at the Christmas party?”

She shrugs and shakes her head, as if the answer should be obvious, “because I wanted to? And you didn't seem to mind either.”

“I didn't-that's not the point!” he retorts, “are you genuinely taking the mick out of me?”

“You've asked that before and no.”

“Well why then?”

“Is it not enough to really think that I find you interesting? And nice to talk to?”

Of all the things she expected Michael Gavey to go quiet at, it certainly wasn't that. But she watches him all the same, the line between his brow slowly disappearing as his frown vanishes.

She cocks her head, “and not bad looking either.”

“Stop it.”

“I mean it!”

“Nobody wants the fucking maths virgin-”

“Michael. I don't give a fuck about that,” she says calmly, “Hell, I was a virgin not that long ago. You keep saying ‘nobody wants the virgin’ but you can't keep using that as an excuse just because you're embarrassed you haven't done anything.”

He sighs, like he doesn't want to believe her. And she can hardly believe how self-deprecating and yet direct this man can be in a single breath.

“Look, if you don't want to talk to me, I can always go-”

Almost as soon as she is stood, he is too, one large hand wrapped around her forearm, “No.”

They've been sat so long, she had almost forgotten how tall he was, and the difference between them briefly has her tummy doing back flips. From here, she is able to smell whatever body wash he uses, and if she had to guess, probably blue radox.

“No, I didn't say I wanted you to go. Stay…”

He doesn't say ‘please’ once, and yet she's able to hear the desperation.

When she doesn't move, his grip loosens, and she feels tingly all over when his hand slides up her arm.

“Can I kiss you again like last time?”

She almost smiles in adoration at how he asks it, but for the sake of saving him the embarrassment of thinking she's laughing at him, settles for a simple and gentle nod of her head. She is sure she's not really thought it through. Weighing up the pros and cons isn't exactly the first thing on her mind right now though as Michael has to bend significantly to crash his lips to hers.

Much like last time, he is a bit endearingly clumsy, his lips moving quickly on hers like he's running a race with his mouth. This time there is no pool table for him to cage her against, but all the same his legs take him forwards until her knees hit the edge of his bed.

By the time he is on top of her, she's managed to weave her fingers through his hair, her nose nudging against his glasses every now and then, and guiding him with her own movements to slow down and enjoy the moment, with no need to rush.

She knows that secretly he's probably just excited.

But this time, his hands are extremely active.

She's unable to help the breathy whimper between desperate kisses as he tentatively squeezes her thighs, not quite brave enough to go beneath the dress yet and drifting upwards to her breasts, touching and clutching fondly, as if any harsh grip or movement and she'll get up and leave.

He's still unsure, maybe even nervous, she can feel it.

It's here she realises that whether he is doing it subconsciously or not, she can feel the strained bulge at the front of his trousers rubbing up against the inside of her leg, probably chasing friction that feels too good for him to feel lucid.

“Can I see you…” he asks as his lips break away.

She doesn't even reply, she just complies, pulling the sleeves of her dress over her shoulders and the bra straps along with it. The position she's in making it near impossible to reach behind her.

If she could print his face in her mind as she pulled her dress down to her ribs, she would. He looks entirely mesmerised in adoration, and once the only thing covering her breasts is the thin material of her bra, Michael looks at her with an almost dream-like gaze. 

His hand moves before his mouth, or at least before he catches himself, “Is it oka-”

“Course..” she says far too quickly. 

All she can hear as Michael pulls the thin straps of her bra fully down her arms, exposing her breasts, is his breath, staggered and uneven. His hand easily covers one of her breasts, squeezing experimentally, his thumb gently drifting over her nipple and watching them stiffen to needy buds. 

She doesn’t need to look between them to see how hard he is, she can feel him against her thigh, where her dress has since ridden up to her hips. 

His glasses knock against her chest as he leans down, all-too-carefully covering her nipple with his tongue, like he is trying to print the taste of them to memory. 

There is an unconscious desire to press her thighs together, but she settles for rolling her hips, causing Michael’s voice to rumble against her chest where he mouths at her breasts. One hand forever stays at the one he isn’t paying lip service to, testing the weight and shape in his palms. 

It feels like all sensitivity has been turned up to 1000. He is so slow, so unsure, that every languid movement has every nerve feel as if it’s on fire. A selfish part of her wants him to go faster, so used to the fervent, almost rushing nature of who she’d been with before. It was never like this, borderline worshipping.

“Michael…” she breathes, rolling her hips against him experimentally, rewarded with a low whine from him.

She watched as her nipple slips from his lips in the most erotic manner she’d ever seen, before his clear eyes are on her again. 

“Is this okay? Am I doing something wr-”

“No,” she shakes her head quickly, “feels nice.”

Michael licks his lips, a sign of how nervous he is, “Can I do something else?”

He is so eager to please, to learn, that looking at his face as he asks she can hardly deny him. And her head moves without effort, nodding as she watches his hand disappear beneath the hem of her dress to pull her tights down her legs. 

It then becomes obvious what he wants to do. 

“Are you sure, I-”

“I’m sure.” he adds, rolling the black nylon down her legs until all that is left between Michael and her bare skin below her hips, is her underwear. A flush of embarrassment engulfs her face at the thought of how aroused she might be, knowing he has no experience, she doesn’t want to scare him off. The tender and yet needy way he’d mouthed at her breasts had her body all warm, and she can’t remember the last time she’d been this ready for anything.

“I just want to do the same for you as you did for me. Make you feel good.”

And that certainly doesn’t help that feeling either.

She’s not sure if she will get tired of the sight of his long, lithe fingers gripping her thighs apart, and for a moment she finds herself entranced by the view, until he is pressing sweet kisses to the inside of them. Open-mouthed, with an addictive cooling sensation when he pulls away, only to edge closer to the centre of her underwear.

Her breath remains stuck in her chest as she watches him navigate the female body, mapping it out in his head. She knows better than to say anything, knowing him as she does now, he is immensely competitive, and wants to get things right. It’s likely if she stepped in to instruct him, it would only embarrass him more. So she stays quiet, and lets him come to her.

His thumb dips beneath the leg hole of her underwear, “Can I?”

She swallows visibly, now for some reason it’s her being the nervous one. Possibly because the first time, it was her doing something for him. And now, it is very much the feeling of being studied, of being watched to see what made her tick. A feeling that has her desperate for some kind of fulfilment. Anything.

She lifts her hips to help him slide her underwear down her legs, her cheeks warming at being so utterly exposed to him herself for the first time. There is a finality to it that she just can’t quite put into words. A point of no return.

A full body shudder made its way through her when she felt his thumb trail across the spot where her leg met her hip, trailing the line there that led to her sensitive womanhood.

Michael looked as if he was being presented with an equation, she could practically hear the thoughts in his head. But beyond not entirely knowing what to do, it didn't dissuade his curiosity.

She could tell though, that he didn't know what to do.

Michael nearly flinched when she took his hand, encouraging his thumb to touch her bundle nerves hidden between her folds. 

She watched him as his thumb cautiously collected the wetness that had begun to come out of her and used it to gently apply pressure to her clit. Breath was hot in her chest  as he started slowly.

“Does that feel good?” He asked softly.

As soon as she nodded, confirming how pleasurable it was, Michael's first reaction was to go faster. And so he did. Like he was trying to light a fire.

“No, no, no, it's fine to go slow.”

“Shit, sorry…”

“It’s fine,” she smiled, “just more gentle.”

The panic on his face had been clear. But at her gentle instruction, she saw him relax, taking her words and applying gentle pressure in slower, tighter circles. And it seemed Michael was now fully aware of its intended effect, as his eyes were able to lift up to hers underneath the rim of his glasses to see her breathing had increased, and blood rushing to her cheeks. 

It felt incredible to watch his expressions, she thought. Seeing the little thoughts rattling around in his head, to be able to awaken something in him for the first time. But it also felt utterly exposing, and every time his thumb drew circles against her clit, she heard the soft click of her arousal that made the room feel as if she were inside an oven. 

Michael’s lips parted, his head moving as if pulled by an invisible string to her core.

“Can I…?” he asked again, but more uncertain this time. 

The anticipation gnaws so much at her skin, combined with the way he is taking his time that she has become somewhat impatient, so it’s completely involuntary when she nods her head and somehow manages a whispered ‘yes’.

She doesn't really, really know what's wrong with her. She's had head before. But when he dives between her thighs so quickly and eagerly, his thumbs almost pulling her skin gently to expose as much of her as he can, and swiping his tongue over the centre. From her entrance, all the way to her bundle of nerves.

It has her breath stuck in her chest, instinctively reaching down to run her fingers through his sandy hair. Even the slightest tug on it has a low groan vibrating through her where his mouth moves slowly against her.

“Michael…”

At first he is careful, taking the instruction she'd given him before and applying it to tasting her instead. But his eyes flit up to her when she breathes his name like that, so he redoubles his efforts, gripping the underside of her thighs to tug her towards him in a teasing rhythm.

She didn't really know what to expect, assuming he hadn't done anything like this before. But Michael seems eager to please, as he nudges between her sensitive folds to tease her entrance with his tongue, the sharp shape of his nose butting against her bud with every movement, as little as it is.

With one hand in his hair, her hips move against his face, the glasses perched on his face hanging askew. And all she can see is that his eyes are closed as he tastes her, every now and then he makes a noise between a whine and a moan, as if he didn't want the experience to end.

Dragging his tongue back up to her bud to focus his attention there, Michael experimentally slides one long, slender digit easily inside her, pleased at the breathy sound it seems to elicit from her. Two feelings at once, just as she'd given him before.

“Oh, shit-” 

He fights the urge to smirk when he hears that. She's so warm and wet, that it's easy to slide in the second, feeling her walls suck him in as they clamp around his fingers moving in and out of her. It's a feeling he couldn't describe if he tried, and he daren't think of what she'd feel like around his cock, or if she'd let him.

She can feel her stomach muscles tightening, an orgasm bubbling up to the surface when he gains confidence, flicking her swollen clit with his tongue and pistoning two fingers with a pornographically wet smack into her over and over. Brushing that sweet spot inside that he manages to find sometimes, seemingly without realising.

“Michael - fuck - I'm gonna-”

He groans as her fingers tug at his hair, her hips grinding herself against him and chasing that delicious friction as her high barrels through her, sparking pleasure down each notch of her spine until it fizzles out through her limbs.

She can feel Michael grinding himself against the bed, searching for his own, as he maintains his actions, lapping up everything she gives him with determination. When she dares to look down at him, as if he can sense it, his eyes open to watch her expression, the blue of his eyes nearly entirely eclipsed by black.

As if something had been awoken in him that even he couldn't recognise he'd wanted.

With one last swipe of his tongue over her centre, Michael withdraws his fingers, gripping her thigh with them and making the skin there glisten.

Her cheeks feel as if they're on fire when he rights himself to his knees before her, looking down at her with admiration at how she is still essentially half naked. The tightness at the front of his jeans makes it obvious how he felt about what he'd just done.

Engrossed by watching her breasts move as she breathes heavily, the slight shimmer of sweat on her collarbones, Michael raises his hand to his face, using his palm to wipe her slick from his lips and chin.

She breaks the silence with a tired laugh when he pushes his glasses back up his face, one half of the lenses completely fogged up. It prompts him to laugh too.

“Was I okay?”

This time she doesn't hold back her smile at the way he asks it. As if she hadn't just shaken with the force of her high all over his face.

She nods, “More than okay.”

He seems genuinely relieved.

She bites her lip as she looks at him, his cheeks all tinged pink, his mind reeling at what they'd just done.

He doesn't know what to say or do, and she can see it.

“Do you fancy having a girlfriend, Michael?” she asks.

“Uh…I've never had one, not properly anyway.”

“Yes, but would you like one?”

She watches the bob of his Adam's Apple as he swallows heavily, “Y-yeah…”

She pushes herself up to meet him where he's knelt, admiring his features for a moment, before leaning forward to kiss him, encouraging him to kiss her back. It takes a second for him to respond, but when he does, it's needy, teeth and tongues clashing as the musky taste of her is captured on him.

“Tell you what, after your exams, when you can relax, I'll be your proper girlfriend. In every way..”

His breath comes out shuddered against her lips, “what do you mean?..”

She wets her lips as she smirks, “I think you know exactly what I mean, Michael.”

She doesn't think she'll ever get tired of seeing him blushed and bothered.

And when they're both dressed, sharing awkward giggles and nervous kisses, she gives him a look with a cock of her head as he checks his wall-mounted Countdown-themed calendar.

“What you looking for?”

“My last exam is the 15th. There's exactly 12,246 minutes between now and then and all I'm going to be thinking about is whether you'll really be my girlfriend or not.”

She nearly smiles at the fact he does the maths so quickly. 8 days, 12 hours and 6 minutes until his last exam. And even though she's made it clear she wants him, he's still unsure.

She meets his gaze, unable to hide the grin off her face, “Better get studying then. You've only got 12,245 minutes left until you've got me.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian@randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya@urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy

#michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x you #michael gavey x y/n #michael gavey x oc #michael gavey fanfic #michael gavey fanfiction #michael gavey smut #michael gavey saltburn #saltburn 2023 #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn fanfic #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters #michael gavey x fem!reader #michael gavey x female reader

[thatfreshi]

Forever and Ever (Astarion x Reader)

I'm going to sob and throw up everywhere this was so incredibly sweet.

Tw - mention of scars (i think that's it)

Recommended Song: Ronson Princess - Clarence James

Waking up to the sunlight gleaming through the red fabric, you and Astarion wrapped in each other's arms. It's odd for you to wake up before him, especially since he doesn't have to sleep all that much, but he's been particularly stressed the past couple of days. Baldur's Gate has brought up a lot of unpleasant memories, things he would've rather left behind. But sadly, everything has brought you back here, and he still wants Cazador dead. Perhaps that's what's weighing on him so heavily, knowing facing his master is so close.

You stare at his sleeping face for a long while, letting the sun continue trickling in, knowing soon he won't get this, soon that freedom of being in the sun, it'll be taken from him, just like everything else. Today you've prepared very special plans, kindly getting everyone to leave camp for the day. Before things change drastically, you want him to have something nice, a day without fighting, a day without talking about Cazador, a day without walking past taverns that he'd rather forget. You continue to smile at him, as his eyelids slowly flicker open. He smirks.

"I can practically hear you staring at me you know."

"Well good, at least you know how gorgeous I think you are."

You leave a kiss on his nose. Locking his fingers into yours, you start tracing his knuckles, all the little lines, tiny scars from fights, the callouses on his palm. He'd deny that he had them to anyone else.

"So... I have a surprise for you."

His ears perk up.

"Oh really? Whatever did I do to deserve such a thing?"

"You know I've said this a million times, but you don't have to do anything to deserve a gift my love. I just know you've been really stressed since we got back in the city, so I thought it would be nice if we had a day away from everything, just to ourselves."

"As if we could ever get time to ourselves with our hooligan friends."

You grin.

"That's the best part, I got them all to go do something else today, so we have the entire camp to ourselves!"

You feel a little bad, being so excited that your friends are leaving you alone, but Astarion likes the quiet. Sure, he's a performer, making little quips in a crowd, but it's that solitude, especially with you, that he cherishes. Maybe he was Stockholmed into it, being forced to be alone so often, but it was usually better than dealing with his 'siblings,' or Cazador. At least rats can't cut you up when they feel like having a good time.

"You seriously kicked out all of our friends so we could be alone for the day? However did you manage that?"

"I may have put some of your manipulation tactics to use..."

Last night, you just so happened to make an off-handed comment about something that would interest each of them. It wasn't too hard, especially since everyone in your group is obsessive over one subject at least, if not more. One by one, they decided they'd spend the day checking out something in the city.

"I have never been more in love with you."

You lock lips, running your hands through his hair, realizing that quite uncharacteristically, he hasn't washed it in days. He's usually quite ritualistic with his appearance, no doubt due to how he always had to look perfect. The habits simply stuck around, but he doesn't mind all that much.

"So, I have a whole day of activities planned!"

He sighs, thinking you mean some intensive itinerary.

"Okay maybe not activities, but nice little calming things to do. I call it... self-care day."

You look way too proud of yourself, and Astarion makes it known.

"What, dear gods, is self-care day? I am all for caring about yourself, as I am spectacular, but an entire day?"

"Yes. It's supposed to be overkill. Just a whole day of absolute bullshit, so you don't have to worry about anything!"

"As if I have ever gone a day without worrying."

You sit up, lifting him up to sit with you.

"Well, we're going to try, because you deserve it. Pleaseeeeee, I just want to spoil you."

He can't ignore your pleading, especially when you look at him with those soft eyes, a gaze that could ask for anything and he'd oblige.

"Alright fine, I will follow along on your self-care day, even if it sounds a little silly."

"Great! So, remember how I went out after dinner last night, and I told you that you couldn't come with me because I was doing something super special and secret?"

"Oh, when I was terrified of you roaming the city by yourself? No, why would I remember that at all?"

His voice is absolutely dripping in sarcasm.

"You know as well as anyone that I can take care of myself, you just like being a chivalrous piece of shit to people that are mean to me."

He shrugs.

"Yes. That sounds entirely reasonable, why would I not do that?"

"Okay yes whatever you like protecting me blah blah blah. We're getting away from the story. I found lots of cool little things, for example..."

Your voice trails off as you dig through your bag, trying to find the cloth sack you got your hands on yesterday. After you find it, you slowly open the pouch.

"I found your favorite tea!"

It's quite a particular brew, one you're pretty sure was made in this city. It's almost impossible to find anywhere else, and when you find it here, it's usually expensive. You hand the bag to him, and he takes in the scent. Blackberry, lavender, ginger, and a couple notes of citrus. Is it way too complex? Yes, quite, but he likes to dissect the flavor, focusing on the different components in the drink.

"You remember that thing I said, what was it... about saving money for, oh I don't know, a place to live after this? You know this is far too expensive my dear."

"It's fine, I can pickpocket a few people."

He laughs.

"You mean I can pickpocket a few people and you'll say you were there for moral support?"

"Yes."

Astarion simply sighs, because if he didn't love you, gods would he absolutely hate you. You could probably say the same thing about him though, so at least you're even. He grabs two cups from somewhere in the mess of his belongings, and the two of you make your way to the dying campfire. As you grab some water from one of the carafes, he adds some more wood to the fire, casting ignis instead of actually putting in the work to start a fire. Usually you would tease him about how he doesn't know how to start a fire, but today he's allowed to take the easy way out. You begin boiling the water for your tea.

"Okay, time for surprise number two while surprise number one is still cooking up."

"Oh, a second surprise?"

"It's self-care day, not self-care hour. There are many surprises to come."

You quickly walk to Gale's tent, bringing back a charcuterie board, filled with small finely cut fruits and mini cheese wedges.

"Ta-da!"

Astarion takes in the beauty of the spread, his heart fluttering a little. Sure, he doesn't have to eat, but he certainly lives for the finer things in life, and a charcuterie board is one of them. After all, eating things that aren't bloody animals makes him feel a little more normal. You smile, realizing he's actually excited and isn't relentlessly teasing you.

"I bought them last night and had Gale put together the spread this morning. I know it's less romantic but-"

"No my sweet it's... it's wonderful."

The two of you eat heart shaped strawberries and little pieces of cheese while you wait for the tea to brew.

"I know I joked a lot, but I do really appreciate all of this darling. It's nice, to know someone cares about me this much. Especially to know that you care about me this much."

"Of course my love. You deserve this and so much more."

You kiss his neck, leaving a little bit of juice from the strawberries. It's hard sometimes for Astarion to remind himself that the worst is behind him, that all he has to do now is deal with his master, and he can finally leave all of this shit behind him. He can finally have that life he wants, with you in some nice house, sleeping together in a nice bed every single day. It's also hard to remember that you love him, that he isn't some charity case you picked up, that you do all of this out of the kindness of your heart. He thought for the longest time that no one was truly kind, and that if they were, they were going to be dead soon enough, and yet he would do anything it took to keep you safe, one of the kindest souls he's ever met. He tears up a little, thinking about how you would care this much, that anyone could care this much about him.

"Are you okay Aster?"

You wipe a tear off his cheek.

"Yes, I'm alright. Just sentimental, that's all."

The way his eyes get wide when he cries, as if he's letting the world in for once, you always notice it.

"That's okay, you can cry all you want. Besides, usually makes you feel better after."

While you're consoling him, you pour out two cups of tea, handing him the first. You take a sip, realizing why this is his favorite. Sure, it's a lot going on, but there's something luxurious about it, soothing, as if made for royalty. Astarion wipes at a couple of his tears, and takes a sip.

"I'm serious though Tav, you have got to stop spending all of our money after this. I'll take this one nice day, but after that, it's back to pinching pennies for us."

Always worried, always thinking about the next thing, always five steps ahead. He's always had to be, playing his life like chess, knowing he's a pawn in some far greater game, knowing if he makes one wrong move he'll lose everything. You don't blame him one bit. After all, the two of you do need enough money to buy a place after all of this is over, and yet you don't worry about it, knowing you'll figure it out. Things have worked out for you so far, and they'll continue to. They simply must.

"Alright, deal."

After sitting and drinking your tea for a while, talking about what you want in the house when you finally buy it, you lead him down to the nearby creek so you can wash his hair.

"Now I know what you're going to say-"

"What, that I could simply do it myself and that you don't have to do something ridiculous like wash my hair for me?"

"Yes... something like that, yeah."

"Then why would you even try asking if you could?"

"Because I love you, and I want to, and I don't want you to have to worry about it."

You stay silent for a second.

"...and I may have bought a really nice shampoo from a store in the city even though I probably shouldn't have splurged but I just want you to have nice things..."

You make those puppy eyes at him, expecting him to say no or give you some lecture.

"Alright, if you insist."

"Wait, really?"

"Yes. Now go ahead and start before I change my mind and lecture you about how to properly bargain for things."

Now this, is a truly rare occurrence. He's so particular about his hair, to the point where he has to fix it every time you mess with it. You swiftly fill a bucket of water and take the nice shampoo out of your bag, putting yet another strawberry in your mouth.

"Seems like you're enjoying the strawberries much more than I am."

He says as he turns his back to you, the two of you sitting in the grass by the creek.

"Hey, it's a board for the both of us. If you're not eating off of it, that's your loss."

You mumble while still chewing on the fruit. He realizes you're right and grabs another piece of cheese before you eat it all. You motion for him to take his shirt off so he doesn't get water all over it, and soon you start working through his hair. It's sadly become quite knotted the past couple of days, due to neglect from the slump he's been in. You try your best not to get sad about it, knowing it's the truest sign of just how out of it he's been. Between dirt and knots and dried blood, there's plenty for you to work through, slowly but surely cleaning it all out, combing through it along the way.

"Are you sure I'm not going to look like a wet cat when you're done?"

You laugh at him.

"Hey, I never said anything about styling, just that I'd wash it. How it looks after is on you."

You don't see it, but he smiles. He has this moment of realization, a sense of clarity. This is it. The thing he's wanted all his life, he's found it, and it's someone so unlike him. And yet somehow, here you were, madly in love, eating fruit and cheese by the water, simply taking care of each other.

"I want it to stay like this forever."

He says suddenly. Your face lights up.

"Me too."

You put down the comb, wrapping your arms over the tops of his shoulders. He holds onto your hands, as if he's realizing for the first time just how real you are. You're here, and he's here, and you're in love. What a wonderful thing, to truly be in love, to have a plan, to have a future. He never really had a future, just a present, day after day. But now there's hope, a life after today, and tomorrow, and the day after.

"Would you do this again sometime? This whole, self-care thing with me? It's been quite nice."

You leave a couple of kisses on his shoulder, and he feels you smile into his skin.

"Of course. As many times as you want my love. Forever and ever."

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #fluff #comfort

[deathbystero]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 - 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐨

𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞 - 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐠𝐞 (𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝟏𝟗𝟑𝟔) - 𝟏𝟖 𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐧 - 𝟏𝟗𝟏𝟖

Marko grew up in the early 1900s with his mother and siblings in a little house in Italy. He knew very little about his father for the man had died in a work related incident a little after he was born and his mother never seemed very open to discuss the topic further.

The family lived in poverty, rarely able to scrape together enough money from their meagre wages to feed everyone, and more often than not, there was no food at all. Marko did what he could to help out, but it was always down to his older siblings to bring in the money. At times, he was left feeling rather helpless, as if he was just an afterthought,  an unwanted burden on his mother's shoulders. He was another mouth to feed, another being to clothe and shelter. 

When there was nobody home, his siblings were usually forced to take him along when they went into town to sell their wares. As far as Marko knew, none of them ever made much money. His mother would make her own way in the world by sewing dresses and selling whatever she could find but it wasn’t enough. 

Eventually, when Marko had just turned thirteen, the dreaded letter came through the post, giving the family a month’s notice to pack up everything they owned before they were evicted and forced out onto the streets. It was a cold hard truth that had been long awaited, one that everyone in the family had known was coming but which none of them had truly believed. 

His siblings hadn’t stuck around, running off to start new lives just days before the eviction, while Marko was forced to stay behind, clinging to his mother like a scared child. She couldn’t afford to pay rent on even the cheapest of places and they didn’t have any relatives willing to let them stay over until they could get back onto their own feet again. So, with little left to offer, they packed whatever items they had left and ended up on the streets, surviving on the bare minimum. 

Marko's mother found a job washing dishes at a small inn, spending the money she made on alcohol and drinking herself into oblivion every night. He was forced to watch helplessly as she fell apart, unable to do anything other than be there for her as best he could, cleaning up after her and keeping her safe at night. 

While she was at work, Marko roamed the streets, stealing whatever he could get his hands on and eating what scraps he could find. He found himself hating his siblings, hating the idea that they'd gotten away so easily while he was stuck here with no money and an alcoholic mother to take care of. They were lucky. He wasn’t. 

One evening in August,when Marko was sixteen, his mother disappeared, never returning from work. He had tried searching for her, running up and down the streets like a lost puppy, wailing and calling out for her, but it was futile. The woman was gone and he was alone.

He returned back to their pitiful shelter and wept into the night, praying desperately that someone would come for him, would care for him. That night, he cried himself to sleep,  exhausted and starving, whilst he dreamt up a carefully formulated plan; a plan to flee the country and start anew. 

There was a boat, Marko discovered, set to leave early the next morning, taking both cargo and passengers to America. It was his only chance and so he grasped it  eagerly, leaving their sorry shelter behind in search of freedom and adventure.

He snuck his way into the storage hold where the ship was docked and hid under a blanket until dawn broke, the ship pulling away from land and taking him away from the only place he’d ever known and to somewhere entirely foreign. He held onto the hope that maybe things would improve once he found his way there, but deep down he knew he was being foolish. He was a sixteen year old boy, underfed and poor, who hardly spoke a word of English and had no family to fall back onto if all things went downhill. What could he possibly expect to find?  A life amongst strangers would not give him a better chance than he already had, who wouldn't spare him an ounce of pity even if he begged on his hands and knees? What was he thinking? He had to have been totally crazy. No sane person in his right mind would risk their life like this. And yet, here he was still trying. Still trying his hardest to make something of himself. 

The ship docked in America about a week after it’s departure, and Marko was greeted with a strange mix of excitement and dread. He'd been expecting something akin to Europe, but what lay before him was anything but glamorous or fantastical. He felt completely at odds with the people that walked past him,  some laughing and chattering loudly, others barely sparing him a passing glance. He was surrounded by strangers and so incredibly out of place. If anyone should've noticed him in the crowd, they gave no indication of it as they continued talking and laughing and chatting around him with equal gusto, unaware of his plight. 

He wandered about the bustling streets for hours, eventually finding an alleyway to curl up in and wait out his hunger pangs. He’d found very little food on the boat, taking what he could from crates and boxes without  much thought, not caring if he was eventually caught. His clothes were dirty and tattered, worn thin and threadbare, his shoes covered in dirt and grime, and he was positively sure he looked absolutely deplorable. Biting his lip against his inevitable tears, he buried his face into his knees,  hugging himself tightly, shivering violently. Sleep seemed like a far off thing,  impossible to come by as his thoughts kept circling around how utterly hopeless he felt, how utterly alone he was.

It wasn’t until several days later that his luck seemed to change, a not so dim light appearing at the end of the tunnel. He'd found a little abandoned warehouse full of art supplies; crates of leftover paint, paint brushes which had certainly seen better days, and canvases, most of which were torn and tattered, but usable nonetheless. 

Marko has gathered up everything he could get his hands on, seeing an opportunity to make some cash, and spent almost the entire day painting whatever came to mind. He was surprised at himself - he didn't remember the last time he painted, but somehow this was different.  Like he was drawing for the first time, like he was creating something entirely new. There was a sense of wonder that he couldn't explain, an awe he hadn't known since childhood. This wasn't about making money. This was about finding himself. 

When he finally emerged from the building, covered head to toe in brightly coloured paint stains and tired from lack of sleep, he decided he might as well try his best at selling what he had created, knowing that nothing else would provide him with any kind of income. It didn't matter that he lacked experience with art, that he was untrained. The paintings were his ticket. The only way out of this misery he lived in. 

And so he set about selling everything he had, working his hardest, desperate to make every penny count. And, boy, did people pay. It was almost comical at how careless the rich were with their money, throwing it at him with no regard as to what it might go towards, as long as they got whatever it was they wanted in return.

Marko was soon able to afford enough money for food and clothes, settling into the little warehouse and sleeping on an old uncomfortable mattress stuffed into one corner, surrounded by crates of paint and brushes.

He took pride in the fact that he had made something of himself, having managed to carve out his own niche with a little bit of paint and a couple of worn out brushes. He felt good about the fact that he had managed to become somebody, somebody who had a purpose, somebody that mattered in the world. 

When he turned 18, Marko took to wandering a little further into the city, searching for inspiration and finding plenty. It became routine for him;  he worked late nights painting whenever he was able, waking up with the sun so that he could spend the morning wandering before returning to paint once more. He sold his creations out on the streets, bought  meals and slept rough. He was happy. He felt complete. He should've been happy, content with his living situations, besides it was more than he'd ever thought he'd have, and yet he still felt as if something was missing. That loneliness still lingered, that hollow feeling that wouldn't go away. 

In November of his third year on the streets, Marko met two men whilst out wandering at night, shaking off the disturbance of a rather unpleasant nightmare. 

The first of the two was blonde, his hair messy in a styled kind of way, with piercing blue eyes and sharp, handsome features. The second was tall with dark hair and a strong jawline, seemingly just as striking as his friend. Both were dressed entirely in black and approached Marko much in the same way a predator would its prey, a smile adorning each of their faces. 

“Can I help you?” Marko asked quietly, his accent thick and heavy, despite his best efforts to hide it. 

The blonde one grinned, “You’re a runaway, aren’t you, kid?”

Marko hesitated for a brief moment, weighing up his options before nodding slowly.

The man reached out a gloved hand, offering to shake, “I’m David.”

“Marko,” Marko replied quietly, shaking his hand.

David nodded, seemingly satisfied. His friend said nothing. “Where are your parents?”

“My mother's dead…” At least that’s what he thought. 

“Your father?” David pressed.

“Dead too…”

“So… it’s just you then?” David questioned, tilting his head slightly. Marko nodded, looking down at the pavement. What did these guys want? Money, drugs, sex? Who knows, but Marko certainly wasn’t too keen on finding out. 

“Hey,” This time, it was  the other man, the brunette one, who reached forward, his hand landing upon Marko's shoulder. “We ain't here to hurt you, kid. We're here to help.”

Help?  Marko furrowed his brow.  “I don't need no help.” “Of course not,” David interjected before the boy could say any more, “But that doesn't mean we can’t offer it. You're young, lost and all alone in this world. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a friend or two?” 

A friend...  That’s what he’d been seeking, someone to rely on. Someone to show him that he wasn't completely alone in this. But was it really possible for him to turn to these strangers, especially after everything he'd been through so far? Could he trust them? They were probably just playing a trick on him. They'd probably planned to kill him and leave his body somewhere and never bother him again. So why should he believe them?

“Look,” David began, “I know we seem shady, but I promise we'll do nothing to harm you. Right, Dwayne?” 

The brunette nodded. “We just want to help.” 

This was a mistake. These two men could easily kill him, leaving him to die on his own somewhere. Or they could rob him. Or beat him senseless. Either option would be equally horrible.... but something about them told Marko that maybe they were being truthful. Maybe they did actually want to help him.  Maybe they meant what they said, because they weren't bad people.

“... okay…” Marko muttered softly, raising his eyes to meet theirs. 

The two men smiled, sharing glances between each other before turning back to Marko. “Great! Let's get going now shall we?”

Marko stared at them for a while longer,  trying to gauge if they were telling the truth or lying, before nodding slowly and following after them. 

Marko became the third member of Max's family that night, and for the first time in his life, he felt complete.

A/N: This is way longer than I'd expected it to be, and, although it started of a little bit shitty, I think it got better towards the end. As I've said before, this is my own take on things; none of what I have written is canon in any way, shape, or form and is simply a silly little thing I came up with over the x-mas break!

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys imagine #marko the lost boys #the lost boys headcanon #this is my own take so please don't come for me

[whumpshaped]

Weak pulse from your vampire bingooo. Loving this blog!!

thank u :D

masterlist bingo card

tw vampire whumper, mind control, kidnapping, memory loss, gaslighting, manipulation, conditioning, dehumanisation, lady whumper, lady whumpee

Helle swallowed hard as they stared at the enthralled woman. They couldn't shake the feeling that she reminded them of someone. Someone from their life? They had no idea. It was so frustrating, the fact that all they could remember were their last few days. Their next earliest memory was already from the mansion.

"Whatever is the matter, pet?" Lady Marie was standing next to them, gesturing towards the human. "You have demonstrated a remarkable amount of talent today, it is only fair I let you reap the benefits."

"Thank you, Mistress," they said absentmindedly, still just staring at her. Their mother, maybe? They couldn't remember her face, so it was entirely possible. Or maybe they'd had a sister. Or a wife.

"You do know they are nothing but cattle, yes? She will eagerly offer herself up if you wish it. You can even make it pleasant."

"Have I killed like this before?" they asked, turning to face their sire instead. "I... have I done something like this in the early days? The days I cannot recall?"

"What a silly question." She smiled. "You have been in the mansion since the day of your rebirth, pet. I have never given you permission to feed on a fresh human before. Now, go ahead and drink up before I lose my patience."

"Yes, Mistress."

They decided to try their luck with making her a bit more willing, and they couldn't stifle a dumb grin when it worked. The woman clung to their shirt and tilted her head to the side, whispering soft pleas for them to bite.

And oh, her blood tasted sweet. Almost as sweet were the sounds she made as the venom took hold, and they savoured every drop and every whimper that came alongside it.

They never wanted to stop.

"Do you wish to kill in this manner?" Lady Marie interrupted, grabbing them by the hair and pulling them off. "You must exercise some restraint, pet."

Helle let go of the woman, letting her stumble back and lean against the wall of the nearest building. They could hear her admittedly weak pulse, the way her heart struggled to keep up with the loss. "I apologise," they said quickly, scared eyes darting between the stranger and their sire. "It– it will not happen again. Have I– have I taken too much?"

"Yes, you most definitely have. I do not allow my servants to drain humans without my permission." Right. Lady Marie couldn't have cared less about the woman's life. Just cattle, they reminded themself. "Maybe someday, if you have done something exceptional. But never at a time when you carry no stake to remedy it, and never without my say-so."

"Yes, Mistress."

She sighed. "All in all, not too horrible for your first time." She glanced at the dazed victim, who had since slid down to the ground, head lolling to the side. "We shall bring her back to the mansion."

Helle's eyes widened. God, why this one? Why the one that made them feel so weird? "Wh- what?"

"You heard me. I do not like the way you look at her." She flicked them on the forehead, something she did whenever Helle was being stupid. "You must understand that humans are merely prey. Food. They are as good as the taste of their blood, really. Getting attached to one is... It is simply silly. You would not get attached to a bottle of wine."

"I, I am not attached to her, she just reminded me–"

"So there will not be any issues, then? Go and grab her for me."

Helle bit their lip and nodded, walking over to the woman and scooping her up into their arms. The bridal carry seemed easiest, but it also made the feeling so much worse. Like they'd done this before.

"Let us head back. The others are surely waiting."

Helle brushed it off and rejoined their sire, trying to focus on the freedom of being allowed outside instead. What did it matter what they'd done in their life? It couldn't have been that important if they just forgot. And Lady Marie was right. It was pointless to think of humans as anything other than dumb animals.

~

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks @the-cyrulik @pirefyrelight @there-will-always-be-blood

#at my beck and call #whump writing #whump #helle #lady marie #vampire whumper #mind control #kidnapping #memory loss #gaslighting #manipulation #conditioning #dehumanisation #lady whumper #lady whumpee

[thetraingotsetonfireonmidnight]

Hawks x pro hero reader. Where hawks is in an interview and every question is about reader.

(Maybe like the google interview. U know the most googled things about him?)

I love these kind of fics!!

Made it a small drabble instead:

𝔖𝔱𝔞𝔯 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔥𝔬𝔴

(Hawks x GN!reader)

Warnings: slight mention of vomit. Nothing graphic.

"Heyo! I'm Japan's number two hero, Hawks…and this is the Wired AutoComplete Interview…whatever that means." He glanced over at one of the staff who stood behind the camera. They gave him a thumbs up, to which he returned.

Interviews were never his favorite. He didn't mind a bit of banter, but reporters always wanted the latest scoop of drama and many were pushy about it. He always knew how to weasel his way out of it, but he still preferred to not engage.

Lucky him, however, this interview was supposed to be more lighthearted. The staff weren't even the ones asking him questions! For the most part they'd be silent. Hawks had all the freedom here. It was a nice change of pace.

Camera man: Have you ever Googled yourself before?

"Absolutely…not, no, never. I don't need to, I already know what my fans' search history is like." He looked into the camera and winked. That was a complete lie. He's looked himself up before. The results were…interesting…to say the least.

A staff member handed him the first Google board.

"Is Hawks…" He rips off the thin layer of white paper, "single?" He laughed, surprised by the question. His relationship with you had become public a few months ago. Seems like some people still didn't know. "Straight to the point, I respect it! No, I'm not. Sorry about that, better luck next time." 

He reached over and ripped the next piece of paper off the board, "Is Hawks…taken?" Crew members burst out laughing as Hawks sat there dumbfounded.

"Isn't that just the same question? The first search wasn't enough?" He teased, "I think we know the answer to that already." 

He sighed in relief as he ripped the next piece of paper to find that it had nothing to do with his love life. 

He cleared the "Is Hawks…" board without a mention of his love life. Not that he didn't like talking about you, he just preferred to keep his relationship private. He preferred to keep most things about himself private. Exactly why he didn't like interviews.

He flew by the next few boards before he got to the "how" board.

"How…did Hawks get with Y/N." He sighed, scratching the side of his cheek, " You see…a witch—"

"I'm stopping you right there." One of the staff members cut in, causing the rest of the crew to laugh.

"No! It's a true story!" He laughed, "A witch cursed me into being a hawk, and being the kind royal highness they are, they kissed me and turned me back into a human. Well, not fully since…you know." He pointed to his wings, trying to ignore the eye rolls some of the crewmembers were giving him.

Ok so maybe that story was slightly exaggerated. Truth be told, you two had been friends for a bit before he asked you out. 

But that wasn't nearly as interesting as the story he had come up with.

The interview continued to be about you. He wasn't sure why that was the only question anyone had for him but he didn't mind.

He got questions like "When did Hawks and Y/N get married? "

He said he woke up one day with a wedding ring so he wasn't sure.

(You're not married…yet.)

Do Hawks and Y/N have kids?

He said yes, you have 20 of them.

(You have one pet together. That's it)

When did Hawks and Y/N meet?

He said you broke into his house and it was love at first sight.

(You two met at a bar. You were throwing up because you had too much to drink).

He answered each question with an obvious lie, knowing full well you'd get annoyed by it. That was just his love language. Being lovingly annoying. 

And that was alright, you didn't mind. 

At least, you wouldn't mind once he brings back your favorite food for dinner. 

Finally, he was done. He tossed the board to the side and sat back in his chair.

"Alright, I think it's time for me to go before I dig a deeper grave for myself. I'm going to go home and hope my partner doesn't kill me." 

He did a two finger salute, and the interview came to an end.

#ao3 hawks #hawks x reader #hawks #mha x reader #kiego x reader #takami keigo #hawks x gender neutral reader

[frostgears]

perspective

"we think you're important", they'd told her. "you're going to show us where to find what we're looking for."

"i don't know anything!" she'd screamed at them, to no avail; the white cloaks dragged her from the little space she'd cleared for herself near the top of one of the old ruined towers. she'd seen a few others as they carried her down the rust-chewed stairs, but wasn't shocked that none raised a hand in her defense. you didn't interfere with the white cloaks. in their place, she'd have done the same.

there was a quick, quiet journey by sailboat. they didn't even bother to blindfold her. she would have been afraid to be so close to the water, but there wasn't room for any more fear, it seemed.

and then they brought her here. she'd never seen anything like it: a golden mechanical spire, alive and moving where the old towers were dead and static, every beam and step and window slowly turning in an interlocking drive chain that must have been powered by something truly massive. she could have spent days marveling at it, but they never gave her the chance.

in a chamber somewhere inside it, in front of a multi-story column of churning cogs, they tied her down and slit her dress up the back and did something to bind her to the golden gears of this place. she felt the intrusions of foreign machinery into her spinal column and shuddered with the force of it, the driving power of the spire itself turning within her. almost as an afterthought, she noticed that she could no longer move her legs.

"what do you want," she choked out. the machinery's power was undeniable, but surprisingly precise; the linkages to her spine weren't going to tear her to shreds any time soon. she could bear it, if she could find a reason.

"show us what we're looking for," the white cloaks told her again.

"i don't know what you're looking for. i don't even know who you are, really. please," she begged, "let me go home."

"show us the place you came from."

"what…"

one of the white cloaks gestured to the window. there hadn't been a window before. but all she could see through it were clouds.

she craned her neck to look out of it, and the view… changed.

it was as if she was high up in her tower rooms again, looking out over the crumbling city, but she could see everything she'd only wondered at from up there. the angle was unfamiliar, but she thought she recognized a few buildings, and the grey rocks of the headlands where they stuck out into the bay. she tilted her head, and her viewpoint moved over the land like a bird.

there! her building. the great chunk sheared off one side gave it a silhouette that was difficult to miss. she focused her eyes, and the act of focusing entrained the intruding machinery, and she felt the room spin. did she move? did the spire?

and was that her alcove near the top of her building? though the window rippled slightly, it was so clear.

there, those were the grey-green panels of her solar winder, the orange cylinder of the motor itself. so nobody had dared to loot her few possessions yet. but even if she had her freedom right now, if these white cloaks suddenly vanished, if she could somehow steal a sailboat and instantly divine how to pilot it, she'd never make it back in time.

"home," she whispered, but the white cloak closest to her shook its head.

"not that place. show us where you came from!"

"i don't remember."

"you will. you are one of the oldest. you have to remember."

was that a pleading note in its voice?

"i'm just… i'm just me."

"then you will keep looking."

maybe if she found something they thought was important, they'd let her go. she wasn't getting out of here otherwise. so she kept looking, aimlessly scanning the cityscape. her view passed over the sunken columns of something enormous rusting quietly in the bay. she'd only ever seen a corner of the thing from land. whatever it was, it didn't seem to interest her captors.

it had already been late in the day when they'd installed her in this chamber. white cloaks shuffled out. new ones shuffled in. the light outside was fading. maybe they'd let her go, when it was too dark to see.

"keep looking," one of the new ones told her.

another white cloak stepped behind the window to adjust something. not a window, then. the view brightened and glimmered with the colors of moonlight. white cloaks pulled bundles down from the ceiling and fed more into the window's frame.

optical fiber? she'd seen it in a building in the city, bush-like displays that still glowed faintly at night, though their power sources were too weak to be of any real use.

"keep looking outside," the white cloak warned her.

she would have been running down by now, preparing to sleep through the night and save the rest of her energy to catch the sun in the morning, but the rumbling power of the spire was coupled to her, and she felt no need to sleep.

like a bat, her view soared through darkness. she saw glimmers of power and light here and there, old settlements past the edges of the city, but the white cloaks shook their heads as she investigated each one. apparently those were already known to them.

hours later, she asked them: "how much is there left to search?"

"until you remember."

that didn't seem likely.

day returned. white cloaks shuffled out. new ones shuffled in. adjustments were made. she had yet to find the limits of her vision through the spire's window.

her view flitted over ancient bridges and the dull lines of railways and the strange dark ribbons that might have once been roads, over rippling grassland and boxy factories and shattered glass incomprehensibilities fallen to ruin. the white cloaks watched her, but most of them watched the window. she still had no idea what they were looking for.

here and there, sun-glare from water or polished metal swamped the window and flooded the room with harsh light, and the white cloaks told her "move on" and "do not dwell". so she kept her gaze moving. once she caught a muttered "too much, disconnect one", not meant for her.

white cloaks shuffled out. new ones shuffled in. the window was reconfigured for night, and she kept scanning the night landscape by moonlight until the first emanations of daybreak. it was then, as the white cloaks began once more to fuss with the window, that the prisoner of the spire made her move: she opened her eyes wide, and raised her gaze to the dawning sun.

there was searing white, and howling, and heat, and then eventually there was dark.

if the endless searching and the direction of the white cloaks had been torture, there would not be a word left for this. she was alone in the dark. how long, she had no idea. she began to count.

the spire still moved around her. it would not let her go.

—

she'd lost count of the number of times she'd lost count by the time they found her.

the words were banal, and that let her believe them:

"Spin here. think i found something."

"right behind you, Spin, tooth and tooth."

"hold up, Gull, lot of…"

"yeah, i see them. wound down. not in a hurry to wind any back up."

"Gull, one's still moving!"

"after that flare? it's been two days!"

"apparently. somehow. hey. you. are you okay?"

"can't see you," she said to the darkness.

"yeah, i'm not surprised. your poor eyes. i don't think we have any spare, sorry, at least not here. but definitely back at base…"

"Spin, shut it, we don't know if she's—"

"she's linked into this whole mess back here, she's clearly not one of the damned Divergence. i've never seen them do that to their own."

"Divergence," she said.

"the walking problems in the white cloaks. sorry, this gearing is beyond me. Gull, get Fidget, would you?"

"so you're not Divergence. good."

"well," the further voice said, "that's a matter of opinion."

a third voice: "and mine's the only opinion that matters, Gull."

"yes, ma'am, Fidget."

she felt fingers on her back, probing at the intruding hardware.

"might take a few minutes, but i'm sure i can get this out of you. bear with me. and by the by, i must say i'm impressed. whatever you did to this place that burned it up, we saw it from klicks and klicks away. however you did it, there's a dozen Divergence on the floor, which puts you tied with Spin for this week, and she's… excitable. you know, we could use someone like you in the Mechanism…"

—

she returned to the observatory spire eventually, with new eyes, and a squad of four, and the green and gold planetary gears of the Mechanism on her shoulder.

"you holding up all right?"

"not great, but… being linked up isn't so bad for a little while. better company than last time. know what i'm looking for, this time. just let me get oriented."

"no rush."

"hmm. that's funny."

"what's funny?"

"this building. used to live up near the top, here."

"not too bad, huh? airy, certainly. roomy, looks like."

"that's what i used to think. then the damned Divergence grabbed me, and then, well, you were there for most of it. seen a bit of the world, what's left of it. and after all that, the old tower just seems… small." □

#empty spaces #microfiction #combat doll #dollposting #mechanism

[totallynotthedarkreunion]

Hear me out, terzomega angst lovers (lots of words below cut)

Before and during the meliora era, there's a rule that ghouls aren't allowed to remove their masks or clothing in front of anyone but each other, their caretaker and the Papa under special circumstances. But as a cardinal, terzo becomes really attached to Omega for some weird reason and really wants to see his face right? And while Omega could easily just break the rules, he decides to be a little shit and be playfully stubborn about it. So Terzo makes a deal with him; anything Omega wants in exchange for Terzo getting to see his face at least once. And what does Omega ask for? Freedom. Freedom from the restrictions of the clergy, freedom to go where he pleases without punishment or threat of being sent back to the Pit, freedom to resign if he wants to and go elsewhere, get a new job if he wants to, maybe work at pottery barn or something. So Terzo is like eh, I always hated those stupid rules anyway, we like disorder and chaos here, so sure I'll make it happen. Even though he's sad at the idea of Omega leaving.

So Terzo takes the proposal to Secondo, and obviously secondo is like absolutely not. We have rules for a reason. And so Terzo wants to know why, obviously, but Secondo is secretive about it. He admits that some of the other rules could be changed a bit but he's not going to, and letting ghouls leave the ministry is definitely out of the question. What he does tell terzo is this: If any ghouls were to leave, they wouldn't last long. They'd never find a job, they'd never be able to live more happily than they do here let alone survive. They'd be shot and killed less than a week into their little venture (this is because of their demonic appearance, but Terzo doesn't know that and Omega isn't really aware how humans would react to him since nobody has ever seen him aside from the people listed in the first paragraph).

But terzo presses on. He explains to Omega what Secondo said to him about leaving, and Omega understands and settles for whatever Terzo can get him. When he's Papa, he works hard to have the insane amount of rules regarding the ghouls abolished so they can live a little more freely, and it takes a long, long time but he does eventually get to it - as well as the rule about ghouls leaving the ministry, since he doesn't understand why it's there, since he thinks Secondo was exaggerating, since he's never seen a ghoul before - and so he frees the ghouls. Right before he dies.

Omega doesn't expect it at all. Earlier the day of, he thought something along the lines of "I'll do it later. I'll make it extra special, and I'll make sure to thank him profusely for everything he did for us." Because at this point the ghouls and Terzo have grown even more attached to each other, especially Omega -- they're more like a family than they've been with any other Papa. But before Omega gets the chance to hold his end of the deal, Terzo kicks the bucket.

So Omega never wears his mask when he goes to visit Terzo's grave.

#the band ghost #terzomega #papa emeritus iii #papa terzo #omega ghoul #nameless ghoul omega

[deleteddewewted]

Trans! Shinso Headcanons

Shinso x Gn! Reader

W/n: This is something I've hc for a long time but also something I've talked to a mutual about. Shinso gives some gender envy.

W: Insecurity, Shinso has parents (Not Eraserhead), Mentions of Transphobia, Intersex Character, Mentions of Needles (Not Graphic/Testosterone injections), Puppy love, Body worship (non-sexual), Mentions of therapy, Depression, Medication Usage

Commissions: Open! (You can commission me on Ko-fi!)

His parents were always upfront with him about him being intersex.

They wanted him to have a choice about who he was and what he wanted to do his health.

The world around them was safer and more understanding since quirks began to appear.

But it wasn't a 100% guarantee that people would be loving or embracing.

Bigotry and hate still prevailed and people maintained divided regarding mutants and quirk types.

They knew that if their child was going to be part of a unique demographic, they would rather their kid be prepared to face it rather than deny themselves from seeking their happiness.

So they did everything they could to make life enjoyable for.

They wen with what their doctor said and allowed Shinso to grow up unique himself.

They gave him the freedom to choose the clothes he wanted to wear and what toys he wanted to play with.

If he wanted to wear dresses they'd let him. If he wanted to have his haircut short they'd cut it short for him.

He was allowed to experiment and enjoy his childhood.

It was the outside world that was a little harder to navigate.

He would wear pink at times just because the color was stimulating to him.

He'd wear bows in his hair alongside his school uniform and he'd get teased for it by his classmates.

He couldn't understand why or the reasons behind the comments his classmates would make about him.

He remembered just feeling hurt and uncomfortable wearing certain items of clothing after the fact, at least in public.

As he entered middle school things started to fall into place for him.

He liked it when people would call a boy or a "young man".

He enjoyed presenting as more masculine and he enjoyed doing things that labeled him "manly".

But he still liked the more feminine things from his childhood.

He would buy makeup and his parents would encourage him to wear whatever he wanted.

He would paint his nails and would do his mother's nails too just because he found it relaxing.

He started using "he" and "him" pronouns.

It felt right. He felt right.

His parents took him to speak with his therapist and see what they could do to better support him since he was nearing puberty and it would create more complications with his quirk and his hormones.

They then took him to his doctors and had all the options listed out for them on what they could do to help him.

He was put on puberty blockers and was later on given testosterone.

The year before entering UA was an event in itself.

He was smaller compared to his other classmates.

He was thin and lanky with a little bit of peach fuss on his face.

Everyone was so fantastical and outgoing while he was the guy with an awkward smile and a raspy laugh.

He felt out of place again but it was now for two reasons.

His quirk was the thing that people focused on the most and it made him both self-conscious and resentful.

He wondered what life would be like if he hadn't developed his quirk. On other days, he asked if it would be easier to just be the villain others made him out to be.

It got bad for the first few weeks into UA.

He switched his dosage for his antidepressants and it caused him to get drowsier.

He could barely focus on his classes and he isolated himself from his class.

Nothing felt right and nothing felt good.

He hated how he looked and he loathed that he wasn't his "heroic" classmate.

He hated that he wasn't as defined or as muscled as his male classmates.

All of it. All of it took him into a deep depression and dark thoughts began to consume him.

He wanted to stop wearing his binders and he wanted to stop taking his hormones.

He just wanted everything to stop.

He just wanted to have a moment to breathe.

Shinso started taking his bike out with him on long rides around his neighborhood and on the weekends he would go out to a trail and just ride.

He was happy with the isolation and he felt like he had fresh air whenever he was far away from other people.

He liked it better this way.

He liked the loneliness because there was no judgment and no pressure.

And yet you turned that around when you came into his life.

When you came into his life it was like something had knocked the air out of him.

Your smile was infectious and your pretty eyes were the most mesmerizing thing in the world to him.

He knew he looked bizarre and out of place even among a sea of students with a variety of physical differences. He knew his presence was intimidating, but you, you were something else entirely.

You were so unique.

You lived your life in a way he did not think possible. You didn't care about what others thought about you or the way you dressed.

You spoke your mind, you embraced the flattering and unflattering aspects of your quirk.

You were free from the confines of teen angst and social pressure.

You looked comfortable in your skin.

You looked like the breath of fresh air he had been looking for.

He followed you around and sat next to you whenever he could even though he wouldn't say anything to you.

His face would get red just being near you and he'd subconsciously improve his posture and puff up his chest to impress you.

Was it kinda of cringe? Sure. Did you find it cute? Yes.

He'd offer up his class notes to you so you could study them if you felt lost during the lectures and he'd even draw silly cat doodles on a piece of paper just to leave them on your desk for you to find.

He was whipped by just how nice you were and how understanding you were with him.

You were always talking to him even if he didn't talk back.

You never asked him about his quirk and you'd never point out his scrawny physic.

You did mention his mustache that was starting to come in. You said it was cute and that he'd looked good with a mustache.

He was so flattered and felt so validated. You made him feel like he was good enough for you despite the fact everyone kept telling him that his quirk with yours wasn't compatible.

He felt good just being around you.

He liked getting compliments from you and you liked being around him.

You both grew closer and eventually, he started asking you to come over to his house to hang out and eventually ended up staying the night over multiple times throughout the week.

You learned a lot about him just by spending time at his place.

You liked cuddling with his stuffed cat plushie and you liked that his room had this playful feel to it.

He wasn't big on decoration but he had posters of his favorite movies and music bands all over the walls. He had those sticky stars and planet glow-in-the-dark stickers on the ceiling right on top of his bed.

He was also pretty open about his transition. (He told you he was trans and after another sleepover at his place he told you he was intersex.)

He would share his things with you like clothes and menstrual products since he always kept extra just in case.

You both would go shopping together and on more than one occasion he has asked you for your input on what binders he should get among other things.

He asked you if you would be ok with being in the room with him when he had to take his testosterone injections.

You both fell into a natural and almost domestic relationship and be it that he hadn't outright asked you out you both just started treating each other as partners.

You were exclusive with him and he was the same way with you.

Once he started bulking up from his training with Eraserhead, he started gaining confidence that wasn't really there.

He was more comfortable being shirtless around you. He even started sleeping without a shirt on when you stayed the night.

And because of this, he decided he was finally going to ask you out officially.

He was nervous of course. You were his first everything. You were the only person who he felt was his support besides his parents and the few friends he had managed to make along his journey to join the hero course.

You'd reassure him and reaffirm him on the things he was doing even if you didn't fully understand why he was doing them.

So as you both lay in his bed cuddling and trying to sleep, he whispered to you just how much you mean to him.

"You've been there for me since we've met and you've ever asked me to explain myself to you. You accepted me for who I was and that's something I've only had happened to me just a few times in my life. I can breathe with you here. I don't feel trapped or stuck anymore."

He took a big gulf before kissing the back of your neck and pressing himself closer to you.

"I love you more than words could describe and I wanted to ask you if you would officially be my partner. I couldn't envision a future in which I'm not with you and you're not with me." He waited in what felt like hours of silence before you answered him with a soft yes.

You both stayed together, wrapped in each other's arms excited to see what the future would hold for you and in your newly established relationship.

#shinso x reader #shinso x y/n #shinso x gn! reader #hitoshi shinsou #hitoshi shinso x reader #hitoshi shinso x y/n #mha #bnha #hitoshi shinsō #hitoshi shinso imagine #mha fanfiction #bnha x reader #bnha fanfiction #shinso #shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou fluff #trans! shinso

[mercurygray]

Fingertips smudged in blue ink for Marion! :))

There's ink on her fingers again.

It's an innocent enough observation, but the fact that he has stared at her hands long enough to make it is enough to spark some internal debate. She has lovely hands, though - when they're not being marked by a leaking pen. Neil loves watching her hands as she works, loves watching the way her pen flies over the paper while she's taking notes and the way the sun catches her slim silver signet ring with the Athena's Head etched into the silver. It's modest and workaday - just like her. And those hands seem to hold up half the base. Writing her intelligence reports with Bowman, writing her reports to headquarters, writing her letters home to - well, he doesn't know who she writes to at home. If he did, it's likely he'd be jealous of whatever fellow gets to get sentimental over her perfect penmanship.

He's been daydreaming a lot about those hands, recently - since she took him to task at the officer's club and made him dance with her instead of Mary Boyle. He'd had a fair bit to drink that night, but he could still remember that they'd fit so nicely into his own, that her arms had felt nice, wrapped around his shoulder. In his dreams he kisses her palms, feels the silver of that ring in his hair, the way her fingers would feel pressed against his shirt. But she always stops before she gets too far - in dreams, as in real life, Marion Brennan is a realist.

Home feels far away, here, and Doris further still - she's still writing every week, how the girls are doing in school, how the house looks, how the dog is getting on. It seems like a different planet, from where he's sitting. And he can't recall the last time his wife took him up on an offer to dance, even somewhere as workaday as thier kitchen, with the radio on. She commits nothing to paper that the censor can't read, though he's told her more than once as the CO no one is reading his mail.

He envies his men - the young men they are and have freedom to be. Cleven with his gentleman's soft charm, inaccessible but willing to smile, Blakely and Douglass ready to take all comers, Egan with his easy bluster and a smile for every woman in the place, including the captain it seems he respects too much to actually flirt with. All of them can charm and chance and change, and knock heads over who kissed who, and still be friends about it in the morning. He wants that ease, that laughter. But the only cures for what ails him are far away, in London, smoking under the arches and casting an eye over the eagles on his collar. Thorpe Abbotts is too small for indiscretions, and dear old Dad should do better than his boys. His sins can't be where they can see them.

But no one laughed when he danced with her - that, at least, was worth a note. They fit together - and that's as it should be.

He makes up his mind, and crosses the room with handkerchief in hand. "We need to get you a new pen, Captain."

She glances down and realizes what a mess the blue is making, taking the handkerchief to wipe down her fingers with a murmur of thanks. "I'll wash it and bring it back to you first thing," she promises, looking embarassed.

And he can't help thinking of the sink in her quarters, the way she will look in her dressing gown standing there scrubbing the ink out.

#i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #tds cinematic universe #marion brennan #poet i gotta tell you the urge to tag this mama y papa is very strong

[boobav]

An ocean of freedom

Albert Wesker x Reader

content: gross zombies, canon-typical violence, wesker is an asshole so kinda angsty

word count: 5.8k

"So, let me get this straight, you're telling me there's been sightings of Lisa out in the mountains? Security executed her three years ago Jared that's definitely some- I don't know, bigfoot situation." With folded arms you stared at your co-worker, a rather uninterested look dulling your features.

"Look Doctor, I'm not saying I believe it but I just thought it was worth mentioning. Just in case, you know? Maybe it isn't Lisa but some of the virus could've gotten out. Maybe something really is out there! That could jeopardize our entire operation!" Well, he certainly sounded convicted.

"I hear you, I do. I'll look into it when I've got the time. Now leave, I'm busy."

"Alright, thank you." The underling stood from the chair opposite yours and walked off, glancing back once and smiling the way a dog does before it vomits. Somehow throughout your years of working for Umbrella, you'd acquired the unenjoyable role of comforting various researchers through their moments of acute paranoia. Maybe it was the friendly voice, maybe it was the tendency to say what people wanted to hear so they'd shut up. Well... Whatever it was, it brought irritating people to your door every other day. Why should you give a shit that this level-three-clearance researcher thinks the cerberus is gonna maul him to death? That's his problem, not yours.

With a sigh, you lean forward and shuffle up to your worn desk; a pile of papers was laid neatly atop it, demanding your attention more than anything else in the pearl-white room. The contents of this pile included multiple topics, but the main one was feedback from B.O.W tests- hunters, cerberus', general T-virus patients. You'd gotten through half the grueling paperwork earlier this morning, but the stack was still gargantuan and had the strange power of draining all your motivation as soon as it came into vision. Unfortunately, putting it off wasn't as option as you had the executive task of going over results, analyzing anomalies, noting them and then compiling these rough manuscripts into literate articles for the higher-ups. A pen reluctantly found its way into your hand but first, a sharp knock at the door.

"Come in."

The door flicks open, an action entirely lacking in hesitation or self-consciousness. Sunglasses come first- and a mix of dread and deep, uncomfortable anticipation fills you slowly, almost painfully slow, like thick cement filling a crevice in the pavement. But besides all that... He can't have gotten suspicious already, right? You'd only been a part of S.T.A.R.S. for... Well a month or two... Oh please don't be suspicious already that throws a wrench in-

"I saw that paranoid man come in a moment ago. What did he say?" Wesker approached your desk, but he did not sit. Instead, he stood perfectly still with a dark folder tucked under his arm and a lab-coat slung over the same limb; all the energy in the room seemed loyal to him rather than you, a disturbing feeling seeing as it was your office. The fluorescent lighting did nothing to change the immediate dark mood, but nevertheless, his simple words should've snuffed the rawness into professionalism- under ordinary circumstances. But, unfortunately, the past's gloved hands were thick, its tight grip bruising, and its tongue harsh.

Your planned words were stilted, unfit for your drying mouth as your superior stood staring. Or, perhaps, glaring. It was impossible to tell.

"Well... He says there's been sightings of something in the woods." Keeping eye-contact with a glassed gaze was difficult, you thought, "Apparently there's been rumours it's Lisa."

"How many people believe this?" His toneless voice ran straight to the point, as per usual; it seemed you were the only one with a throbbing heart and tightened throat. Wesker's presence was continuing to prove itself unbearable, licks of condescension in his words infuriating.

"How should I know? Go out and ask the senior researchers individually."

"Isn't that supposed to be your job? Compiling useful information?" The sarcasm. The ignorance. The goddamn sunglasses. It took all the power in your body not to lunge over the desk and wrangle the blonde to the floor. His perfectly framed face, not a hair loose, his straight-stick posture... All of it made him more and more insufferable.

Upon your lack of response, a brief, unmoving silence fell. However, to stay under his reticent scrutiny any longer would have been mental torture- so you forced your mouth to part, accommodating thick words that pressed weightily against your tongue.

"Only partially, but you already knew that. Can you leave now?"

"I want you to compile me a list of the researchers who believe Lisa is still alive and I want it by next week."

"Why?"

"None of your concern." He took a single step closer and dropped the folder he had atop your desk, sending a pencil flying off onto the floor somewhere. "I want your opinion on this."

"Pah, you want my opinion on something? Very funny Wesker, but give it to an intern."

"I'm serious." He stood for a brief moment, perhaps giving you some unseen look, before turning and leaving the same way he'd come- no hesitation or longing anywhere to be seen. That probably should've been disheartening, but with him gone it felt as though a relief as heavy as a raging waterfall had fallen upon your shoulders. Well anyway, you must've looked horrendously dumbfounded, but this was a horrendously dumbfounding situation. Wesker, asking for your opinion rather than Birkin's? An incomprehensible miracle had just graced your presence, and now you were curious.

With the tension forgotten, you swept paperwork aside and slid the black folder up front. It wasn't very thick, but that made it feel all the more important. A small treasure trove of classified information felt like a Christmas present every time it was received; you flicked open the folder and peered inside its charcoal shell. And oh, a beautiful treasure trove it was! It seemed as though the Tyrant program had had some recent successes, surprising seeing as the possibility of one bonding with the virus and evolving into a Tyrant was astronomically low. You read on, trying to locate the part that Wesker was curious about... And after a moment or two, it became clear.

One of the test subjects had reacted well to the first dose, but after a few more trials the half-Tyrant began growing bulbous orange eyes around its body, and eventually they incapacitated the budding creature entirely. It sat on the floor immobile as sludge, all the while sprouting more and more clusters of eyes. As you read on, it seemed that these eyes were a point of weakness for the burgeoning creature as it yowled when they were stabbed. Hmm... What did you make of this? You'd let the information settle and get back to Wesker at the S.T.A.R.S. office the day after tomorrow. The dread was already prematurely creeping in.

Paperwork gets done, reports get filed and now you prepare to leave the Arklay Laboratory; the night around you is cold, secretive and enhanced by the surrounding trees that block out even the moon's gaze. On-field research, observation and experimentation were the highlights of your career, but without these dull days the great ones would not be possible. Umbrella needed to keep a rope around its researchers, its cattle, and that rope was a noose pressed right against their talkative throats, held taut by you. This role of yours was part of the reason you needed to check up on researchers and keep things in order, keep things secret. Not that you were exempt from having a noose around your neck- no, not at all, but yours was considerably looser than the majorities. Even so... If Umbrella wanted to hang you or anyone else in its grasp, it could do so easily. This fact lay at the forefront of your mind, currently unreconciled with, simply acknowledged and occasionally thought on. Did you want to get out of Umbrella- have an ocean of freedom rather than a lake of it?

You packed up your things and left through the mansion, boarding the bus leading back to the city with a handful of other employees.

Upon arrival, you observed that your home was still orderly, just as it had been left; you felt paranoia ooze out from your system like pus, and then dissipate entirely. You shucked your coat off, threw your keys in their bowl and slipped off your laced shoes. Tomorrow, a day off, and the next day an unfulfilling drag at the S.T.A.R.S. office. Umbrella must be seriously out of their minds thinking that if, and this is a big if, Wesker was plotting something he'd somehow slip and reveal it at that dull police station. They'd placed you as Alpha team's medic for the sole purpose of spying on your superior, watching his every move and relaying back anything suspect. A double agent of sorts, right in plain sight.

And so far, you'd relayed absolutely nothing.

This, of course, didn't mean Wesker wasn't planning anything. He could be a brilliant actor, or fantastic at covering tracks; you already knew the former was true, so the latter was not implausible. Nevertheless, all the knowledge you'd gained on him so far had lead you to one, big, fat conclusion: he was an asshole. An asshole with a great mind, yes, but working around him almost 24/7 had begun forcing him into your mind more than was enjoyable, like a parasite digging its claws into where it doesn't belong.

But not belonging somewhere doesn't equate to being unwanted.

Anyway, disregarding certain regrettable events, he was your co-worker, your superior. Umbrella could protect you should things go sour and he want you removed from his presence entirely, but staying relatively cordial was in your best interest. At least for now. At least until you had something concrete, something tangible proving his suspected misdeeds. The thought crossed your mind, that perhaps you weren't seeing anything wrong in his actions because you yourself didn't believe in these Umbrella conspiracies; what could Wesker possibly have against them? They gave him almost infinite funding for his research and more than infinite leniency for his disagreeable tendencies. There was definitely something other than his brain that was valuable to Umbrella... Otherwise, they wouldn't be putting so much effort into watching and monitoring him with you acting as an extra pair of eyes, an extension of Umbrella itself.

After various nightly rituals, you retreated to bed, head swimming yet perfectly content to rest. Rest you did, untroubled as a rock. The morning soon arrived, sun peering through your half-closed blinds and caressing your exposed skin.

You leant up against the bed's headboard, pinching your eyes free of their morning film and attempting to discard the grog in your mind. Sleep was becoming increasingly difficult to enjoy, feeling a bit like a recurring holiday destination... Especially with a certain annoyance consistently plaguing ludicrous dreams.

A ping from the left alerted your attention, your work phone, brick thing that it was, had gone off over a dozen times through the night.

"Ughm- what now?" Upon seeing the screen, your nonchalance was replaced with wide-eyed and pulsing concern- something terrible had gone down at Arklay Laboratory overnight and it seemed not a single soul was privy to the details. There were emails and texts from higher-ups desperately trying to get ahold of you, desperately trying to ascertain whether you, currently one of their most precious assets, were safe at home or dead in the lab.

You replied to everyone individually with a brief message saying, 'I'm alive, what is happening?' with slight variations each time, variations that became increasingly impatient. Someone who'd clearly been up all night pinged you back quickly, assuring you it was now under control and to stay far away from Arklay. What? How could they possibly have anything under control if you couldn't even go to the mansion? A tear of anger directed towards your employers ripped through your chest- bullshit it was under control! Did Umbrella forget how much incriminating evidence against them was scattered about that mansion? Did they forget how many files had your name printed (in bold) on the front?

Another few texts were sent and you repeatedly received the exact same answer. Sit tight and go to the S.T.A.R.S. office tomorrow as usual, plans were underway and evidence was being gathered, recorded if important and the rest destroyed with great attention to detail. The doubt, heavy like a drug in your system, was making your hands and neck clammy, so you showered and then went on an unsuccessfully calming walk to try clear your head.

And so a tense day began to pass. Your misery and anxiety was propelled onto your surroundings: the sky's warm blue hue now seemed dull and mocking, the pleasant lights of the city now blinding and irritating. Even the buildings themselves seemed to be looming in on you, reminding you of the world you'd lose if your involvement with Umbrella's shade got out into the public eye. The outside became so unbearable that you decided to just return home and stare at a wall, pondering how your existence would be in prison.

Once night fell and shadows themselves began to mock your spirits, you closed your eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep that was interrupted every hour or so by an overwhelming revelation that had the strength to overpower sleep itself. These revelations were consistently mortifying, for example the fact that even if the mansion was set alight, the lab would most likely be protected and later discovered. This would lead to your immediate downfall. Another even more worrying revelation was the fact that if you didn't get satisfactory assurance from Wesker tomorrow, you'd have to venture down into those labyrinth woods and save your own goddamn career.

God, why the fuck were you still working for these people? One change of the rota- one change making you work today instead of yesterday would've meant certain and unavoidable death. The stunning realization that you had barely any idea of who 'these people' really were strengthened this new, defiant resolve of yours.

Eventually the clock ticked 6am and you almost levitated up from your bed; you'd get to the office early and ask 'Captain' Wesker about this situation without the prying ears of other teammates. Sweat had drenched your back overnight so you hopped into the shower once again; standing under the harsh flow of water did not alleviate any of your suffering, but sitting on the tiled floor with your knees up to your chin like a child did. Doubts and regrets piled atop you; was staying with Umbrella worth it? What could you even do if it wasn't? You bathed in the shade, but the shade brought the risk of being killed outside the light, outside the sun's gaze if your life was deemed unnecessary.

Fuck.

The city was bustling even at this raw hour, but the hope for answers made your projective outlook slightly less negative. The blue sky was blue, and the buildings were simply buildings.

As you arrived, you noted that the police station was empty, a surreal husk of a usually-busy location with emptiness accentuated by the old, grand architecture. Straight to the S.T.A.R.S. office you went, lonely shoes clicking against the hard floor in a rushed manner. No voices accompanied your short, artificially-lit journey and the story was the same inside the office itself; the lights buzzed to life as you flicked the switch and wandered inside, looking slightly as a lost pet does. A fresh tinge of anxiety ran through your heart as you stood by Wesker's door, but you pushed it aside and knocked once, twice.

"Come in."

And so you did.

His desk was quite bare, lacking in personal oddities most have. A pen there, a stack of papers here. He leant back in his chair, arms folded over a shallowly rising chest. Sunglasses, for once, were slipped into his blue shirt instead of being worn. His countenance, still and straight as always. A flutter of irritation and something more unutterable flew through you.

"You know why I'm here, and my patience is already running out with Umbrella's secrecy. What's going on at Arklay?"

He said nothing immediately, hard-set eyes diving into your own and resolving to stay there. Shadows wrapped around his face and yours, the light of the day being dull as it was this time of the year. Even though you were stood and he sat, it seemed the power in the claustrophobia-inducing room encircled him rather than you again; it made your heart patter, but you stayed steadfast in the silence.

"If you're not privy to that information, why do you assume that I am?"

"Don't bullshit me." A scowl crawled onto your face and he made a dull noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. His cold blue eyes kept on yours, and for a small second a flash of consideration, of thoughtfulness spread through them- the first real emotion you'd been able to discern in a long while.

"I suppose it wouldn't be beneficial to hide this from you. There was a leak at the laboratory and it appears there are no survivors." He paused, attentive to each twitch of your features. "Does this soothe your curiosity?"

"No it doesn't. Wesker, do you have any idea how much incriminating shit on me is in that lab?" At this point you were pacing, "Can you even comprehend how bad this would be for me, no- for us, everyone, if this got out? If even a fraction of it got out!"

"An overreaction."

"Oh fuck you!" You slammed a hand against his desk, pointing a finger accusatorily as he finally stood, "How can you be so flippant with something of this magnitude?"

"Have you forgotten who you're talking to, Doctor?" His rich voice held threat, narrowed eyes growing increasingly closer and holding more offerings of venom. Your breaths were shallow waves, controlled somewhat, and on the brink of gracing your superiors face; now leaning over the desk, the distance between the two of you was minimal and would've continued shrinking without oak intervention. You shoved your finger into his chest, but he did not flinch, nor furrow his brows, nor move at all as people tend to do when under scrutiny.

"Oh I haven't forgotten a single thing. I am done with your bullshit Wesker. I'm going back there and dealing with this myself I-"

"You guys alright in there?" Chris Redfield spoke from behind the door, alerting you to the precarious situation you'd thrown yourself into; there had been absolutely no reason to tell of your plan, and you felt curses rising up your throat like bile.

Closing your eyes, you paused- breathing, thinking. No need for further rashness.

But your attempt at turning away was intercepted as Wesker grabbed your jaw, gloved hand forcing you back into his proximity; your stomach flipped, and your heart jumped.

"Don't do anything stupid." His fingers clenched against your skin, "Or I'll have to deal with it personally."

The urge to spit in his flawless face was overwhelming, but you pulled away- a fly escaping from a spiders web. Chris was waiting on the other side of the door, watching with an arched brow as you slammed it behind you; he trailed you to the desks, hovering nearby as if preparing some kind of speech in his great big soldier brain. You fell to your chair, pinching the bridge of your nose as though wringing out anger. Sadly, your state of being was not as easy to control as a towel's.

Chris stepped over, leaning against your desk by the hip.

"I know he's an ass sometimes... But he's a great captain, trust me. You'll get used to him soon." Ah, another fly stuck in the web of lies and deceit. You glanced to Chris' bright, well-meaning eyes and felt sorrow for him for the first time. To you, he appeared as a stray animal, one too trusting and one who'd been reluctantly taken in by an owner who'd get rid of him next week.

"You don't know the half of it Redfield."

The day slogged on and by the end, your conviction was clear as the sky above. You would go to the laboratory. After that, you were completely and utterly done with Umbrella. Perhaps you'd run to another company, perhaps you'd run to another country. The plan wasn't fully formulated, hypothesis muddled and two-tailed, but it was there, murky and unfinished. And so, as the blackness faded from the sky and bars of pink, orange then blue replaced it, you awoke with purpose. No way you were gonna let yourself get dragged down into the muck, the mud that Umbrella enjoyed dancing in. Maybe it was irrational... But you felt as though this was only the beginning. And so- you needed to act fast.

You slipped on warm clothes, an extra layer of skin, and holstered a handgun to your side beneath your thick jacket- a measured precaution. Along with the gun, you strapped a hunting knife to your thigh, similarly hidden beneath your coat.

The drive to the mountains felt grave, a disconcerting stillness in the world passing by. Contained in the box that was your car were your own bubbling feelings, mainly of tittering anxiety and occasional, but thick, doubt. The radio began flickering in and out, buzzing like an irritating fly the closer you got to the mountains, so you rotated the knob to silence. Accompanied by nothing but your own thoughts made the car feel more like a cage, so you cracked down a window and let air whistle through; said air became thin, thinner yet as you ascended the mountains and began the bumpy off-road path towards the mansion. The finalé of the trip was horrible, stomach jumping as the wheels rolled over hives in the dirt path. Tall trees watched your journey, looming over and reaching as if curious at the unexpected intrusion. Their dark spines were thick, constant and capable of blocking out the sun completely; time along here was no longer a resolute rule of the world, but a loose, fleeting suggestion. Eventually, the mansion became visible through the thicket, so you parked a short distance away in a clearing. The floor here was made consistently of pine and shrubbery blanketing soft dirt. Whilst you walked, the recurring thought that whatever you were attempting to accomplish today had a very low likelihood of success arrived once more. Nevertheless, you had to try something, anything, so that the biting paranoia could be tamed.

The doors to the mansion were heavy, two thick slabs of oak pressed against each-other and surrounded by ornamented stone. Upon entering, a coil of stillness wrapped around your heart and steadied its vigorous pumping; you were half-expecting to be greeted by trains of blood with mutilated bodies at their bases, but instead, there was nothing. Silence and emptiness. As an icy cool settled over your soul, you thought that perhaps this absence was worse than your brimming expectation. There was a glimpse of movement in the corner of your eye- up the stairs and to the left. Whatever it was it had come and gone in a moment, leaving not a single sound behind as if it were one of those shadow-people humanity had the tendency to see. Perhaps it was. But nevertheless, it snatched away your attention, its unintentional beckoning too tantalizing to resist. You walked along the aged red carpet, ascended the stairs, turned left and continued down the weathered path, eyes flicking constantly to painting, to drawer, to wall and to painting again. But there were no anomalies. There was merely dead silence, broken singularly by your flat footsteps.

And then all of a sudden a cry- no, a screech, and then a blur was lunging at you from an open doorway to the left, flayed hands coming into vision first. The fingernails were rotten, presumably flimsy, and the fingers themselves were peeling with chunks of skin missing, revealing the decaying muscle beneath. You threw yourself back, barely having time to recover steady footing as the decrepit thing began ambling towards you; it made a grappling motion but missed, and another, which missed again. The rhythmic, angry pounding of your heart continued on as you gained distance, but your mind steadied somewhat as clarity pumped through you like blood. The leak must've come at a terrible time to have infected up in the halls already, you noted.

You gripped your handgun, fingers stiff as if you'd been the one subjected to rigor mortis instead of this stumbling, rotting creature. Your first shot ran by its neck, discoloured flesh tearing with ease; the next shot pierced right between the eyes and sent the thing flopping to the carpeted floor. A professional sternness had settled into the ridges, the curves and wrinkles of your face, deep-set as though it had always been there. The corpse, as you stepped beside it, was face down and omitting a repugnant stench almost incomparable to anything you'd ever smelt before; besides, of course, a dead body. Except this one was reanimated, and apparently that meant extra spice.

For good measure, you kicked it and waited a moment for further reanimation; an irrational part of you thought it would rise straight up again as if controlled on strings by a mastermind above. Perhaps, you regarded this thought with a lightly amused huff, Umbrella deemed themselves that mastermind, but their control of the strings was becoming tenuous at best.

"Fuck this..." You mumbled, stepping back over the body and back towards the entrance hall; paintings leered as you passed, and during one moment your attention was so fixated upon one that you bumped a table corner and sent a vase flying to the ground. It smashed, you jumped, and then moved on.

As you re-entered the dusty hall a fresh dose of dread ran up your spine; anxiety crackled through your chest anew like a firework, although at first glance it appeared that nothing had changed in your absence. But the instinctual caution that was possessing your body suggested otherwise; you thought this irrational, though. Plan was, you'd grab that framed photo from the dining hall, then go straight to the lab. It seemed you could outrun these patients well enough, so that's what would be done. But right then, as you reached the center of the hall, another monstrous noise split through the air. This time, less of a cry and more of a snarl, a deep, animal snarl; your reaction was much too late- by the time you'd turned the beast had already lunged, knocking you down as its front paws dug into your abdomen. Without time to think your hands flew up automatically, grappling with the cerberus' snapping jaw, holding it open and away from your face as far as possible (which wasn't very far at all). Its teeth, each a miniature knife, were hard to grip due to the excess saliva coating them and giving them a slimy outer shell and its fur was ragged, blood-soaked and disgusting to grip; the saliva was, simultaneously, dropping onto your face and neck in thick, frothy globs. Shit- you couldn't reach that goddamn knife at this angle! And though your mind worked quickly, increasingly desperate to end the struggle, a new snarl, and then a bark, sounded from beside- another decrepit dog had appeared.

Your mind was immediately thrown into a plunge pool of dread, deepening every millisecond of awareness.

The wide majority would perhaps see the tiny sliver of life remaining to them as an opportunity to pray and repent- but in a moment of resilience, you did not. You hurriedly withdrew one hand from the maw of the beast and wrenched out your gun, shooting with grit teeth at the newer cerberus; the first two shots were mere scrapes but the third sent it to the floor beside your face. Stench invaded your flared nostrils and the strength needed to hold back the cerberus atop you was waning drastically; soreness filled your forearm like pins and just as you cried out with a final surge of adrenaline, an unexpected shot came from the right, and the monster went limp.

For a short second, you lay perfectly still, the weight of the double-corpse atop your chest making breathing difficult. Blood was rushing through your ears, hands, mouth and your throbbing pulse could be felt on every inch of skin. A complete stillness fell, and you closed your eyes, racing brain coming to the conclusion that whatever had just happened had been an intervention from Jesus himself; the almighty had saved you due to your valuable mind, your ideas having not yet reached their prophesized value.

But Jesus Christ did not go around blasting heretic creatures to death with a gun. Well, not in the first coming at least.

Your eyes reopened, meeting the screened gaze of your captain, your fellow researcher and blight of the earth Albert Wesker. A mixture of joy, dread, suspicion and something familiarly unutterable filled your cavernous chest as you sat up and pushed the disgusting dog from your lap. There were a few explanations for his appearance, you thought whilst wiping saliva from your face. One, he'd come on orders of Umbrella to evaluate the situation, but this seemed unlikely seeing as they had soldiers for the job; why risk a valuable virologist's life? Two, he suspected that you'd be here and decided on a whim to save your life. Unlikely.

Three, Umbrella was entirely right to suspect misconduct. A silence settled, broken only by your shuffling and the rain that had begun knocking at the windows. Tension, thick as wool, rose and the roots of it were unspeakably obvious; you stood, the urge to leave clashing violently with the urge to stay.

"Why are you here?" Were all the words your tongue could form.

"I expected a thank you before the questioning." He sighed, a rather disingenuous thing, "I'm under the impression you'd have been mauled to death without my interference." He took one step closer, and you took one step back. Suddenly, you became aware of the fact you'd dropped your gun in the scuffle- but as you reached down for it Wesker advanced further, forcing you to continue backwards as he kicked your weapon across the smooth floor. Your back hit something hard- the ornate banister of the stairs, you guessed. Its circularity pressed uncomfortably against you like two incongruous puzzle pieces. His hands were idle at his sides as he stood before you, but the threat of the gun in his grip was not lost. There should've been nothing but fear, concern and dread in your system- but the warmth of old reverence was alarmingly present.

"I'm not here to play games with you. I have a proposition that would be beneficial for the both of us." His bass voice held no current belittlement and his gaze was hot despite being behind shades; you felt yourself unconsciously shrink back but quickly fixed that posture, hands coming forward instead of being curled around the banister. No! You couldn't fall to your knees so easily again, submitting to lies and deceit as though that lesson hadn't been learnt already- burnt inside you already. The knife wrapped around your thigh felt mocking.

"And that is?" Your voice did not waver, but if you had said more it probably would have. Another step forward and he was directly in front of you, leaning over like one does to a stationary art piece. He removed his sunglasses, head tilting lightly.

"Umbrella has failed you once, but it has failed me many times." He leant in now, dangerously close to your face, "I know they put you on the team to watch me. Only an utter fool would miss such a blatant move." Contempt was finally evident in his deep tone, but perhaps more than that- a mocking. Another step forward, and now, there was nothing but an inch separating your body from his; your gaze was averted, but your figure did not decline his physical invitation. Curses materialized in your throat once again, thick and prodding. "But I can move on from previous transgressions. Question is, can you?"

Your hand hovered close to the knife.

"So far I'm hearing nothing of value. What do I gain from this deal of yours, if anything?"

A devilish curl came upon his lips, encasing his face in its habitual aura of superiority. After a humorless chuckle left them, his free hand moved quick, quicker than yours could, and his ungloved fingers wrapped around your thigh, squeezing through the material of your knife's holster; he tore its velcro apart and tossed it with a clang to the floor, deft fingers proceeding to ghost over the plump skin. At the same time, he slipped his own weapon away and used the newly free hand to hold your chin; the grip was completely ungentle, instead, rough, hard against you.

"I thought it sensible to get rid of that first." The impish smirk remained- God, he was utterly intolerable. You smacked his grip away, reversing the roles and seizing his sculpted jaw with a similar lack of kindness; your back arched against the wood, and his clothed abdomen met yours.

"What do you want me to do?" The embers of desire for this traitor were not ones to be stoked. In fact, you definitely should be attempting to stamp them out, eradicate them with long-standing knowledge. But with this treacherous man now pressed against you, hands finding their way to your waist, you felt your resolve crumble as background, nefarious and plotting thoughts returned to the foreground of your conscious.

"The public is going to demand for police action once the virus spreads further. Once we get deployed, I'll get rid of everything besides what we need. Destroying Umbrella would be an interesting career note, don't you think?"

This was gearing up to be the worst decision of your entire life. And yet, the will to deny it was not present. The real query was: how long could your fallen allegiance with Umbrella stick with its new host?

"You'll destroy everything in the lab? All the evidence?" You ran a finger over his jawline, thoughts of contrast and concern ruling over your mind. Like a pet, the inclination to follow was immense, crushing, but with the gift of intelligence you knew this urge to be dangerous, idiotic even.

"Of course." His lips ghosted over your own; your eyes, two whirling pools of confliction, glanced to them, but he pulled away and let you go before any sweet contact swerved you into an entirely pleasant opinion. Wesker reached into his breast-pocket, pulling from it a laminated photo that became clear as he held it for your viewing. "I'll keep this as insurance. Nothing to concern yourself over."

The redness drained from your face nearly as quickly as the delusional fondness did from your chest. The photo was of Umbrella senior researchers on the first day of the Arklay laboratory opening; you were right in the center, glowing, smiling. Your expression now was the complete opposite of that young virologist's who you'd been, once.

Fresh anger cut through your soul- more at yourself than the traitor; humiliation cut into you, the painting's scattered around ridiculed you, and deep inside you knew your fate in life had already been sealed. You snatched up Wesker's jaw again, nails sinking into his skin as you pulled his flawless face right up to yours, lips on the utter brink of touch as you seethed,

"One mistake is I'll need. One! And I'll always be watching, waiting for that opportunity. I hope for your sake you don't start getting complacent- because I assure you, I won't."

#albert wesker x reader #wesker x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil headcanons #resident evil imagines

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

Step By Step

Baizhu x GN!Reader

CW: Mentions of death, injuries, mentions of physical therapy.

A/N: I had to go through some physical therapy actually so I wanted to write a bit though I didn't go into super detail I might for another fic.

I also left the relationship vague so it can be read as Platonic or Romantic though it has the "x".

-------

Adventuring always comes with risk, be it weather, the landscape, monsters, or other people. Every adventurer know from the bottom of their hearts that they aren't immortal and getting hurt and even not making it out alive is just a fact of adventurer life.

But even so, that doesn't mean their injuries don't upset them greatly. The freedom they once knew taking a back seat due to one mistake during a commission.

It wasn't anything grand like the tales they've heard at taverns where one takes a heavy blow but saves the day. No their fall, both literal and not, happened on wet and muddied terrain while obtaining some violet grass.

The arm they landed on healed fine considering the drop from the cliff of Wuwang Hill, but their lower half was another story. No they weren't paralyzed, they thank whatever and whoever might've been watching over them, perhaps the many spirits there, but they definitely weren't returning to their adventuring lifestyle anytime soon.

"You can do it, just a little further and we'll stop for the day." Baizhu says softly hovering near their shaking form across the room, their legs on the verge of giving out underneath them. But they pull through and make it to the end point of their exercises before slumping onto the cot. "You did wonderfully."

They can't help but grin at the praise, worn out from another long day of physical therapy. Though their legs were sore and they felt exhausted they knew it would be worth it.

"Do you want warming or cooling salve today?" Baizhu lifts two bottles of familiar pain soothing creams in front of them. "You did more intense exercises today, so cooling might be best, but I'll let you pick since you know yourself best."

"We could also try doing one after the other like last time, you seemed to have a better reaction to that." They motion with their good arm their response and he gets to work.

Gritting their teeth they hiss as they let Baizhu massage the soothing salve into their legs, any bruising long healed due to his expert and attentive care. He was the first to find them after they fell and the one dedicated to their recovery just as much as themselves.

Despite all this time they've known each other as doctor and reckless patient, this was the first, and if they could help it last, time he's seen them so injured he visibly panicked. They never want to see that expression ever again and if it meant taking more boring commissions in the future they'd do it for him.

#genshin impact x reader #baizhu x reader #gender neutral reader

[umbralaether]

Doused in deep crimson, he learns freedom doesn't sing— it screams.

Remnants of rage and hatred still cling to his limbs; a heavy sense of guilt settling on top like ash over cinders. He thought revenge would taste different, sweet satisfaction and joy now that his chains were finally broken. He had dreamed of it longer than he could even remember.

Instead, he felt nothing. A void, endless emptiness.

“Astarion?” She hovers around him, unsure. The steam from the private bath covers her in mist. There's a tinge of nervousness to her voice that wasn't there before.

Of course. She's seen everything, all of me. All I've done, all I was too weak to prevent. He lets the thoughts rattle, dig themselves in and fester. Monstrous deeds he meant to forget, dredged up and delivered on a silver platter. All the blood on his hands, the suffering… no longer a buried secret, but a brand of shame.

To think he almost became the same vile creature Cazador was, throwing himself from one cage into another. A slave to power was still a slave, in the end.

But she's still here, not leaving, looking at him with concern. She holds a hand out to him, “I can go, if you wish. But I'd like to stay, take care of you.”

Stability, respite— she is the anchor keeping him adrift in the turbulence. He takes her hand and if his grip is tight, she doesn't show it.

“Don't go.”

She's careful when she removes his clothes, telling him her every move before she does it. She tosses them into the corner, forgotten, as she leads him towards the bath, “If it's not to your liking, I can adjust it. Just let me know.”

He doubts it'll matter, the numbness had burrowed deep ever since they'd left the crypt. He sinks himself in, and upon his touch the water begins to seep the dried blood from his skin. Dark maroon fading to the lightest rose; proof of all that's happened beginning to slowly fade.

She sits across from him, lathering soap into a cloth before beginning to gently scrub— starting first with his hands, making her way to his shoulders with a quiet dedication.

Though his gaze is unfocused he feels her look up at him often, whether to gauge how he was doing or just to watch for any discomfort— he didn't know. He should say something, thank her or assure her he wasn't completely losing his mind but the words stay lodged in his throat.

Bitterness blooms as the events repeat in his thoughts. It had been so easy, in the end. He had spent his life with nothing but fear and despair, and all he'd needed was a tadpole and a blade to end his tormentor.

Two centuries of all-consuming misery ended in an instant.

He would laugh, if it weren't so fucking unfair at the same time.

A soft murmur pulls him from the acrid haze, “I'm proud of you, you know. So, so proud.”

The praise cradles him, warm comfort curling along his body. Another foreign feeling she was all too good at giving him.

Even after all his horrors were laid bare, she was neither afraid nor disgusted. She was here, gently healing the gaping wound in his soul and thawing him from the inside out.

Though she had been doing that for a while, it seemed.

“You should be proud of yourself, too,” Her hands cup his face, thumbs gently rubbing along his cheekbones, “You did the right thing. The thing that will bring you whatever happiness you want.”

No amount of numbness could protect from how warm she is, a radiance gentle and persistent. He closes his eyes, releasing a shuddering sigh.

“You are safe. You are loved,” She hooks her arms around his neck, resting her forehead against his, “I'll remind you as many times as you need. Nothing will hurt you like he did ever again.”

A surge of strength as he hugs her closely, as novel as it was the first time but equally as needed. The emptiness shatters, relief pouring through. She returns his embrace, gently stroking her fingers up and down his back as he sobs against her once more.

What had started as a ploy to keep himself safe had ended up being so much more. She had become so much more. Someone important, someone who saw him as a person and not a monster. Someone who protected and cared about him even when he didn't deserve it.

She had shown him what it means to love, and be loved.

Another gift he would never forget.

#ceruli just knows when he needs praise the most #ship: love me tender #bg3 #tav x astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 Astarion #bg3 spoilers #baldur’s gate 3 #astarion #my writing #oc x astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfic #tavstarion

[theoceanoasis]

Rodimus having a painful carrying because of lack of transfluid. His partner left him and during a battle he was kidnapped by decepticons. But by him giving up his title as autobot since carrying, he didn’t want the others to know, and being sparked he’s left in better care and he’s given to Soundwave who frags him, over running the previous mechs cna and making the sparkling his

He sat behind a pillar. Gun in hand and feeling out of breath from all the running. Just his luck he'd run into a Decepticon patrol while trying to find somewhere safe after leaving the Autobots.

Two weeks ago some of his friends convinced him to let loose and have fun. After they'd pushed back the Decepticons from the city.

They'd gone bar hoping to the few that were still operational. Getting drunk and then one of his friends suggested a glory hole. He'd been against it at first, but the alcohol must have softened him up or something because he found himself in front of one with his friends.

He ended up having the best sex of his life that night. Unfortunately he had no idea who it was. Just that their spike was big and they knew how to use it.

He didn't know his spark baffle was broken not until days later when he started feeling sick. He decided to use a med droid. Not wanting to bother the medics who were busy with the sudden influx of patients. From a battle they'd had earlier that day.

To his horror, he found out he was sparked and he didn't know who the sire was. He'd spent the day debating what to do. He thought about getting rid of it, but couldn't bring himself to do it.

They were at war and he couldn't remain an Autobot. They'd expect him to fight even if he was sparked. They needed ths soldiers and they would most likely force him to get rid of it.

Afraid of what they'd do. He decided to leave. Not wanting to tell anyone and face their judgement for his decision. He needed to find somewhere safe before the sparkling was born. Most likely find a way off world.

He heard someone nearby and he tightened his grip on his weapon. When he felt an empty clench and he groaned.

"Not now."

Something he didn't think about was that he'd need transfluid donations. In his hurry to leave he didn't even think about it. Until he was on the run and his body started desperately craving transfluid to help the sparkling. Since he didn't know who the sire was. He'd have to find someone else, but he didn't want a Decepticon. He wasn't that desperate yet.

He waited in silence for what felt like forever until they finally left. He breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed against the wall.

Carefully stepping out gun still at the ready. He left the building and started walking along when he was grabbed.

"Surprise. Did you really think you could hide from me?"

He tried fighting them off. Wanting to protect his sparkling when he was hit on the head knocking him unconscious.

When he awoke he was surprised to find himself in a bedroom and not a cell. He was still handcuffed, but he had more freedom to move around.

He walked over to a nearby desk looking around when he noticed a picture frame. Picking it up he gasped in shock when he saw Soundwave with his cassettes. Behind him the door opened and he turned around using the frame as a weapon.

"What do you want? Why am I here?"

"Hot Rod sparked and no longer an Autobot."

"So?"

"I have a proposition for you."

"Whatever it is. I don't want to hear it."

He snapped crossing his arms.

"There's a reason you left the Autobots and without transfluid we both know your sparklings isn't going to make it. Which is why I suggest letting me donate transfluid."

"What!?"

He stared at him in shock.

"I can give you the best life possible. If you want to leave I'll help you. Just let me do this."

"Why? What are you up to? What does my sparking have to do with the great Deception plan?"

"You got sparked at a glory hole. You were celebrating the Autobots victory and you let someone spike you. I was that person. Your sparkling is mine."

He stared at him in shock shaking his head.

"How could you possibly know that? It's supposed to be anonymous.

"Not for the Decepticons master spy. When my sire coding activated, I knew you were sparked. I've been trying to track you down. You didn't happen to run into those Decepticons they were waiting for you. Although I wish they used better methods to capture you. I never wanted you to get hurt."

He found himself collapsing to the floor in shock. Staring up at Soundwave he felt so many conflicting emotions and he didn't know what to think.

"I'll give you time to decide what you want to do."

With that Soundwave left as he tried to figure out what to do.

#soundrod #transformers #soundwave #hot rod #transformers cyberverse #rodimus #hot rod x soundwave #cyberverse soundwave

[magnetarbeam]

I'm thinking back on the conversation in Outcast where Luke realizes that Jedi are far more likely to abuse their powers if they think they can get away with it, which at that point means if they think Jedi are above the law, and trying to reconcile that very good point with the Order leaving the Alliance at the end of FotJ, which is also a very good thing, in my estimation.

The Jedi can probably do more good if they're not limited to things that matter to the government, but that also makes it easier for Jedi to think they can get away with abusing their powers.

I have to imagine that they struck some deal with Dorvan when they left that had some provision for at least Jedi who commit, like, war crimes to be tried under GA law.

Actually, I might have it: The Alliance can't just tell the Order what to do anymore, but Jedi as individuals are still GA citizens, and have all the rights and responsibilities that entails. Violations of GA law by Jedi, individually or collectively, have to be examined in court, but can be forgiven, or whatever the legal term is, if it can be proven that:

a) the action under scrutiny was altruistic in intent

and

b) the outcome of the action was also overall altruistic, or, if not, the reason why not wasn't the Jedi's fault. (Like, they can do a good thing with good intentions with all the effort they have to give it and still be thwarted by an enemy.)

I think that's a way to hold the Jedi more accountable for their actions that allows for the things they've needed to do in recent years to save people. You could definitely throw accusations at the Jedi on the basis that Jacen was a Jedi before he was Caedus so maybe it was their fault, but Abeloth's takeover, brief though it was, is very clearly a situation where only the Jedi could solve the problem and prevent galactic disaster, and in order to do so they had to kill the Chief of State and a few dozen other high-ranking officials. Everyone on Coruscant, more in some of my stories, had her in their heads. At the very least it was "sabotage of the democratic process," a description which I find really funny to apply to this situation. You could externally prove that she was "exercising undue influence over the citizens of the Alliance" by compiling a list of people who were acting distinctly out of character to vote for her possessee. And of course she did a shitload of damage to Coruscant and stuff.

By evaluating both the intent and outcome, you prevent another Caedus, who justified evil actions with good intent.

"There is no tomorrow; only what we do, or fail to do, today" and stuff.

At this point, they'd be doing most of their stuff outside GA jurisdiction anyway, which does give them a lot of freedom.

#star wars legends #fate of the jedi #abeloth #luke skywalker #darth caedus #voices of the force au #voices of the force worldbuilding

[peachymilkandcream]

Break Me Slowly|Part 11|Yandere Levi x Evelyn

(A/N: I know this is coming out later than planned but I didn't have a chance to sit down and write until now, but I hope you enjoy the newest chapter!)

WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, violence, mind breaking, misogyny, etc.

=============================================

Levi continued to scribble on his desk. He refused to look at her, refused to acknowledge her. The silence was utterly uncomfortable, making Evelyn shift from foot to foot. She wanted to defend herself, find something to fill the silence and relieve the tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. Right as she opened her lips to speak he spoke instead, making her jump slightly.

"After all I've done for you..given you a home, food, clothes, affection...you would try to dump me like I'm some kind of trash."

She was determined not to speak, although she had no doubt even from here he could see her lip trembling.

He stands in one motion. "Am I that much of a monster? You're so desperate to escape, I think I have every right to be upset."

Evelyn stares up at him, biting her lip so he couldn't see how terrified she was.

He pauses before backhanding her across the face. "Speak damn you! Why do you do this!? You disobey me again, and again! And then when you face the consequences you shut your mouth and cower, shaking like a leaf! Did you really think Erwin was on your side?" He scoffs. "Who do you think offered to help sell the lie. Your freedom came at the cheap price of my re-enlistment forms."

"Erwin cares about his soldiers..."

"Does he? He only cares about the greater good of humanity. It comes at whatever cost necessary. Yours, mine, even his lives are all just numbers. Statistics. You don't even want to know all the shit he's had me do in order to keep us on track. You're nobody, to anyone. Erwin, Hange, Eren, The Scouts, even that sad-eyed Braun. If any of them gave a damn about you they'd come save you. Don't you get it? No one cares about you, no one loves you." He pauses, taking a moment to run his hand through her hair. "Except me. I care about you...I love you...more than my own life. I would die for you, I would kill for you. You are my everything. You are the spring to my winter."

"If you really loved me you'd let me go, you wouldn't hurt me-"

"That's for your own good love..." He moves his head closer, kissing her neck gently. "I know you're unhappy, being a wife and mother is fulfilling, if you'd just be willing then think about the wonderful life you could have. Just submit already, submit to me.."

Evelyn couldn't stop herself, she turned her head to the side, letting have more access. She didn't want to be in pain. He had cause to beat her within an inch of her life, if just being willing for once would spare her the pain it couldn't be so bad. Just this once, one time pain free. She was just too tired to fight right now, even though she knew she should.

Levi took her slight movement as willingness, trying his best to keep his rush of arousal in check. He had only ever had her forcefully, while part of him enjoyed the fight, he truly just wanted her to submit to him. Sex without struggle was so much more arousing.

Her fingers found the buttons of his shirt, hastily undoing them and exposing his chiselled chest. Something in her just wanted to see if he really was more gentle when she gave in. Or if it was a lie to trick her into thinking the way he wanted her to. He would violate her either way, curiosity and a hint of desperation fuelled her to accept his embraces, accept his lips and tongue attacking her neck. Part of her liked being marked, it meant she was needed, wanted. Someone cared. Levi was a liar, but in this he had made a point, if her apparent friends did care about her, where were they? She only half remembered those words Reiner had said to her, begging her to come with him to a far off land, but he had never returned. He was probably finding a way whisk her away too and do the same thing Levi had done. They were all the same.

Levi pried off her clothes, he was so hungry, so desperate for her. He didn't want to waste a second and have her return to her stubborn ways of fighting him off. He loved her like this, needed her like this, he'd do anything to have it. Drug her, make her drunk out of her mind, give her those aphrodisiacs Petra had suggested, as odd as that was. It didn't matter to him, he just wanted to ride this high for as long as he could.

Against his normal instincts he was gentle, laying her down on his desk and using his discarded shirt to cradle her head. If she was willingly spreading her legs for him, he would uphold his part of the deal and be gentle. Even though everything in him screamed to shove every inch inside her without mercy. He was slow, took his time and let her feel every vein as he sheathed himself inside her.

"See what happens when you behave?" His voice was tender and loving as he started to move, slow and caring, actually giving her time to adjust and take in his length.

She didn't push him away, holding onto his arms to stabilize herself, her breathy moans coming freely and not forced from her clenched teeth. "Faster- please-" Her voice was little more than a whisper, but he heard it. Picking up the pace.

For once in their whole marriage this time it was about her, it was about him rubbing soft circles in her clit making her twitch, and gently flicking her nipple with his tongue. To him it was vanilla and almost boring, but the way it made her come undone so quickly made him not regret it in the least.

Normally she violently fought him off to avoid him finishing inside, begging and pleading with him to cum anywhere else. But this time she pulled him in with her legs, welcomed the hot liquid shooting deep inside her.

In the aftermath Evelyn hated herself for it, hated that she enjoyed it and so much. However she stopped beating herself up when she realized what this would mean, if she could just play along then Levi might let his guard down enough she could really leave. Escape at this point was useless, he could find her and he had allies she didn't even know about. If she pretended to be his housewife eventually he'd allow her more freedom until it was too much and she slipped past him. The moral side of her felt guilty for playing with someone's feelings, but after all he'd done to her morality wasn't something she could worry about right now.

===============================================

Levi was surprised by the sudden and drastic change in Evelyn, she allowed him to do whatever he wanted. She'd spread her legs for him and would act just like a normal wife should. It was suspicious for sure, but with his continued careful watch of her he would just reap the benefits of her change in attitude.

With her change in attitude came her freedom, he brought her out of the house more, allowing her to talk to and interact with others. She seemed to enjoy it, liking the interaction with anyone but him. When they walked through the street, she introduced him as "Her Husband", making his heart swell with pride and joy.

He proudly told Erwin of his feats in taming her, earning slight nods, merely listening in relative silence. When Levi finally finishes his rant, Erwin breaks his silence.

"She's not pregnant is she."

Levi hesitates, trying to get a read on Erwin's intentions. "No, she's not."

"A failure on your part of course."

"If that's how you see it."

"It is." Erwin rearranges things on his desk. "Which brings me to my point." He laces his fingers and rests his elbows on the wood surface, staring Levi down. "It's been some time since Eren has gone missing, so long that now the government is breathing down my neck."

"And what do your problems have to do with me?"

"We've confirmed Eren's somewhere in Marley correct? Your wife was good friends with him when he was still a scout, I want her to bring him back."

Levi scoffs. "Why not just send one of those brats like Mikasa or Armin? They're arguably closer."

"True, but not as mature, plus, my plan is to send her undercover. Posing as a Marleyian soldier."

"And when she gets caught? You just want her to get killed?" He couldn't hide the aggression in his voice.

"Of course not." Erwin pauses again, as if choosing his words carefully. "Your wife also made a connection with the traitor Reiner Braun, if she's caught, she'll have a sympathizer who might spare her life."

Levi stands abruptly. "Like hell I'll allow that." He quickly turns to leave.

"I'm afraid your alternative isn't much better."

He stops and turns. "And that is?"

"I'll expose you publicly for what you've done."

"Tch. And lose your prize Scout? I know a bluff when I hear one."

"At this point Levi, Eren is more useful than even you. If he can trigger even a small scale Rumbling to crush our enemies I won't have need for you ever again."

Levi grits his teeth. "Blackmailing me Erwin, I'm impressed. Didn't know you had the guts." He turns on his heel and rips the door open.

"Is that a deal then?"

"It's a deal alright you bastard." Levi leaves the room, slamming the door so hard behind him books rattle and fall off their shelves.

Erwin finally lets his smirk show itself on his face. "How do you like a taste of your own medicine Levi?"

#attack on titan #break me slowly #levi ackerman #levi aot #levi x oc #levi x reader #shingeki no kyojin #yandere levi #yandere levi ackerman #yandere levi x reader