#*ﾟ‘ ❝ this armor’s getting heavy. ❞ ‹ ooc. ›

[nemumiruku]

I've always known Artorias and Ornstein were massive, but I never knew they were THAT big. Not until I saw the size comparison between them and Ciaran. Gawd lord :))

Also, finally got this one off my list, yay!

wc: 14.5k

tw: non-con, dub-con, coercion, tentacles, ooc, yandere themes, spanking, humiliation, breeding, belly-bulge, size difference, emotional manipulation, vaginal sex, deadly grammars,...

To the very east of Anor Londo, he had arrived at a small village. A night like any other, Ornstein and his knights were sent on. His memory was as clear as day.

It was before dawn, when the sky was still gray with smoke and the flames were dying down to embers. The dragon was easy to hunt. It was still there, rooting through what was left, and perhaps too careless in its hunger for flesh and blood. Because it didn’t even see him approach until it was too late.

Ornstein made quick work, barely breaking a sweat gutting the dragon over and over. That was the point of this march. No spectacle nor drawn-out fight was needed for these vile creatures, but a spear thrust through the eye with a touch of flashing lightning in the dark before it fell in a shuddering heap that smothered the last of the fires.

He stood over the carcass for a moment. The air was thick with the stink of scorched timbers as well as flesh. It never bothered him much, for it was just another part of the job he had to fulfill. As long as he was alive, no dragons should be able to fly the skies.

After the dragon fell, the man moved through what remained of the village. The air was heavy with the stench of death. The sagging, warped, and blackened roofs made him duck his head each time he stepped inside the small cottage.

Even though they told him to look for survivors, it was just a formality anyway, one he followed because he was ordered to. His Lord didn’t expect his knights to save anyone. He expected them to kill dragons.

Still, he pushed open the wreck of a door with his boot, only to be met by a wild, uncivilized thing that lunged at him with the speed of light. Its filthy fingers clutching a dull blade, trying with all its meager strength to cut his throat.

Ornstein tilted his head slightly, a hint of amusement in his eyes as it kept trying while clinging onto him, the worn kitchen knife glancing harmlessly off his gold-plated armor with every frantic stab.

He then grabbed it by the collar of its torn shirt and hauled it up, bringing it close to inspect the defiance behind all that thrashing.

Turned out it wasn’t an animal after all. just a little girl with a face smeared with ash and tears, glaring at him with hatred in her eyes.

“Cunning little one, art thou? I barely heard thee crawling above,” he said evenly.

Teeth clenched, you could only glare up at him, absolutely hating how that snarling lion helm looked so much like the monster that burnt your home down.

“My lord, is all well?” one of the knights asked as they entered, having finished their search through the ruined village.

“Aye, all is well,” Ornstein replied simply. He kept you dangling by your collar, turning slightly to show you to them.

“Take this wretch back to Anor Londo. I shall speak with Lord Gwyn on her fate,” he commanded in a calm voice, as though you weighed nothing more than a stray pup he’d found in the mud.

And so, that was how your new life began in Anor Londo—the shining city of the Gods, where the marble floors gleamed and the sun seemed fixed in the sky.

It looked beautiful from afar, but you learned quickly there was nothing kind about it.

You were just a human, dragged in from the wreckage of a village no one would bother naming. The knights didn’t speak to you unless it was to give orders. The clerics averted their eyes as you passed, as though your very presence reminded them of everything they chose to ignore. Servants whispered about you in the halls, calling you the little rat or the dragon’s orphan when they first washed you from the charcoal.

You didn’t get special treatment. The caretakers fed you well enough to keep you standing, and gave you clothes warm enough to keep you comfy. Aside from that, you also got your own tiny room, though it wasn't anything fancy, just a bed and a chair. The only positive thing was, no one beat you for no reason, but no one comforted you either.

The only thing given freely by them was intensive training. Every morning before the sun rose, they pulled you from your narrow bed and sent you out onto the cold stone courtyard while your breath was still misting in the gray light.

Training was relentless, just as it was exacting with hours spent drilling footwork until your legs ached and practicing with daggers until your fingers were numb from gripping. On top of that, you were taught to move like a shadow, to place every step with care so no one would hear you coming when you slit their throat.

It only made sense. They expected nothing less if you were meant to follow in Ciaran’s footsteps.

Aside from intensive body and tools traning, mixing poisons was also treated like an art. You remembered making mistakes and having to start over countless times, no matter how long it took. The instructors were kind of harsh, though. They didn’t offer any praises to encourage you, only several coldings here and there when you did wrong. Yet, they were at least patient.

Though you must have admitted, their words were extremely harsh whenever they opened their mouth. It wasn’t cruelty for its own sake. You told yourself it was their own way of shaping you into something useful for the system, an assassin who wouldn’t hesitate, who could set emotions aside and do what needed to be done without backing away.

Soon enough, with lord Gwyn’s favor granting you real missions, you had the chance to prove yourself. You showed your worth with every completed task, until even the others had to admit you belonged among the Lord’s Blades—an elite circle of assassins who served Gwyn’s will without question.

From then on, life began to change. You were fed well, given better clothes, and granted your own small quarters in the castle. And you had more friends, too. Those were the signs you were no longer just a useless addition.

Much to everyone's surprise, you weren’t the inexperienced new blood anymore. You’d become an instructor at a surprisingly young age, trusted to train the next generation. People showed you respect when you passed, and some even looked up to you, watching carefully for every lesson you had to offer, eager to learn what you knew.

Nevertheless, you wouldn’t have made it that far without Ciaran’s guidance. As one of Gwyn’s Four Knights, she trained you more thoroughly than anyone else could have. Her lessons were sharp and efficient, leaving no room for weakness or doubt, perfect for someone like you.

It was through her that you first crossed paths with Artorias.

Unlike Ornstein’s strict and formal manner, his presence was warm in a way you hadn’t expected. The first time he spoke to you, he knelt slightly to meet your eyes, asking your name, where you were from, and if you’d eaten. You remember trying to hide behind Ciaran’s legs, peeking out nervously at his towering frame, surprised that someone so imposing could sound so gentle and heart-warming.

He became a constant presence in your life. You were never sure if it was simply in his nature to look after a lost human child, or if he was just curious to see how you would handle the unforgiving demands of assassin training.

Calling it "care" might have been generous. But he was there often enough to tell your handlers to ease up when they got too rough. Always stepping in calmly when you ended up on the ground with something broken, only to make sure they didn't push you past the point of getting back up.

You remembered crying on the days he wasn’t there, when the training turned harsh and left you bruised and hurting. Then later on, you would find yourself looking for him without even thinking, hoping to catch that soothing cobalt-blue. It was tragic how you were quite drawn to the quiet comfort he offered.

Because Artorias tended to more than just the wounds on your outsides. He had been the only one to listen to you when no one else would, letting you speak about things you’d never told anyone—not even Ornstein or Ciaran.

You told him about your old home, the hard life you’d left behind, and how, despite everything, you would have given anything to have it back. A lonely human girl yapping about her horrible past, yet he never interrupted or judged you. He just took everything in, with a quiet understanding that felt rare in a place ruled by beings who seemed too distant to care. Then, after you had sobered yourself to sleep, you would wake up with your head on his lap instead.

He’d bring you small gifts when he returned from missions, simple human food you actually liked, or little things that reminded you of your old home. The man paid attention to what made you smile, even if you tried to hide it. And when there was news or truths he knew would cut too deep for someone like yourself, he kept them from you.

He also had a puppy named Sif, with big, curious eyes and oversized paws that tripped over themselves. Whenever you cried telling Artorias about how your peers had treated you, Sif would nuzzle close and lick the tears from your face, tail thumping against the floor, determined to cheer you up in the only way she knew how.

It was almost fatherly, the way Artorias treated you. Some whispered he had a soft spot for the human girl among the Blades, while others insisted it was simply his nature—kind to anyone, whether they were gods or humans, friend or foe. No one really knew which was true, least of all you.

Perhaps the only one who truly knew was Ornstein. He was Artorias’s closest friend and comrade, after all.

Now, Ornstein was a special case for you, too, if only because of how closely he worked with Smough—the executioner you’d despised from the moment you arrived in Anor Londo.

Smough was everything you feared in a man: cruel for the fun of it, smiling at screams and shrieks. You’d seen enough to know he enjoyed his work too much. Just watching Ornstein stand beside him, calling him “partner” had always made your skin crawl from a thousand miles away. Plus, Smough had a boogeyman laugh, and it was terrifying for it almost made you piss yourself as a kid.

You would never ever dare to be in the same room as Smough if Ornstein weren’t there. His presence was the only thing that made it bearable, the only assurance that the executioner wouldn’t take things too far just because he felt like it.

If Artorias was like a gentle father figure, then Ornstein was the strict older brother who never let you relax. Training with the other assassins was already demanding, but he insisted you train with him too.

It wasn’t exactly required, yet he claimed it was good for you to learn from his strength, insisting that once you were old enough, you would come back and thank him. And once he decided that, there was no escaping it. He made sure you never missed a single session, no matter how tired you were.

Orstein the Dragonslayer was known for his pride and his strict, disciplined manner. But with you, that sharp edge often softened into something more playful, full of quiet teasing.

Every time you insisted he treat you seriously, reminding him you weren’t that scrawny child he’d once lifted by the collar while chuckling at your fury, he’d just wave it off. He loved to bring it up, though, saying you were “adorable” back then, pouting at him with such murder in your eyes the moment you first laid eyes on him.

Despite all the teasing and that tough, almost brotherly discipline, you knew deep down he was always the one in your corner. When the vassals whispered about your mediocre human blood, hinting you didn’t belong and urging Gwyn to send you away, it was Ornstein who spoke up.

His words were so firm, they left no room for argument, calling out the potential in you to lord Gwyn that you were worth keeping. And once he made that clear, no one dared to challenge it.

One thing you appreciated about him was that he didn’t treat you the way Artorias did. Where Artorias would fuss when you got hurt, suggesting your instructors give you days off to recover, Ornstein barely acknowledged it.

Ornstein would pick you up before pushing you to keep going like you always did. But you weren’t stupid. You knew he paid attention in his own way. The man always seemed to find out exactly who was pushing you too far. You figured that was why one particularly cruel instructor suddenly stopped showing up one day.

They were caring in their own ways. With them, you found something like belonging. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt like a family in its own, strange way—except for Smough, who was more like the deranged uncle everyone avoided.

You lived among them, trained with them, and learned to appreciate every single moment duty didn't call you. Trying to carry out someone else’s will with a dagger in your soft, delicate hand.

It was going perfectly fine, in its own rough way, as you felt safe around them enough to crawl out from your hermit shell.

Until you were old enough that everything started to change. Suddenly, you weren’t just the scrappy kid they’d taken in. You were someone they all looked at differently.

You’d grown taller, though still dwarfed by the gods and beings around you. Your body had also matured, blooming into a beautiful woman with smooth curves and a flush of youth in your cheeks. At the age where men and women started to look at you with either want or jealousy.

Maybe the final blow was that mission. When Ciaran was away, they had to send you in her place to eliminate a high-profile target, a traitorous noble who needed quiet killing.

You carried it out, but it almost cost you your life, too. When the help came, they had found you half-conscious, bleeding out as you tried dragging yourself through the dark streets with your dagger still wet. So heavily wounded, they had to carry you back to Anor Londo.

Both Artorias and Ornstein came to see you while you were laid up in the infirmary, bandaged from head to toe. Even through the haze of pain and half-sleep, you could sense the tension between them. You didn't think you had ever seen them get this worked up.

Their voices were low at first, but you remembered the way it rose...sharp, angry, guilty. You couldn’t make out every word because you were too dazed from your wounds. But the sound of armored boots shifting and harsh tones cutting through the quiet room stuck with you. You remembered their shapes, looming and rigid, refusing to back down even at your bedside.

Then came the changes.

Artorias grew more distant with each passing day. It wasn’t obvious at first, just small things you usually let go of. The way he would fall quiet around you, his gaze dropping when you tried to catch it. And how he started finding reasons to be elsewhere during your training, offering fewer corrections, fewer words at all.

It almost felt like he was trying to avoid you entirely, blaming it on the missions, as if keeping his distance was the only way he could deal with something he didn’t want to admit, even to himself.

You missed his company, though you wouldn’t have said it out loud. Instead, you told yourself it was probably because of Ciaran. There had always been rumors about the two of them. And honestly, it wasn’t hard to believe, not with the way she watched over him, or the quiet looks they sometimes shared when they thought no one was paying attention.

It was easier to think he was pulling away for her sake than to consider any other reason. You were no longer a kid but a proper woman now, after all. So any type of interaction with him must have put your mentor in a weird spot and made things awkward in some sense.

Meanwhile, Ornstein was easier to figure out. You spent far more time with him now than you ever had before. As a child, you’d always tried to slip away from his training sessions just to run off to find Artorias instead.

But now it was quite the opposite. Nearly every mission you took, he was there too—if not officially assigned, then somehow showing up anyway. He always brushed it off as a coincidence, but you weren’t so easily convinced.

Every time you asked if he’d been spying on you, or if he’d sent one of his knights to follow you, because there was no other way he could know every detail of your missions. He’d just give you that calm, unreadable look. Sometimes he’d act like it didn’t matter at all, other times he’d play dumb and change the subject, leaving you fuming but with no real answer.

Even the friendships and connections you’d worked so hard to build started to fall apart, one by one. People you trusted began avoiding you, their sudden distance leaving you confused and uneasy.

It all came to a head the day one knight, someone you’d been close with for years, resigned without warning. He found you before he left, eyes troubled, and asked quietly if he’d done something to offend you, if that was why both Artorias and Ornstein had sought him out. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t even know how to answer, let alone talk to them.

And after that, the rumors started. Ugly whispers about you sharing both their beds to earn all that “special treatment.” It wasn’t hard for people to believe, not when both of them had always been kinder to you than to anyone else. They spoke well of you to Lord Gwyn himself, made sure you had the finest weapons and tools for your missions, and no one missed how carefully they watched over you.

To them, it all looked like proof. To you, it felt like something you couldn’t defend without sounding like a liar.

What you didn’t know was everything they did behind your back. About Artorias going straight to Lord Gwyn to have you taken out of Ciaran’s care and put under his instead, making sure the missions you received were short, simple, almost insultingly easy compared to what you were used to.

Meanwhile, Ornstein quietly made it his job to scare off anyone who got too close, using little more than a glare and his reputation to keep them away. He even followed you himself sometimes, convinced he was the only one who could keep you safe, even if it meant you never realized how often you were being watched.

They only grew stranger with time. Neither of them stayed too close, but they never let you get too far away either. It was like they were always circling, watching, waiting for something to snap. You tried to ignore it, tried to tell yourself it was nothing, but the doubt kept gnawing at you.

That doubt became certainty the day you overheard them on the training field.

You hadn’t meant to listen, truly. You were just passing by, steps slowing when you heard your name in the quiet. They didn’t notice you at first, too caught up in whatever argument had been brewing for who knows how long.

"Stop coddling her, Artorias. She is no child." Ornstein’s voice was sharp as his hands were already folded. And based on your own experience with him, whenever he did that, he meant business.

"And you? Do not pretend you have not been trailing her on every mission." Artorias narrowed his eyes. You noticed his grip becoming firmer on the sword's handle. What were they even talking about?

Ornstein fell silent for a moment, head tilting slightly with a hint of wry amusement, for he wasn't able to provide an answer. That's why Artorias's voice cut through the stillness.

"Admit it. You have feelings for the girl."

"So you would let me have her then?" Ornstein’s tone turned mocking, a rare edge you didn’t often hear from him.

He probably struck a nerve because Artorias’s reply was cold, unwavering. "I do not see so."

It took you a moment to really understand what was happening. You didn’t stay to hear the rest. Instead, you slipped away before their words could dig any deeper into your thoughts.

After that, you buried yourself in missions—anything to keep yourself busy. Easy, hard, it didn’t matter. You took them all, even when it meant going against Artorias’s wishes. It was the only way you knew to avoid them both. You were confused and overwhelmed. You didn’t know how to handle any of it because they had been family to you. Especially knowing you didn’t have just one, but two gods chasing after you.

Much to your surprise, neither of them took it well. When they realized you’d been avoiding them, they started seeking you out at every opportunity. Whether it was to simply be near you or to hold onto you in some quiet, desperate way, you couldn’t tell anymore. Sometimes you wondered if you were imagining it.

You used to think you’d never understand why. But you did now. Because they’d said it themselves.

You remembered the moment clearly. In some dark corner of the castle, the two of them cornered you, their imposing forms blocking you from any easy escape. Their voices were calm but also demanding as they pressed you with question after question about why you’d been gone so much lately.

And if they had done anything to offend you. That was the part that caught you off guard...the way they actually asked. Their manners were nicer then, but no less intense. It was almost frightening, the weight of their presence in those godly armors, the way their eyes locked onto you like your answer was the only thing that mattered in the world.

You mumbled some poor excuse just to slip away, all the while feeling the tension in the air, the way both of them seemed to be holding themselves back from simply grabbing you and keeping you there. When you finally made it back to your room, you didn’t take any chances. You locked the door, bolted the windows, and checked it all twice, heart still racing at the thought of their eyes on you.

The real nightmares began when Gwyn’s firstborn betrayed him to stand with the dragons, and the Abyss began swallowing Oolacile whole. In response, Gwyn had to send Artorias to confront the spreading darkness, while Ornstein was tasked with hunting down his own mentor, his brother-in-arms.

Everyone else was tangled in politics and strategy, too busy to care about anything else. You were sent on mission after mission as well, which you counted as a blessing. Because they kept you busy, and more importantly, kept them both away from you for a while. You needed that break, even if you wouldn’t admit it out loud.

But that break didn’t last.

They gave you command of a small team for a special mission, one meant to root out a single traitor who’d fled Anor Londo with secrets too dangerous to be left alive. It was supposed to be simple, clean, and precise, until it wasn't.

You hadn’t expected betrayal within your own ranks. But one of them turned on you, and suddenly it wasn’t one traitor you were facing, but many. You watched your comrades fall one by one, heard their screams echo in the dark. By the time it was over, you were soaked in blood, some theirs, some yours, and shaking so hard you could barely hold your dagger.

Regardless of the fleeting feelings, you finished the mission. You had tracked the traitor to their home and did what you were sent to do. Your blade was cold when it ended their life.

It was only when you turned to leave, your hand on the door, that you heard a thin, shaking cry.

You froze.

Slowly, you turned back and saw them. A child, no older than you’d been when Ornstein found you, crouched in the corner, tears cutting tracks through the dirt on their face. Clutching at the fallen body that you had left cooling on the floor.

Your fingers felt numb around the dagger. You couldn’t move, couldn’t even think anymore. You just watched as their sobs filled the small room, the sound tearing something inside you wide open.

When you returned to Anor Londo, you barely felt like yourself anymore. You spent most of your spare time shut away in your room, locking the door, shutting out everything beyond those walls. It all felt unreal, like something you couldn’t quite believe had happened.

Your missions had never been like that before. The people you were sent after didn’t have families waiting in the next room. They were just targets. Names on paper. Faces to forget once the job was done.

But this time there had been a child. A life you hadn’t meant to ruin. And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the sound of their crying or the way they clung to the body you’d left behind.

It turned into weeks. Then months. You had tried burying yourself in work, taking any mission they would give you, hoping the blood and routine would drown out the guilt clawing at your insides. But it never went away.

You couldn’t eat properly. Sleep came in restless snatches with nightmares waking you in a cold sweat. There was no deny that the guilt sat heavy in your chest, a terrible weight you couldn’t shake.

Dreadfully, it started to show. You were slower in training, careless on missions. Mistakes you never used to make piled up, and for the first time in a long while, you felt weak. Breakable even. Like the life you’d built around blades and shadows was finally cracking apart.

You needed comfort, needed something to hold onto before you lost yourself completely. So you turned to the few you trusted. Ciaran listened, quiet and steady, offering gentle words that tried to soothe the raw edges. Gough laid a heavy hand on your tiny shoulder, voice deep with that calm wisdom only he seemed to carry, telling you that no warrior leaves every battle unscarred.

They did their best. But it wasn’t enough. Their words couldn’t reach the hollow ache that had settled in your chest, the heavy despair that refused to lift no matter how you tried to reason with it. All you could ever do was nodded, and thanked them. Yet nothing really eased the weight pressing down on your heart.

You were so deep in your own hopelessness that you didn’t even notice the day Artorias finally returned. Prior to that, rumours had whispered about his disappearance, stating he had long been swallowed whole by the Abyss in Oolacile. Just another hero claimed by the darkness.

You barely looked up when the knights dragged him through the gates. One of his arms was limp as his armor was scorched and cracked, that inky corruption clinging to him like a living thing.

They carried him to the infirmary with grim determination, doing their best to avoid the seeping blackness that writhed across his form. The people’s voices were hushed, tense with fear and pity, yet remained with supreme respect for their lord.

But you didn’t see much of it. You stayed in your room. The curtains were drawn tight, and the world outside felt just as black and suffocating as the thoughts you couldn’t seem to outrun.

It took you a few days before you finally gathered the will to visit Artorias, the famed Abysswalker. Even with all that had passed between you, you couldn’t ignore what he’d been through. His obsessiveness might have made you uneasy, but you couldn’t deny the truth of who he was. A kind man at heart, one who had never failed his people.

And you weren't in the wrong when the others adored him like they always had. You heard them speak in secret tones about the hero who’d braved the Abyss to save Oolacile and its princess from destruction. Thus, you felt a flicker of guilt twist in your chest for ever doubting his intentions.

When you finally stepped into the room, you found Artorias already awake. He sat propped against the infirmary bed’s headboard, motionless except for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

His hood was drawn low, casting his face in dense shadow. Even in the dim light, you could see how changed he was. The edges of his armor were blackened and cracked, dark tendrils of something foul still curling along the seams like smoke that refused to clear.

His eyes were hard to catch beneath the hood, but you could tell he wasn’t really looking at anything in the room. It felt like he was locked somewhere else entirely, lost in some deep, silent struggle you couldn’t reach no matter how hard you tried.

You wondered if he had fully healed when looking at his limp arm. The very arm that he was best at when holding his sword.

When he finally seemed to notice you standing there, he turned his head slowly and managed a small, tired smile.

"Good evening, (Name)."

Your eyes shifted away from his hollow gaze, landing instead on the small bundle of flowers resting in a chipped vase beside his bed. You wondered if Ciaran had left them there for him.

You forced yourself to meet his eyes again, giving him a polite nod. "Lord Artorias."

"No need to be so formal." His voice was quieter now, but firmer than before, as he gestured to the chair beside him. "Sit with me,"

You hesitated, yet obeyed by lowering yourself onto the chair. He watched you for a moment before speaking again, eyes shadowed beneath the hood.

"I heard from Ciaran. She told me what happened."

The words caught you off guard, tightening something in your chest. You tried to straighten your posture, forcing the guilt back down where it belonged. And here you were, wondering why Artorias never failed to know everything about you.

"My Lord, I apologize. I-"

Artorias’s gaze softened at your apology. He cut you off before you could even finish. “It’s alright. What happened was unavoidable. You did what you could.”

You swallowed hard, the words landing heavier than you expected. The aftermath had been haunting you for days, taking every ounce of sanity from you the more you kept on.

Trying to push the guilt aside, you shifted in your seat and told him everything that had happened while he was gone, while trying to hold back tears.

He seemed quite happy to finally catch up. Until you cracked a question out of curiosity.

"What about your expedition to Oolacile? How was it?"

At that, something in him seemed to tighten. His eyes suddenly dropped. “Ah...”

"…" You frowned, hesitating whether or not to pry any further due to the atmosphere changing in the room.

His hands flexed against the blanket. Then he finally found the strength to speak, spilling out his heart like how you did to him before.

"The Abyss. It was far more terrifying than the rumours themselves." His breath hitched, the words tumbling out like something he’d been holding back too long.

His shoulders trembled slightly, armor creaking as he struggled to hold himself together. The truth was only unfolded when he finally took a breather.

"They praised my name...but it was all a lie. It was not I who saved the Oolacile, or the princess. I was merely a coward who ran away.”

To see Artorias like this, crumbling under the weight of his own words, it wasn’t like him at all. He had always been so noble, so unshakable...that watching him struggle to keep himself together made something twist painfully in your chest.

Your body moved before you could even think.

Halfway through his confession, you reached out and pulled him in, arms wrapping around the cold metal of his armor. Holding tight as if you could keep him from falling apart any further.

Unlike the gods, whose emotions were nearly nonexistent, you were human. Your flesh could be torn, your bones could break, and you felt for the man before you.

Artorias didn’t hesitate. The moment your arms wrapped around his larger form, he returned it by leaning in closer. It was almost desperate how his armored arms locked around you, holding you so tightly it was difficult to breathe.

You could feel the tremor in his grip. It wasn’t just from exhaustion or pain, but something deeper. His head rested against your shoulder, raspy breath warm against your ear. He held you like he’d been starved for this simple contact.

"Don’t leave," he said with almost desperation.

You shifted, uneasy at how hard his fingers pressed into your back, like he was afraid you might slip away if he didn’t hold tight enough.

Then he drew in a slow breath against your neck, one that you could barely catch. “I’ve wanted you close like this for so long,”

When you tried to ease back, his hold only tightened further. You could feel his fingers tighten under the gauntlets, as if trying to physically restrain himself from pulling you even closer. His breath was warm, uneven, ghosting against your skin.

For a moment, you realized you weren’t comforting him anymore. He was claiming you.

You found yourself making it a small routine to visit him, slipping into the infirmary when your duties allowed, just to sit by his side. It felt like the least you could do for all the times he’d comforted you when you were younger.

Whenever you were there, he seemed to relax. The tension in his shoulders eased, the harsh set of his jaw softened. The darkness that clung to him, the Abyss twisting in the edges of his gaze, seemed to settle for a while.

With anyone else, he was cold and distant, sometimes even frightening with that coiling corruption beneath his skin. But with you, it was different. He spoke softer, and looked at you like you were something grounding him to what little humanity he had left.

Then Ornstein’s return came a few days later. His armors were heavily dented when you saw him walk through the gates, still looking every bit the Dragonslayer. Even from a distance, you could tell something was wrong, the way he seemed so calm and eerie.

He didn’t speak to anyone unless forced to, and when he did, his voice was somehow colder than usual. For some reason, whatever kinds of expression he wore behind that lion helm felt darker than anything you’d seen on Artorias.

You didn’t need anyone to tell you he had failed in his mission. He hadn’t brought Gwyn’s firstborn back. And what had happened out there in the darkest places of the world had followed him home, heavy on his shoulders and festering behind his tired eyes.

Unlike Artorias, he didn’t wait for you to come to him. He showed up at your door one night without warning, armor traded for a sleeping tunic, and the lion helm was nowhere in sight. It was the first time in so long you’d seen his face instead of that regal headwear.

He looked so...dead. Like something essential had been carved out of him, leaving nothing but a shell. His eyes were flat and dim, as if his purpose had been stolen and he was on the edge of going hollow right there in your doorway.

You waited a long moment before finally opening the door to him after a while of peeking. The scent of alcohol immediately caught your nose, sharp and heavy. His expression back then was so out of touch, clouded with something you couldn’t quite explain. You cautiously asked him what had happened. He didn’t answer but stared at you for a long moment, chest rising and falling like he was trying to keep himself in check.

Then he suddenly closed the distance in one step, grabbing you with hands that felt almost rough. His dry mouth crashed onto yours in a kiss that was all but gentle. Tongue and teeth, raw and claiming, like he’d been holding himself back for far too long and couldn’t anymore, pouring whatever sadness he had onto you just because you were his joy and pride.

It felt wrong the moment your lips met. Because you’d always seen him as an older brother, someone who pushed you past your limits but watched over you all the same. The admiration was too much to be twisted into something else.

But there was nothing brotherly in the way he kissed you, though. His grip tightened around your waist as he kissed you feverishly, strong enough to lift you off the floor without even meaning to. The height difference was making you float ridiculously in the air. Yet his mouth was diligent, all bruising insistence, as if he wanted to devour every ounce of love from you.

You could feel the desperation in it, the way his fingers dug in, holding you like he’d never let go.

You didn’t think you wanted to see either of them after that night. The memory of Ornstein’s mouth on yours, the way he’d held you off the ground like you weighed nothing...it haunted you, made your skin crawl every time you thought about it.

So you threw yourself back into your old habits, trying to reclaim the routine of an assassin, anything to feel in control again. But it didn’t last long, for grand words had come down from Lord Gwyn himself.

You were finished. Released from the Lord’s Blades.

Hells, they didn’t even try to soften it. Like a bucket of cold water to your face, they stated you were “no longer fit” for the role as they stripped you of your rank and duty.

What made your blood run cold was what came next. Gwyn’s decree wasn’t just dismissal; it was also meant to convey ownership. You were handed over entirely to Artorias and Ornstein. Like you were nothing more than something to be given away, something to be claimed.

The fury had burned hot in your chest, mixing with something cynical and hurtful. You’d given everything to this place. Your skill, your youth, your soul, your everything. And in the end, they treated you like property to be owned. It was more than enough to make you feel sick to the stomach.

People had always whispered that a human had no place among the gods. Maybe they were right.

And for a second, you decided to prove them right in the only way you could. You did them all a favor.

You went back to your room and started packing your things. Your hands were shaking from anger as you grabbed what little you owned, stuffing clothes and weapons into your own satchel. Every movement felt so heavy, like the betrayal was pressing down on your shoulders. Making you feel like you were dying from the inside.

You didn’t want to see the grand halls or those towering marble statues ever again. You didn’t want to hear another order barked at you, or see the pity in anyone’s eyes the moment you walk away from everything.

Because you were ready to leave it all behind. To leave this gilded cage once and for all. Because if this was how they saw you, something to be tossed away and handed over like spoils, then there was nothing left here for you.

Then the next thing you knew, everything went black. You didn’t even remember falling or tripping. There was only a single moment of the suffocating darkness when it swallowed you whole.

When you finally came to, your head was pounding and your vision was blurry. You blinked hard, trying to make sense of the room around you. It was unfamiliar...too clean, too richly furnished. Velvet curtains decorated barricaded windows, there was a thick rug underfoot, and a heavy oak door with a lock so sturdy nothing could break.

This place looked nothing like your messy little room in Anor Londo.

Panic began to hit when you tried to move and heard the clinking of metal. When you looked down, your breath was stuck in your throat. One of your ankles was shackled to the bedpost with a thick iron chain.

No. No, this couldn’t be real. This had to be some twisted joke.

Your heart hammered as you clawed at the shackle, fingers slipping every so often due to the unfamiliarity. Then you noticed what you were wearing in the mirror next to the bed.

A lacy nightgown, soft and delicate, nothing you’d ever owned. Someone had undressed you. Then put you in this. The thought made your skin crawl even more.

You forced your shaking hands to work, scrabbling at the lock, testing the links, tugging until the metal bit into your ankle. Anything to get free. Your breathing turned harsher and rougher in the silence of the room as you realized there was no easy escape.

Out of sheer frustration and blind panic, you didn’t even think straight. You lunged for the door, wanting to slam your shoulder against it in a desperate attempt to break it open.

But the chain snapped taut with a harsh metallic clank, jerking you back so hard you lost your balance. You fell hard, scraping your poor elbows on the rug with your face planted on the ground.

You lay there for a moment, gasping, eyes fixed on the doorknob that was just out of reach. Your ankle throbbed where the shackle bit in, a cruel reminder you weren’t getting anywhere.

Then came the hot sting of tears gathering in your eyes, making the fury and terror even more ugly in your chest. This couldn’t be happening. But the cold weight of the chain against your skin told you it was all too real.

You scrambled back upright and fumbled for the small pick you always kept hidden. With shaking hands, you jammed it at the shackle’s side, searching for any catch, any lock to work at. But there was nothing. No keyhole or seam but solid iron clamped around your ankle.

Your heart sank as you realized that it wasn’t even locked. It was forged shut. As if someone smithed this onto you while you were unconscious. The pick fell from your fingers as you stared at the unmoving metal. You felt sick at the thought of them working over you while you were limp and unaware, binding you like some animal.

A sudden click echoed in the quiet room, and your head snapped up instinctively, making you go still on the velvety rug.

The litte doorknob began to turn slowly, in perfect time with the frantic pounding of your heart. The metal then creaked as it twisted, and you could only watch in terror at the cobalt-blue that was slowly peeking from behind the frame.

“Good evening, my dear. You are awake at last.” Artorias’s voice was calm, almost gentle, as he stepped through the door. He didn’t even take his eyes off you while he shut it behind him with a quiet click, then turned the key in the lock with care.

The softness in his tone sent a cold shiver down your spine. You hated it.

“W-what is the meaning of this?!” Never had you ever dared raising your voice at him. But you guess it didn’t matter anymore.

Artorias didn’t even flinch. He didn’t even bother answering your question. Instead, he simply lifted the small sack in his hand, the sound of wrapped food rustling as he shook it lightly.

“You must be hungry yeah? You have been asleep all day, after all.”

His tone was maddeningly calm, patronizing even, as if you were a child throwing a tantrum instead of someone chained to a bed. The worst part was he didn’t even try to hide it, like he was waiting for you to stop fussing and behave.

The man crouched down in front of you with unsettling ease, as though the chain on your ankle didn’t exist. He opened the sack with his usable arm and carefully took out a piece of crispy bread with a small container of hot stew, setting them on the floor just within your reach.

Then he settled there, elbow resting on his knee, chin propped in his palm, watching you with that infuriating tilt of amusement as your stomach betrayed you with a loud rumble.

You glared at him, the heat of your anger mixing with something far more bitter.

Because you recognized that meal immediately. Your favorite childhood dish. The very one he used to sneak you when the standard rations for training made you gag.

You never thought he would stoop this low, using old comforts against you like you were still that scared little girl clinging to him for safety. You could feel your jaw tighten, and the anger simmering in your chest. If he thought he could buy your obedience with warm food and old memories, he was wrong.

Without breaking eye contact, you lifted your hand and slapped the bowl away, sending the hot stew splattering across the polished floor in a messy arc. The rich, familiar smell filled the room as it soaked into the rug.

Your glare was unflinching, even if guilt twisted in your gut at the waste. You just wanted to see something from him other than that stupid void where his face was. Anything to prove you could still get under his skin so you could talk some sense into that thick head of his.

There was a moment of numbing silence.

“Hm. I do not recall you ever behaving quite so badly,” Then Artorias remarked, his voice hauntingly calm, an indication that the spilled meal on the floor meant nothing at all to him. He didn’t even blink, either, only watching you with unsettling patience.

Your fingers dug into the rug so hard your nails bent painfully. Every muscle in your arms became tense. “Stop with this stupid play and release me right now!”

He had yet to answer, as if waiting for you to tire yourself out.

“Artorias!”

Your voice cracked as you shouted, rage and fear spilling out all at once. Yet it couldn’t get a reaction out of him, like your words were wind against stone, a cup of water to raging forest fire.

“Naughty girl. You should learn never to raise your voice at your lord.” The man sounded so collected after a while, but there was nothing kind in it anymore.

He rose to his full height, towering over you so completely that craning your neck to meet his gaze actually hurt.

Your stomach twisted as he stepped forward. Before you could even think of backing away, his hand already clamped around your arm.

“Wait—!”

Artorias dragged you across the floor, the chain rattling harshly with every movement until you hit the edge of the bed.

“And I shall teach you that.”

You barely had time to gasp before he hauled you onto his lap like you weighed nothing at all. The chain clinked and tugged at your ankle with every struggle, but it didn’t slow him in the slightest.

“Stop! What are you doing? Stop—stop!” Your voice cracked in horror when you felt him lift the delicate fabric of the lacy gown, cold air hitting your exposed skin.

Then the slap came. It landed hard and fast, the sharp crack ringing out so loud it felt like it split the silence in two, making your ears ring. The excruciating pain flared instantly across your skin, sinking deep enough to drag a startled yelp from your throat.

Tears stung your eyes as you tried to twist away, but his grip only tightened, refusing to let you go.

“It hurts! You're hurting me—” Your voice cracked as you clawed at his limp arm, nails scraping uselessly against the cold metal of his gauntlet. In return, he only pressed you harder against his lap, locking you in place as another harsh smack landed, and then another, then another.

Each strike burned hot across skin that had never been touched this way before, the sensitive flesh stinging and throbbing in brutal waves.

You'd had your bones broken and flesh torn before, but nothing felt like this. Like every humiliating, punishing impact was designed not just to hurt but to brand you. To remind you exactly who held you there and why you couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

He only stopped once he decided you’d had enough. When your voice broke pitifully, and your sobs turned frantic. The beautiful eyes that had once looked at him with admiration, were now wet and shining with humiliation.

Artorias’s breath came heavy as he finally let his hand fall still. He watched you for a moment, the rise and fall of your shoulders, the way you refused to look at him.

His gloved hand moved then, slower, gentler. He rubbed the reddened skin where he’d struck you over and over, feeling a tinge of guilt coiling around his chest.

But then his eyes flicked downward, catching the shift of your hips, the subtle tremble in your thighs...and the unmistakable glistening wetness between them. Not only were you a naughty girl, but a lying one as well.

“Ah,” he murmured. “So that is it. Look at you. Did you enjoy this? Being reminded where you belong?” The corner of his mouth must have twitched as something dark flickered in his tone.

“No…” You whimpered as you fought to steady yourself.

But your breath hitched in betrayal when one of his thick fingers pressed firmly between your folds, spreading you open.

“No?” he repeated softly, mocking the quaver in your voice. His head tilted as if studying you from a new angle, and you stopped breathing when that gloved hand settled fully between your thighs.

“Then what is this?” He pressed in harder. That single finger slid along your slit, dragging slowly from your entrance up to the sensitive nub, spreading the wetness over your skin. The noise was so shameless, you actually whimpered, biting your lip hard enough to hurt.

“Listen,” he ordered. He moved the finger again, even slower this time, letting you hear every squelch that filled the silent room. Your whole body jerked in his lap at the humiliation.

“Does that sound like ‘no’ to you?”

You struggled under his painful grip, your throat worked as you tried to answer, but all you managed was a sob. He clicked his tongue and stroked again, thumb joining in now to part you further, exposing every glistening fold to his scrutiny.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, leaning close enough you could feel his breath against your ear. “Absolutely drenched from getting spanked like a disobedient child. Do not lie to me.”

Artorias resumed stroking, fingers gliding over your slick folds to tease your clit, coaxing fresh wetness with every friction. In response, you thrashed helplessly on his lap, but your frail human strength was nothing against his unyielding, godlike grip.

"How about we put this place of yours to good use."

He shoved you down onto the bed, pinning your wrists tight despite your frantic struggles and shrill screams. In seconds, black tendrils of abyssal darkness slithered around them, coiling and tightening until they bound you like cuffs.

"Hey, stop it—"

Your words got cut off in a gasp when his face dipped between your thighs. You couldn’t see him clearly beneath the shadow of that cobalt-blue, but the hot breath ghosting over your aching core made you cower.

He held your legs wide apart with such strength, the armored weight of his arms pinning you so firmly you could barely twitch. From the roiling darkness beneath his hood, the slimy tendril uncoiled fully, glistening black and wet as it snaked down between your thighs.

You sucked in a desperate breath, eyes wide with terror and humiliation as it slithered over your folds. The first contact was cold and slick, making you jolt and cry out, your cunt reflexively clenching around nothing yet.

“Easy,” he rumbled with dark amusement. His grip only tightened, keeping you spread open and vulnerable while the tendril stroked you endearingly, dragging hot trails across your sensitive flesh.

It prodded at your entrance and your clit in turn, rubbing circles that left you soaked and twitching. Every squelching noise it made filled the room, drowning out your high-pitched whimpers.

Then it pressed in, punching a sob out of you when it forced its way inside, the cold slickness stretching you open, making your walls clench. He let out a guttural sound of pleasure at the sight, head dipping lower.

Much to your horror, from the hooded void, more blackness pooled out, tendrils wrapping around your thighs to hold you even more still..

He didn’t give you time to adjust either. The main tendril inside you began to pump, slow first, while another smaller one emerged to flick and lash at your swollen clit. Your back arched hard off the bed as you shrieked, breathing heavily when that second tendril wrapped around your nub and squeezed, pulsing with a rhythm that sent brutal sparks through your belly.

Your slick drooled down onto the bedding below, strings of it glistening in the evening light as he kept working you with those abyssal limbs.

“Listen to yourself,” he growled, voice muffled from where he watched between your legs. “So damn wet for me.”

For a moment, he let out a deep moan of his own as if savoring your taste through the tendril. It pulsed in response inside you, grinding mercilessly against that sweet spot until you were thrashing in his hold, babbling nonsense and sobbing for mercy.

"Ah...stop. Stop this, please..." you cried out. Yet, your hip wouldn't stop thrashing for more.

The tendril on your clit tightened, vibrating just slightly, making you spasm around the one buried in you. Artorias watched it all with amusement, holding you down so you couldn’t squirm away.

He blamed the Abyss for making him this obsessed.

The abuse your clit was getting soon became too much when he hauled your hips clean off the bed, folding you nearly in half without a hint of care for your frantic cries. The chain on your ankle swung wildly, clanging against his armored shoulder with every desperate kick, but he ignored it completely.

If anything, it only seemed to excite him more.

Your eyes watered from the burn in your stretched muscles as he forced you open even wider, leaving you shamefully exposed to the writhing tendrils. They lashed and rubbed with merciless precision, one flickering your swollen clit to squeeze and pulse until you screamed, while another kept thrusting deep inside you, the lewd noises sounding impossibly loud.

Every time you struggled, he let out a hungry laugh, the shadows under his hood churning with feverish delight. The more you resisted, the more brutal the tentacles became—fucking you harder, tighter, wringing out every single reaction from you.

Your orgasm slammed into you before you even realized it was coming, ripping a raw, strangled scream from your throat. Your body convulsed hard in his grip, back arching until it hurt.

Artorias actually flinched in surprise when your tight little hole spasmed and squirted a sudden gush of glistening fluid all over the probing tendril and his armored torso, splattering wetly as if your body itself was trying to reject the overwhelming pleasure he forced on it.

For a moment, he was stunned at the mess you'd made. Then a delighted laugh rumbled from his heaving chest. The slick tendrils finally slid free from your drenched cunt with an obscene squelch, leaving your hole twitching and gaping slightly from the relentless abuse.

You barely had time to come back from the high when the door behind Artorias creaked open. Heavy, thudding footsteps echoed through the room, so familiar they made your blood run cold.

Ornstein stepped inside without a word, golden armor catching the glow as he surveyed the scene. He set his spear casually in the corner, its bottom scraping the floor. Then the lionhead turned slowly toward you, taking in the scene while you were completely sprawled out and shaking in another man's grip.

“I was out there fighting for my life with the dragons,” he drawled, folding his arms over his broad chest. “And you two were having fun without me? That hurts.”

You didn’t miss the mocking tilt of his head, the false wounded tone. He was lying, obviously so. If anything, you knew the dragons had been the ones fighting for their lives just to keep him at bay.

"You are back early, Ornstein," Artorias remarked. His attitude was deceptively calm as he shifted just enough to let his comrade approach, though his hand stayed clamped possessively around your waist, fingers digging in.

"Lord Gwyn let me off early this time," Ornstein replied with a lazy smirk in his tone. "Plus, I missed the girl."

The bed creaked under his weight as he sat down beside you, the thick golden armor now gone, leaving only the layered cloth and lean muscle beneath. He stretched an arm across the mattress behind you, eyes roaming over your spent, trembling form with open hunger.

"Ornstein, if you were wise, you would let me walk out of that door." You ground the words out through clenched teeth, still pulling frantically at the writhing darkness binding your arms together above your head.

Your defiance drew a moment of silence from Ornstein. His visor tilted slightly, studying you in that eerie, predator's stillness before he finally reached out, gloved fingers brushing your tear-streaked, sweat-dampened cheek.

"You are as amusing as ever," he murmured, voice dropping to a condescending softness. "Why would you wish to run away now, when we are both here for you?"

Until he leaned in closer. "You should know the moment you walk out of this place, you will make all of Anor Londo your enemy. Would you want that?"

Then it twisted into something worse, just enough to make your blood run cold. "For us to hunt you down and kill everyone you love?"

"What? W-what are you blabbing about?!" You spat, voice shaking with anger and terror.

"Now, now. There’s no need to be so agitated," Ornstein cooed, sounding downright soothing in his condescension. "Be a good girl and let us make love to you, okay?"

Right when the words left his lips, he pushed them your dry, cracked ones, trying to coax them open. You turned your head frantically, trying to escape the kiss, disgust churning in your gut at the thought of him daring to threaten you one moment and feign tenderness the next.

But Artorias wouldn’t allow it. He held you down ruthlessly, one massive hand splayed over your stomach to keep you pinned while the other flipped the delicate lacy gown up, bunching it around your waist. His hooded face dipped low, shamelessly basking in the sight of your supple breasts spilling free, his breath hitching with raw hunger at the sight of your vulnerable, exposed flesh.

Ornstein’s tongue pushed insistently into your mouth, tasting you deeply, drinking in every muffled whimper you couldn’t hold back. His kiss was wet and greedy, forcing you to gasp and shudder beneath him.

At the same time, Artorias lowered his head to your chest, lips sealing around one of your perky nipples. He sucked carelessly, tongue flicking and lapping at the sensitive bud as if he expected milk to pour out for him before grazing it lightly with his teeth, making your back arch helplessly despite your muffled cries into Ornstein’s devouring mouth.

From below, you felt a hand slide possessively over your inner thigh, fingers pressing into the soft, abused heat that had been left pulsing and raw from Artorias’s earlier torment. The contact was firm, almost casual in its cruelty, dragging your folds apart to expose you fully.

You let out a muffled cry against Ornstein’s mouth when two thick fingers pushed in without warning. The obscene squelch filled the room once more as he spread you open around them, forcing your walls to stretch and squeeze around the rude intrusion.

He didn’t pause to let you adjust. Instead, he fucked you with those fingers immediately, pumping in and out with a steady rhythm that made your hips twitch with each thrust. The chain on your ankle rattled uselessly. You tried to squirm away, but Ornstein’s arm kept you pinned in place, his mouth still locked over yours, swallowing your every broken noise.

The soft tongue explored your mouth desperately, hot and heavy, coiling around yours and forcing it to dance with him. You whimpered, trying to turn your head away. Yet his grip on your jaw was iron, making every protest die in breathless gasps while his fingers curled inside you, seeking out that sensitive spot.

When your walls fluttered helplessly around him, betraying you with gushes that made each pump wetter, noisier, he moaned approvingly into your mouth.

Above you, Artorias was just as sedulous. His hood shadowed his face but couldn’t hide the deep, scary sounds he made as he worshipped your chest. His mouth latched onto one nipple, sucking hard enough to make you cry out, tongue swirling over the swollen bud until it ached and tingled.

He shifted to the other breast, licking wet stripes over your skin before sealing his lips around the peak. You felt his teeth graze it back and forth again. He became creative when his gauntleted hand came up to squeeze and knead your breasts roughly, toying with them like they were stress-relieving tools.

“Look at you,” Ornstein finally murmured against your lips, voice hoarse with lust as he pulled back just enough to speak, thumb brushing your spit-slick lower lip. His fingers never stopped moving inside you, pressing ruthlessly at that sweet spot until your legs shook. “Making such a mess on my hand. You are so, so wet it’s dripping.”

He twisted his fingers with a wet squelch, making your hips buck despite yourself, while Artorias’s tongue lashed at your nipple, warm breath heating your skin.

“Stop…please…” You sobbed from the humiliation and overstimulation.

But they only chuckled at the adorable plea.

"Artorias has a thing for helpless, begging girls, you know?" Ornstein drawled with a smirk. His fingers suddenly sped up, thrusting faster, thumb slipping down to grind circles over your clit until your entire body shook in their grip.

"Only when it’s her," Artorias growled in response as he dipped lower. Mouth pressed to your chest, teeth sinking in to leave stinging bite marks all over your tender skin.

They worked you over and over, hungry in their assault of kisses, roaming hands, and shameless teasing touches. Every wet lick, every squeeze, every thrust of fingers made you squirm and sob so bad, your heat coiling in your belly until you were right on the edge of cumming again.

But just as you were about to burst, they stopped.

Your breath came in broken sobs as you were left dazed and aching, core throbbing with cruel, unsatisfied need. Frustration twisted in your gut. Your head rang with static noise, making you wish desperately that this was all some sick nightmare you’d wake from.

Too bad it wasn’t.

You barely realized what was happening when Artorias shifted behind you, his massive arm sliding under your limp, trembling form. He hoisted you up easily, as if you weighed nothing at all, settling you in his lap with your back pressed firmly against his chest.

Your eyes flew open in panic when you felt Ornstein move in closer, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you wide open. The cold, heavy weight of his cock rested against your slick, abused entrance as he lined himself up, his golden eyes burning with predatory hunger at the sight of your hole twitching and dripping for him.

“W-wait—!” you babbled, thrashing weakly in Artorias’s iron grip, but all it did was make Ornstein’s smirk widen as he pushed the swollen head of his cock insistently against your yielding folds.

He moaned out loud as your prepped little cunt clamped down on him with a near-death grip the moment he forced his thick length inside. After so many years spent yearning for you, his lovely, stubborn apprentice, finally having you like this, spread open and trembling, felt like a gift sent from above.

"Refrain yourself from breaking her," Artorias said from behind you, his arms like iron bands around your legs to hold you steady even as you thrashed.

"Don't think I can guarantee that," the dragonslayer shot back with a savage grin.

Then he laughed lustfully in his chest, chivalrous eyes locked on the sight of you stretched tight around him, before he thrust in again, harder this time, pounding into you without mercy as your pitiful cries filled the room.

Your head lolled back onto Artorias’s shoulder with every pound. Hazy eyes glazed with tears, every breath coming out of you either as a whimper or a scream. And Artorias hadn't looked away—not for a second. He held you open for Ornstein.

Massive, clawed hands gripped your thighs so hard to keep you from sliding forward, you’d feel the bruises for days. He forced your legs wide apart, spreading you indecently so Ornstein could drive in as deep as he wanted, your stretched pussy swallowing every inch of him despite your body’s resistance.

Artorias’s hood shadowed his face, but his breathing was harsh. Beneath the dark folds, his eyes burned with naked hunger, sp locked on the sight of your hole clenching around his comrade’s cock. Not to mention, he could feel the heat of your slick dripping onto his armored thighs, and the way you spasmed every time Ornstein’s length dragged along your walls.

He was painfully hard himself.

You could feel it, the thick ridge pressing insistently into the small of your back every time you writhed. But he didn’t move to take you, not yet because of the promise he made with Ornstein.

“Good girl,” he growled in your ear. “Take all of him.”

Ornstein let out a laugh, head thrown back slightly as he felt you squeeze tighter with every savage thrust.

“She’s so fucking tight,” he panted, licking his lips as he watched your breasts bounce from the force of his thrusts. “Listen to her, Artorias. She’s crying for it.”

Artorias’s arm tightened across your waist, pulling you back hard against his chest as he forced your legs even wider in response.

“Don’t break her too soon,” he warned again, but his voice shook with lust and betrayal at the sight of you being fucked to the brim.

You squeezed your eyes shut, but curiosity and horror made you peek down at where your body was joined with Ornstein’s. You were so slick that your cunt swallowed his thick cock without protest. It only terrified you more.

There was no hint of the brotherly love you once remembered. That was long gone, replaced by some twisted perversion and obsession. If only you knew, you would have left this wretched place before they could even make it back.

"Fuck, think I'm close," Ornstein grunted. He slammed into you harder, making the entire bed shake with each brutal thrust. His eyes then flicked up to Artorias’s larger frame, a mocking grin twisting his lips. "You think I should do it inside? Give her a child and have you be the uncle, yeah?"

Your eyes went wide in horror. A sob tore from your throat as you started thrashing wildly in Artorias’s iron grip, chains rattling madly against the bed.

"N—no, you can’t!!" you screamed, voice cracking with terror.

But Artorias didn’t budge. His arms were unmovable bands of steel around your waist and thighs, forcing you open even wider for his friend. His dark, hooded head turned slightly, watching with gleaming eyes as your body was pounded without mercy.

"If you are so confident in your seed," His tone was low and mocking despite the lust that thickened every word, "then be my guest."

The mental image of you swollen with child made his cock twitch so hard he wished he could pounce you right now.

Ever since you were a kid, just a tamed little wild thing. Trouble always found you, or maybe you went looking for it. Always so damn hard-headed, forever talking back but never knowing when to shut up. Always so eager to square up with him, too, even though you never stood a chance.

Maybe having another little version of you didn’t sound so bad.

He could see the appeal in it, actually. The thought of you waddling around carrying his child, of helping you raise it, of scolding a stubborn little brat with your same spark and fire, made something fierce and almost possessively tender burn in his chest.

Yeah. He could get used to that.

Without warning, Ornstein’s grip on your waist tightened like a vice, fingers digging deep enough to leave bruises as he hauled you flush against him in one savage motion. The swollen head of his thick cock rammed hard into your cervix, sending a sharp, dizzying shock up your spine that made your vision blur and your toes curl helplessly.

You choked on a scream, eyes rolling back, whilst he groaned loudly with satisfaction. In a matter of seconds, you felt the hot, thick spurts of his cum flooding deep inside you, coating your walls and painting your womb white. The wet heat spread through you in humiliating pulses, leaking around the seal of your stretched cunt as he stayed buried to the hilt, making sure not a drop could escape.

It took Ornstein a moment to catch his breath, his chest heaving with each inhale. Sweat glistened on his forehead, matting fiery red strands of hair to his skin; the usually tidy mane was now wild and tangled.

He let out a satisfied chuckle as he finally pulled out, a wet squelch marking his exit. Sharp eyes instantly locked on the mess he’d made—thick, pearly ropes of his cum spilling freely from your abused, gaping cunt, trailing in lewd strings onto the sheets below.

“With that much,” he drawled lazily, completely mesmerized, “I wouldn’t even be surprised if you were with child by tomorrow.”

He laughed again with the same cruel amusement gleaming in his eyes.

"Shut up, you—you—" you stammered, trying to think of some insult as you weakly kicked out at him.

Ornstein just caught your ankle effortlessly, smirking. He pressed a teasing, mocking kiss to the inside of it, the gesture making you shudder in disgust.

"Complain to me later," he murmured with a lazy drawl. "Because I doubt Artorias can wait any longer."

With that, he shifted to the side, finally giving the other man room.

Artorias wasted no time. He leaned in close, the shadow under his hood pressing to your tear-streaked cheek, like he was kissing you. But all you could feel was the cold, suffocating Abyss that clung to him, seeping into your skin and making you shiver.

Then he moved back with predatory calm, letting you fall limply onto the bed. In a blink, the black tendrils binding your wrists vanished into nothingness, freeing you just in time for you to throw your hands over your chest in reflex.

You tried to push yourself up with terror pounding in your veins, but froze when you saw him loosen the front of his dark trousers.

It sprang free with a heavy, lewd slap against his own stomach, massive, pale, and veined so thickly it looked monstrous. Far thicker and longer than Ornstein’s had been. Your eyes went impossibly wide, throat closing up.

There was no way you could take the head alone, let alone the entire thing.

Artorias watched you stare with shaking horror. One of his massive hand wrapped lazily around the impossible length, stroking it.

“Impressive, right?” Ornstein drawled lazily, now lying on his side next to you, head propped on his palm.

His eyes gleamed with open amusement as he watched your face twist in panic. Meanwhile, his free hand roamed over your chest, fingers squeezing and kneading your bite-marked, sensitive breasts, rolling your sore nipples between rough fingertips until you squirmed helplessly.

“No way…I-I can’t take it, he’ll tear me up,” you choked out in fear as you gripped the sheets so hard your knuckles turned white. Sweat dripped from your temples, your whole body trembling.

“No need to worry,” Artorias said from above. “Soon enough you’ll take pleasure in it.”

You sobbed once in horror as he shifted closer, heavy weight pressing the mattress down on either side of your quivering hips. He angled his thick, monstrous cock with one massive, armored hand, lining the veiny length up perfectly with your entrance.

You could feel the hot, heavy head nudging insistently against your drenched folds, the threat of it sinking in making you writhe and squirm in mindless panic.

His grip on your waist was so strong you couldn’t move an inch even if you wanted to. You could only thrash weakly, crying out when you felt the swollen head of his cock press hard against your slit, trying to spread you around something impossibly thick.

Artorias let out a growl the moment he pushed forward, the wide head catching on your stretched entrance but refusing to slide in.

“Too tight,” he snarled with frustration before withdrawing an inch only to shove forward again, grinding the head against you in delicate thrusts that forced your folds apart. Yet still couldn’t bury him even halfway.

You screamed, tears streaming, fingers clawing at the sheets. Your legs kicked weakly.

“Stop. Ah—too big! It won’t fit!”

Beside you, Ornstein let out a dark laugh, watching you squirm with gleaming eyes. He reached over, strong fingers wrapping around one of your thighs to hold it wide and steady. His other hand went between your legs, fingers parting your slippery folds even further, spreading you for Artorias.

“I’ve got you, little assassin,” Ornstein crooned, still using that childish nickname he gave you in the past.

Artorias groaned. He pressed in harder, feeling the resistance given by cruel, grinding inches.

You nearly died when he finally bottomed out inside you, the fat head of his cock slamming into the very deepest part of your core. Your breath hitched on a silent scream as you felt your belly distend slightly with the sheer size of him, the obscene bulge tracing his length beneath your skin.

Your cunt clamped down violently around him, the slick, trembling walls spasming in panicked reflex. It was too much—too big—forcing you open in ways you never thought possible.

Artorias shuddered at the sensation, fingers digging bruises into your hips as he held you locked in place. His breath grew laboured and unsteady. The hood shadowed his face, yet unable to hide the way he trembled with need.

“Gods,” he hissed, voice breaking with dark delight. “You’re too tight…it’s—fuck…it’s perfect.”

He didn’t want to move yet, simply savoring the crushing, molten grip of your cunt around him. The way it pulsed and squeezed like it was trying to force him back out, even as it held him in a vice, was undeniably deadly that...

“I might never want to leave you.”

All hells broke loose the second Artorias began to move. His hips snapped forward with brutal force, dragging that impossibly thick cock almost all the way out before slamming back in, making your entire body jolt against the mattress.

The pain was immediate, tearing a raw scream from your throat as your walls fought to accommodate the brutal intrusion. But with every thrust, the searing burn slowly blurred into something else…hot, tingling pleasure that crawled up your spine, making your legs tremble and your toes curl.

It was humiliating. Psychotic even...how you were falling apart under his charm.

You went from shrieking in pain to letting out these breathless moans you didn’t even recognize as your own. Your mouth fell open, eyes already rolling back with drools slipping from the corner of your lips as Artorias forced your traitorous body to submit.

He didn’t slow down. If anything, he thrust harder, grinding so deep you could feel the head of his cock battering the very entrance to your womb, making your belly bulge slightly with each stroke.

Beside you, Ornstein lay propped on his elbow, watching with predatory glee. His sharp eyes tracked every twitch of your face.

When he saw your drool glistening on your chin, he let out a chuckle.

“Look at you,” he drawled, fingers idly playing with the bruises and bite marks on your tits. “Already drooling for him. Didn’t know you could get so desperate for cock.”

Your sobs mixed with keening moans as Artorias’s thrusts only grew faster. The room was soon filled with wet, rhythmic slaps and your own pitiful sounds of unwilling pleasure.

“A-Artorias!” Before you knew it, you were already cumming. Your back arched violently against him, every muscle locking tight while your cunt clamped down in spasming pulses around his thick cock.

He let out a breathless laugh, sounding more like himself.

“Goodness,” Artorias groaned, the sensation of your walls milking him nearly buckling his control. He had to brace himself, arms trembling as he fought to keep from spilling inside you right then and there. Every pulse of your tight heat was sending bolts of unbearable pleasure through him.

Despite the savage need in his eyes, he was generous enough to slow down, pulling his cock out with a wet slide that left you gasping and twitching on the sheets.

He let you ride out your own orgasm. With tears streaming down flushed red cheeks, you shook with the aftershocks, your chest heaving for breath, clinging onto Ornstein's hand when it took yours in.

Then Artorias moved, looming over you in the dim light. With unsettling ease, he lay back and hauled your limp, quivering body on top of him, settling you astride his broad torso like you weighed nothing at all.

Your arms trembled uselessly at your sides, unable to hold yourself up as he lined himself up again. This time, slick with your own wetness and the copious remnants of Ornstein’s cum leaking out of you, he sank back in with disgusting ease.

From this angle, his size was even more apparent so holding you like this was like having an oversized doll in his lap, completely at his mercy.

Without waiting a second longer, Artorias’s massive hands clamped around your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he yanked you downward at the exact moment he thrust up from below.

“Ah—ah!!”

Your shriek split the air as his cock slammed impossibly deep, the new angle forcing him even further inside you. The fat, veined length speared into that devastatingly sensitive spot deep in your core, the one that made you see stars and scream every single time he hit it.

Your voice cracked on a desperate wail with tears streaming down your cheeks. Even Artorias couldn’t keep quiet, for he groaned and moaned, sounding more like the animal he was becoming.

“Fuck yes,” he growled ferally as he bottomed out once more, grinding that swollen tip against your sweet spot again just to hear you scream so sweetly. “So fucking tight��so good.”

He kept that savage rhythm the same, hauling your hips down every time he thrust up, using your limp body like his personal toy, making sure you felt every last inch of him splitting you open.

When the days were harsh with doubts dangling in his clouded head, you were the answer he had been longing for.

He loved you so much it hurt. The consuming obsession that had festered for years in him, loving you, knowing deep down you would never feel the same way. The Abyss might have ruined him, but it had also given him the courage to take you like this.

Every muffled scream, every pleading sob that fell from your lips would forever be with him in ways he’d never admit. As he forced your hips down onto his rod over and over, feeling you clamp so tight and hot around him, his mind was heavy with the weight of that truth.

Because he remembered.

He remembered every time you’d run to him crying, pleading for that everlasting comfort. Every time he had sat there, ever the stoic knight he was, offering you his shoulder while your tears soaked through his heart. It had taken everything he had to hold back then, to be the good man you needed instead of the selfish monster he felt himself becoming.

But he was done faking it. He was done being just the shade you found comfort in on a hot summer day.

He wanted to be something else to you entirely—a lover, a mate, the only one who could hold you like this, make you feel this way. Even if it meant forcing himself on you.

You were the final flicker of light holding him back from tumbling completely into the madness the Abyss had brought about. He would never let you go, even if it meant death.

As his thrusts grew more desperate, the hand from his non-limp arm snaked up your trembling body to find your neck. His fingers wrapped tight around your throat, squeezing firmly until your breath hitched in a strangled gasp, eyes flying wide with panic.

The pressure was like a stimulant, making your walls clamp down even tighter around his thick cock, eager to milk him with every involuntary spasm.

It felt so damn good that for one brief, perfect moment. That Artorias actually believed your cunt was driving the Abyss right out of him. Every squeeze, every flutter of your adorable, helpless cunt, felt like it’s chasing away the corruption in his bones.

He let out a roar as he came with one brutal, final thrust that drove you down onto him to the hilt, grinding so deep you saw stars. Hot, thick spurts of his cum flooded your puffy pussy, warmth spreading as he filled you up, claiming every last inch of space inside you.

Yet, Artorias kept moving. Hips jerking in messy, unsteady thrusts, he fucked you through the gut-wrenching high. To the point his cock throbbed and pulsed inside you, still unloading more with every spasm, refusing to pull out.

It was like you were some succubus conjured to drain him dry—your body sucking the very life out of him, taking every ounce of his strength, his sanity, his love. He groaned in your ear one last time, voice breaking with a helpless desperation when he gave you all he had left, thrusting sloppily until his limbs trembled and gave up.

You unconsciously clung to his massive frame, fingers digging weakly into the hard lines of his armor when he crashed down, barely holding himself up with one arm.

He had given your womb a second, merciless chance to get bred full of him. And you loathed how your body betrayed you completely when his seeds flood your garden. Because the pleasure he brought was too much, searing your nerves until you couldn’t even tell what was happening anymore.

Maybe you came. Maybe you pissed yourself.

You weren’t so sure. Your body convulsed and shook, leaking slick and seed and everything else onto his thighs, soaking the sheets beneath you.

The only thing grounding you in that dizzy, drowning haze was Ornstein’s slow, surprisingly gentle kisses pressed to your temples. His lips were warm and patient, brushing over your sweaty, salty skin as if to remind you to come back to them.

The redhead clicked his tongue, shaking his head with feigned annoyance when he saw how heavy your eyelids had grown, fluttering weakly before finally closing. You looked so small like that, limp and boneless in Artorias’s bruising hold.

Artorias let out a low, uneven exhale as he finally lifted himself off you, the creak of the bed groaning beneath his weight. His hands then moved with uncharacteristic care, adjusting your slack form so you wouldn’t suffocate under him, though the worry flickering behind his abyss-tainted eyes was unmistakable. He looked down at you, taking in every detail. From your tear-streaked cheeks to your swollen, well-fucked cunt, which was leaking with their mixed release.

And in that moment of quiet, your body finally gave up its fight.

Your breathing slowed prominently with relaxed shoulders. Foggy head lolled back against the pillow seconds after, you drifted off without another sound, slipping into a deep, healing slumber.

Ornstein watched you with a small, knowing smirk, thumb brushing idly across the bruises on your thigh.

“Soft little thing,” he muttered, voice softer than he’d admit.

“Think she’ll want the north wing for a nursery?”

Artorias didn’t answer. He was watching your face with quiet hunger, as if memorizing it for every nightmare the Abyss would give him.

“I like the east wing better. It is more secluded there.” He finally spoke, pulling out just enough to let his seeds spill freely.

“No one would have to know about her whereabouts.”

Ornstein then huffed in defeat, watching over your sleeping form before admitting the corruption out loud. “The Abyss sure did change you, huh?”

[salmonmakiii]

ᯓ★ Your boyfriend had been busier than usual, with the burden and responsibilities of being a Chrysos Heir and all. You'd often watched how drained he looked whenever he finally made it home.

This time was no different. He'd been out of the city for a week, pushing back the Black Tide. Still, you weren't too worried; he sent updates now and then. You believed in him, you always do! He usually comes home without so much as a scratch.

So, you decided to surprise him. He mentioned he'd be back at Curtain-Fall Hour, and what better way to say "Good work!" than by dolling yourself up just for him after a tough mission? Consequently, you bought a new set of lingerie...

The thought of your boyfriend getting flustered and caught off guard had you practically jittering with excitement.

The moment you heard the front door open, you turned to the mirror for one last check. You adjusted your lingerie, fixed your hair, and then stepped out slowly, eager to see that stunned look on his face.

But this time, you were the one left in shock. ᯓ★

Wc: 1,523

Cw: Fem!reader x Mydei, Fem!reader x Phainon, Suggestive, established relationship, mentions of injury, kind of OOC...? maybe (the boys are freaky). For plot reasons, let's just say Mydei's wounds don't heal instantly.

Notes: Back from the dead to write this itchy drabble I've been thinking of... I'm so normal for Phainon and Mydei lol.

Mydei stood before the front door of your shared home, the familiar sight alone already easing the tension from his shoulders. His body ached, bandages wrapped across his torso, joints stiff with soreness, and a limp in his step from the lingering strain. He exhaled slowly, the weight of the day heavy in his breath.

What would you think if you saw him like this? All bruised, battered, barely upright? Still, knowing you, he could already imagine it. You'd accept his vulnerability without question. You'd hold him in your arms without hesitation.

The thought alone tugged a small, quiet smile from him.

He stepped closer, pulling out the spare key, the cute lion key chain you gave him dangling. He unlocked the door as it let out a soft click in the quiet. He pushed it open.

"I'm home," He called out softly.

The living room was empty... huh. You were usually sprawled on the couch, waiting with a smile. No matter, he'd remove his armor first and find you after. His hands reached up to unclasp the golden pauldron on his shoulder, fingers fumbling slightly from the fatigue.

Then he heard footsteps. Yours.

He barely had time to register them before the gasp that followed snapped his attention upward.

Both of you froze, eyes wide, equally shocked.

Clank!

The pauldron dropped to the floor in the dead silence.

Titans. You looked breathtaking.

The red lingerie you wore was delicately revealing. It consists of two finely crafted pieces joined by loose strings along your sides. One pull, and the entire ensemble would fall away. It hugged around your body perfectly, accentuating the curves of your chest and just enough of your thighs to make his breath hitch.

And suddenly, miraculously, every ache in his body vanished.

Well... almost. The ache had simply... shifted elsewhere.

"Mydei! What happened to you?!" Your frantic voice pulled him back to reality.

He blinked, momentarily lost in your presence. He opened his mouth to answer, but only jumbled stammers escaped.

...what?

Why is he stammering? Alongside fear, stammering is not in the Kremnoan dictionary. He hadn't even known he was capable of stammering. Clearing his throat, he tried again.

"The... the enemy- the Black Tide, they... they were..." He trailed off, the words slipping from him. Why was this so hard?

His eyes flicked back to you, who was now approaching him with concern on your face. Titans above help this poor man. He focused, desperately, on your eyes. As if looking anywhere else might turn him into stone.

"Were they that aggressive?" You asked gently, placing your hands on his face.

Aggressive... Right... that was the word he was looking for.

"...Yes." He managed to say, still trying to collect himself.

"Why haven't you healed yet? Are you okay? Can you walk?" Your questions came all at once; panicked, loving, relentless.

He wasn't listening anymore. Not really. Not with your body barely hidden behind that tempting veil of red silk. If he could just... pull that damn string off.

His thoughts were tangled, his focus slipping again, especially when you got even closer. He cleared his throat, trying to stay composed.

"Uh... yeah." He said firmly, then paused, eyes scanning your form again. "You... dressed up for me?"

You froze in place, suddenly flustered and self-conscious. "Oh, Gods! I'm so sorry! I- I thought you'd be fine like always, and I wanted to surprise you, but you're hurt! I should change and help you-"

You turned, ready to flee from embarrassment, but he caught your wrist before you could escape.

"No. Don't," he said, voice stern but laced with something tender, almost desperate.

"What?" You breathed, heart pounding.

"You went through all that trouble to make yourself look this beautiful," he said, stepping closer, limp and all. "I'm not about to let that go to waste." He was already pulling you closer to him, bodies pressed against each other.

"Mydei, this can wait-"

He was already leaning in.

"You have to-"

Your words were swallowed by your own gasp.

Mydei's lips were at your neck, warm and hungry. His hands were now already on your waist, squeezing them, holding you in place. He moved them up and down your sides, making you squirm. The chill of his gauntlets made your skin spark, the metal adding a strange thrill to every touch.

"Please..." He whispered, his voice husky, pleading. His lips trailed lower, from your neck to your collarbone, before teasingly stopping just above your chest.

You looked down into his eyes, half-lidded and full of heat, desperation, need. His fingers were already tugging at the strings of your lingerie. Perhaps they were also tugging at your heartstrings.

Well, who were you to say no to the crown prince?

Phainon limped up the stairs to the front door, cursing under his breath. Why, in all of Amphoreus, had he thought the stairs to be a good idea in the first place? Every step felt like a personal attack. He should have them removed! Better yet, throw them into the River of Souls for the pain they brought him now.

...No.

He sighed. He was starting to sound irrational. He was probably just exhausted, his entire body screaming in protest. Still, the thought of you seeing him in this state worried him more than he'd like to admit. His head was bandaged, coat hung limply from one shoulder since his arms were too sore to slide into the sleeves.

With a twist of the key, he unlocked the front door.

"Sweetheart, I'm home!" He called out, wincing as his shoulder twisted while he pulled the door shut behind him. He shuffled toward the counter and leaned on it with one hand, trying to take off his boots without his body screaming at him.

He heard your footsteps approaching, light and quick. Still crouched over, fumbling with the straps of his boots, he heard you gasp. He sighed, preparing a reassuring smile.

Until he looked up and saw you.

His breath caught.

"You're all bruised and bandaged! What happened to you?"

You stood there, eyes wide with concern, but that wasn't the main focus.

You were wearing baby blue lingerie, so delicate and ethereal you almost didn't look real. The fabric was thin and light, translucent enough for a clear view of the matching bra and panties. The sheer dress floated just above your thighs, the hem trimmed with soft frills that made it look like you were wrapped in clouds. The neckline sat off your shoulders, ruffled sleeves hugged your arms in a way that gave an innocent look. Though it was anything but innocent.

And those garters.

Dear Kephale, those garters. Those soft, tantalizing bands around your thighs made his thoughts spiral into dangerous places.

"Phainon?" You called out to him again, pulling him out of his daze. He stumbled, barely catching himself.

"Y-yes, Sweetheart?" He replied, voice slightly strained as he straightened up despite the protest of his wounds.

"Are you okay?" you asked, voice filled with genuine worry as you placed a gentle hand on his arm.

Gods, your touch felt like fire on his skin.

He suddenly felt guilty. You were so concerned, and all he could do was stare at you like a man starved.

"I'm... okay. Minor injuries," he muttered, eyes flickering from yours to your chest and back again.

"Even your head's wrapped in bandages..." You said softly, placing a hand on his cheek. "Did you get hit that hard?"

Phainon could think of something else that was hard-

He cleared his throat quickly. "A little, yeah." He leaned into your touch, unable to contain himself.

"You look beautiful," he added with a teasing grin, hovering his hands just beside your waist.

You pulled back with a gasp, glancing down. "Oh, Titans- I forgot I was still wearing this," you laughed nervously. "I'll go change-"

But before you could move, Phainon (even in his weakened state) caught your wrist and pulled you gently but firmly back to him. You stumbled slightly, only to find yourself trapped between him and the counter, your back pressed to his chest, your hands bracing on the surface in front of you.

His arms wrapped around your waist, and his lips brushed past your exposed shoulder. He trailed kisses to your neck, and a soft gasp escaped your lips when he found that one spot that always made you weak.

"P-Phainon, you're hurt-" you tried to speak, but another gasp cut you off as his gloved hand slipped beneath your dress, gliding over bare skin.

"Yes," he whispered against your jaw, "but my sweetheart dressed up so beautifully for me." His right hand then rose to gently tilt your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his. "Who am I to refuse a blessing from a goddess, hm?"

You whine softly, "Your injuries, Phainon..."

You tried to push him away, but he didn't budge.

"Please?" He murmured, desperate in his voice, lips hovering just above yours. "I'll be good. I promise."

His eyes burned with heat, pupils blown and hungry.

This man was absolutely not good for your heart.

©salmonmakiii, do not steal my work or feed it to AI.

[kultofkorii]

— Otherworldly Differences

mark grayson x saiyan! reader

• fic type: oneshot & fluff

• summary: crash landing on such a feeble planet wasn't on your to-do list. although this being whose nearly as strong a you confronts you, so you decide to humor him.

• word count: 5.8k

• warnings: mild canon typical violence, threat of violence, blood

• a/n: As you can see I got really carried away. 🧍‍♀️I like DBZ and I like Invincible, so why not combine the two!! Also I've just started watching invincible so sorry if he's ooc.

A shrill, wailing sound yanks you from unconsciousness, vibrating through your skull like an alarm gone haywire. You groan, forcing your heavy eyelids open, and are immediately greeted by the acrid stench of burning metal and scorched earth.

Smoke billows around you, thick and suffocating, curling from the shattered remains of your ship—a twisted hunk of alien steel embedded deep in the cracked pavement.

Your head pounds in protest, a dull, throbbing ache pulsing behind your temples. You press a hand to your forehead, then glance down at yourself.

Dust clings to your skin, mingling with smudges of soot and dried blood. Your armor, now riddled with scorch marks and gashes, groans as you shift.

Damn. That landing must’ve been rough.

Muffled shouts rise above the ringing in your ears. Blinking away the haze, you finally take in your surroundings.

Small, weak-looking creatures encircle the crash site, clad in identical dark uniforms. They hold strange little metal sticks, aiming them at you like they actually expect them to do something.

“Put your hands where we can see them!”

“Step away from the wreckage!”

“You’re under arrest!”

You arch a brow, a slow smirk tugging at your lips. They think they can arrest me? That’s adorable.

With a groan, you push yourself upright, rolling your shoulders. A shower of debris crumbles from your armor, scattering across the crater floor. Your hair, wild and voluminous as ever, whips around your face as you stretch.

"Where in the name of Vegeta am I?" you mutter, voice thick with irritation.

The humans stiffen. Their fingers tighten around their weapons, eyes flickering between you and the destruction left in your wake.

The boldest of the bunch—a man with gritted teeth and an unfortunate mustache—steps forward, barrel trained directly at your chest.

“I said put your hands up!” he barks.

You tilt your head, gaze flicking over him with mild amusement. “Do you know who you’re speaking to?”

Apparently, he doesn’t. None of them do. Because instead of answering, they just keep shouting, their voices a frantic mess of demands and threats.

You sigh, rubbing your temple. This is exhausting. If they refuse to answer your questions, perhaps a demonstration is in order.

Your eyes scan the wreckage, landing on the nearest object of interest—a large, boxy vehicle with shattered windows and blaring alarms.

Without hesitation, you grab it by the undercarriage, lift it effortlessly over your head, and hurl it toward a nearby building.

Glass explodes outward as the car crashes through the structure, embedding itself halfway into the second floor. The ground trembles from the impact, sending fresh cracks spiderwebbing across the pavement.

That gets their attention.

“Holy Shit!”

“She’s a freaking alien!”

“No shit,” you scoff, crossing your arms. “Now, which one of you is in charge?”

Before anyone can respond, a gust of wind nearly knocks you back. A shadow streaks across the sky, descending at high speed.

You turn just in time to see a figure land in front of you, kicking up dust upon impact.

An array of yellow, blue and back filled your vision, toned muscles flexing between the tight material of a suit.

You recognize the stance immediately. A fighter. Interesting.

“You must be the problem everyone’s freaking out about,” he says, arms crossed. His tone isn’t immediately hostile—more wary than anything.

You grin, rolling your shoulders. “Depends. You here to challenge me?”

The guy blinks, visibly thrown off. “Uh, not exactly.”

You frown. “Shame. I was hoping someone here would be worth my time.”

Despite yourself, you’re intrigued. He’s strong—you can sense it. Not nearly Saiyan strong, of course, but there’s something different about him. Something… familiar.

He studies you just as intently, gaze flicking between your tattered armor, your battle-worn knuckles, and—most notably—the towering mass of thick hair atop your head.

His lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something, but he hesitates.

“I’m Invincible,” he offers instead.

You snort. “Bit cocky, don’t you think?”

He sighs. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

A beat of silence. Neither of you moves.

Then, cautiously, he gestures toward the chaos surrounding you. “Look, I don’t want to fight you.”

“That makes one of us,” you say, cracking your knuckles.

Mark exhales through his nose, clearly trying to be patient. “Seriously, can we just… talk?” He gestures at the wreckage, the police, the frightened civilians peeking from behind cover.

“You’re obviously not from around here, and you seem kinda… lost?”

You bristle at the implication. You are not lost. Saiyans do not get lost.

But.

Well.

You don’t exactly know where you are, and it’s slightly concerning that your ship is currently a pile of molten scrap metal.

“…Fine.” You roll your eyes, shoving your hands into the tattered remains of your belt. “But if this is a trap, I’m breaking every bone in your body.”

Mark exhales in relief, though the corner of his mouth quirks upward. “Noted,” he mutters. Then, more amused than he probably should be: “You always this dramatic?”

You smirk. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

His lips twitch, as if suppressing a laugh. Instead, he just shakes his head and gestures for you to follow.

You crack your neck, glance at the still-stunned humans, and grin.

Let’s see where this goes.

••••

You hate this place.

It smells like sterilization and fear, the kind of artificially clean air that makes your skin itch.

The walls are a cold, metallic gray, pulsing with dim overhead lights. The whole facility hums with electricity, the kind that suggests they have restraints for things stronger than humans.

And the way they’re looking at you? Like you’re a specimen in a cage? You really, really don’t like that.

You sit in a metal chair bolted to the floor, arms crossed, one leg bouncing slightly as you stare at the wrinkled man in front of you.

His name is Cecil. You’ve already decided you don’t like him.

For the past ten minutes, he’s been droning on, asking questions about your species, your ship, your intentions—like you owe him answers.

You’ve made a game of not responding, watching his patience wear thin.

“You’re really not gonna talk?” he asks, finally, voice dry as dust.

You smirk. “Why would I answer to someone who can’t even fly?”

Cecil’s face twitches. Across the room, Mark—Invincible, as he insists on being called—snorts.

He tries to smother his laugh, pressing his lips together, but you see the amusement flickering in his eyes.

Cecil doesn’t react beyond a slow exhale through his nose. He’s good at this, you’ll give him that. A lesser man would’ve cracked by now.

“I’ll be honest,” he continues. “You’re not our first alien visitor, and you probably won’t be our last. But if you’re planning to cause problems—”

You lean forward, resting your elbows on the table, flashing him a slow, sharp grin. “I am the problem,” you say, voice dripping with amusement.

“And there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

The silence that follows is delicious.

Mark shifts slightly. You don’t need to look at him to feel the tension in his shoulders, the way his body tenses like he’s preparing for you to lash out again.

You’re not going to—yet—but the fact that he thinks you might is amusing.

Cecil just sighs and rubs his temple. “Get her out of my sight.”

You stand, stretching with a dramatic groan.

“Finally. This room smells like weakness.”

One of the armed guards by the door stiffens at that, knuckles whitening on his weapon. You give him a slow, pointed grin before turning away.

Mark steps beside you, shaking his head. “You’re so charming,” he mutters, voice laced with dry amusement.

You flash him a smirk. “I try.”

He gestures toward the exit. “Come on, oh mighty warrior. Let’s get you some fresh air before you pick a fight with the janitor.”

••••

Mark insists you need to learn about Earth.

Assimilate, he says. Blend in.

You think it’s ridiculous. Why should you have to adapt to them? You are superior in every way—stronger, faster, smarter. If anything, they should be learning from you.

But… well. You suppose humoring Mark is preferable to rotting away in that dreadful government facility.

So when he insists on introducing you to “the best thing Earth has to offer,” you allow yourself to be dragged along, arms crossed and skepticism at full capacity.

Which is how you find yourself sitting in a place called Mama Luigi’s Pizza.

The walls are plastered with photographs of grinning humans holding enormous, greasy slices of something that looks like food but definitely doesn’t smell like anything worth eating.

The air is thick with the scent of melted cheese and sizzling dough, mingling with the faint tang of tomato sauce.

Mark places a box in front of you with a dramatic flourish. “Alright, first lesson in being an Earthling, food.”

You narrow your eyes at the offering. The circular dish is sliced into uneven triangles, topped with bubbling golden cheese and a thin layer of something red.

You poke it with a finger. It squishes slightly. “What is this?”

Mark sighs like he was expecting this reaction. “It’s pizza. Just try it.”

You glance at him, then back at the pizza. It doesn’t smell awful, but it looks so… soft.

Your diet consists of meat cooked over an open flame, raw energy rations, and the occasional alien delicacy that most species wouldn’t dare touch.

This? This just looks like melted goo on soggy bread.

“Do humans consume nothing of nutritional value?” you ask, lifting one of the slices and examining it like it might try to escape. “How does this pathetic excuse for sustenance fuel you?”

Mark groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not always about nutrition. Sometimes it's about taste.”

You snort. “Taste is secondary to power.”

“Okay, Y/n,” Mark deadpans. “Just take a bite.”

You sniff it warily, then, with great reluctance, sink your teeth into the gooey mess.

The moment the flavors hit your tongue, your brain short-circuits.

Salty, savory cheese. Rich, tangy sauce. The warm, crispy-yet-doughy crust. Your taste buds—so accustomed to the harsh, metallic tang of survival rations—practically explode.

You don’t mean to make a noise, but something between a hum and a low growl of approval rumbles in your throat.

Your grip on the slice tightens, fingers flexing instinctively.

Mark watches with interest as your pupils dilate. “...Well?” he prompts, smirking.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Instead, you devour the rest of the slice in two bites, grab another, and tear into it like a starving beast.

Mark blinks. “Oh. Oh wow.”

The next few minutes are a blur. The pizza—this godly, divine creation—is disappearing at an alarming rate.

You don’t pace yourself.

You don’t breathe.

You just consume.

Mark leans back in his chair, watching in a mixture of horror and awe. “Uh, you do know you’re supposed to chew, right?”

You ignore him, grabbing another slice, cheese stretching between your fingers.

Mark’s brows shoot up. “Are you—oh my god, are you actually growling?”

You pause mid-bite, realizing that yes, you are growling—a low, territorial rumble vibrating from your chest. Your muscles are coiled, posture slightly hunched as if guarding your prize.

You force yourself to relax, clearing your throat. “Instinct,” you say, voice muffled around your mouthful. “Saiyan biology.”

Mark stares at you.

Then at the emptying box.

Then back at you.

“That’s terrifying.”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, completely unbothered. “It is efficient.”

Mark gestures to the now nearly empty pizza box. “That was supposed to be for both of us.”

You glance at the single, lonely slice remaining in the box, then at Mark. Then back at the slice.

You grab it.

“HEY!”

You take an exaggerated bite, chewing slowly, making direct eye contact with him as you do.

Mark groans, slumping back in his seat. “I cannot believe I just witnessed a Saiyan discovering pizza.”

You swallow and grin. “Alright.” You gesture to the crumbs and grease-stained box. “This planet might have some value after all.”

••••

Mark insists you need to learn human customs if you're going to stay on Earth.

You think human customs are stupid.

“Just try to blend in,” Mark says as he leads you down a crowded city street, his voice already laced with exhaustion. “No throwing cars, no threatening people, and for the love of God, no fighting the barista.”

You scoff, ruffling your hair in annoyance. “If this barista dares disrespect me, they’ll have earned the beating.”

Mark sighs. “I’m begging you to be normal for five minutes.”

You don’t dignify that with a response.

The place Mark drags you to is small and cramped, filled with the scent of something bitter and the low hum of human chatter. Coffee shop, he calls it. You call it a waste of time.

The line moves painfully slow. You tap your foot impatiently, arms crossed, eyes scanning the ridiculous menu full of nonsense words like macchiato and venti.

“These names are stupid.”

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t have to understand them. Just order something.”

Finally, you reach the front. A young man stands behind the counter, looking more exhausted than Mark. His uniform is wrinkled, his expression blank.

He sighs. “What can I get you?”

You lift your chin. “Your strongest drink.”

The barista barely reacts. “Do you want that hot or iced?”

You narrow your eyes. “Is there a difference?”

Mark nudges your side. “Just say hot.”

You roll your eyes. “Hot, then.”

The barista punches something into his register. “Name for the order?”

You blink. “Why do you need my name?”

“It’s so we can call it when your drink is ready.”

You frown. “You mean I have to wait?”

The barista, clearly dead inside, just blinks at you. “Yes?”

You lean forward slightly. “Do you know who I am?”

Mark audibly groans.

The barista, now vaguely alarmed, glances at Mark for guidance. Mark shoots him an apologetic look before turning to you, voice dangerously close to pleading. “Just give him your name and be cool.”

You stare at the barista. The barista stares back. Then, slowly, you smirk. “Fine. My name is Y/N the Warmonger.”

Mark visibly deflates.

The barista, now beyond caring, just types something into the register. “That’ll be $4.75.”

You blink. “That will be what?”

“Four dollars and seventy-five cents.”

Mark pulls out a small green rectangle and hands it over before you can start breaking things. “I got it.”

You watch as the barista takes the rectangle, swipes it through a strange machine, and hands it back.

You lean over, voice low. “Did he just steal from you?”

Mark drags a hand down his face. “That’s how money works.”

“Money is a scam.”

Mark gestures for you to step aside as the next customer moves forward. “Welcome to capitalism.”

You huff, tapping your fingers against the counter as you wait. “How long does this process take?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

Mark shrugs. “How busy they are.”

You look around. There are only three other people waiting. “This is pathetic.”

“Do you have to say everything you think out loud?”

“Yes, I do.”

Mark stares at you for a long moment, then sighs. “Just… stand here and don’t start a fight.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I won’t start a fight.”

Mark looks at you like he doesn’t believe you at all.

Minutes pass. The baristas move at a snail’s pace, making drinks with far more effort than seems necessary.

Your patience—what little exists—wears thin.

Finally, someone calls, “Y/N the Warmonger?”

You smirk, stepping forward. “Ah, finally.”

The barista places a small cup on the counter.

You eye it. “That’s it?”

Mark claps a hand over his face. “Please don’t—”

You grab the cup and inspect it. It’s small—far smaller than you expected. And it’s hot, heat seeping through the flimsy material. You narrow your eyes at the tiny opening in the lid. “This is ridiculous.”

Mark nudges your arm. “Just take a sip.”

You do.

And immediately gag.

Mark snorts. “Not a fan?”

You shove the cup back at him, wiping your tongue on your sleeve. “It tastes like burnt dirt.”

“That’s coffee.”

“Why do humans drink this?”

Mark shrugs, taking a sip of his own drink. “Some of us like suffering.”

You glare at the cup. “This explains so much.”

Mark is laughing now, shaking his head. “Okay, maybe coffee isn’t your thing.”

You sneer at the cup as if it personally offended you. “I will destroy this establishment.”

Mark grabs your arm. “We are leaving.”

••••

Mark should’ve known better than to mention Halloween in passing.

The moment the words leave his mouth, you stop walking, whip around, and grab his shoulders so fast he barely has time to react.

"Wait, wait, wait—" Your grip tightens, eyes burning with intensity. "So you’re telling me there’s a day—a whole day—where I can wear anything I want, and people just… give me things?"

Mark blinks, looking mildly concerned for his well-being. "Uh… yeah? That’s… basically Halloween."

Your expression is deadly serious. "This is the best planet in the universe."

Mark sighs, prying your fingers off his shoulders. "You really don’t need to be this dramatic."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "I absolutely do. This is groundbreaking information, Mark. Do you understand how insane this sounds? Where I’m from, if you want something, you take it—or you beat someone into the ground until they hand it over."

"Yeah, we call that robbery," Mark mutters.

You ignore him. "But this? This is a sanctioned event?"

He shrugs. "Pretty much. Kids dress up, go door to door, and get candy."

Your head tilts. "Candy?"

Mark pauses, realizing something horrifying. "Wait. You’ve never had candy before?"

You raise a brow. "Should I have?"

Mark grabs you hand, a new found conviction stirring his heart. "Okay, new plan. We are absolutely fixing this."

The next thing you know, you’re standing in the middle of a store filled with costumes.

Mark drags you through the aisles, dodging plastic skeletons, fake cobwebs, and a disturbing number of severed limbs. You pick up a dismembered hand, inspecting it with mild curiosity.

"Humans celebrate death?" you ask, turning it over in your palm.

Mark huffs a laugh. "Kinda. Halloween’s all about spooky stuff. Ghosts, monsters, horror movies—"

"Horror movies?" you echo, dropping the fake hand.

"Yeah, it's filled with things that's supposed to be scary—like, creepy stories, jump scares, murder-y villains—"

Your eyes light up. "You have a murder holiday?"

Mark sighs, rubbing his temple. "That’s not—never mind. Just pick out a costume."

You survey the wall of options, eyes scanning the bizarre selection.

"What’s a ‘sexy nurse’?"

Mark chokes, face growing warmer. "Not that one!"

You grin, baring sharp canines. "Ohhh, so it's not just a murder holiday."

Mark groans, dragging you toward another aisle. "We’re not doing this."

After an obnoxiously long debate (and Mark vetoing several of your more violent ideas), you finally settle on something appropriately intimidating.

A black cape, sleek armor, and a terrifying mask with glowing red eyes.

Mark squints at the tag. "Darth Vader?"

You tilt your head. "This man—he was a warrior, yes?"

"Uh… kinda?" Mark hesitates. "More like an evil space dictator."

You grin. "So, a king."

Mark sighs. "I feel like I should stop you, but… honestly? You’re weirdly perfect for this."

You flick the cape over your shoulder, nodding in approval. "Yes. Lord Vader is ready to conquer this...Halloween."

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose. "Please don’t start referring to yourself in the third person."

You smirk, already deep in character. "Lord Vader does as he pleases."

Mark groans.

Hours later, you’re stalking the streets with a plastic skull bucket (Mark refused to let you carry an actual skull), and your energy is through the roof.

"Look at them, Mark!" You gesture wildly at the groups of costumed children. "They fear me!"

"They don’t," Mark corrects. "They think you’re cosplaying."

You scoff. "They should fear me."

"That's called fear mongering."

You ignore him, marching up to a door and pounding on it like you’re issuing a challenge.

A kindly old woman answers, beaming. "Oh, what a lovely costume! And who are you supposed to be, dear?"

You puff out your chest. "I am Lord Vader! Kneel before me, mortal!"

Mark, standing behind you, mutters, "I can't do this."

The woman chuckles, unbothered, and drops a handful of candy into your bucket. "Well, Lord Vader, enjoy your treats!"

You stare down at the loot. Then at Mark. Then back at the candy.

Your voice drops to a whisper. "It worked."

Mark claps a hand on your shoulder, smiling lightly at the child like wonder in your expression. "Welcome to Halloween."

••••

Mark fascinates you.

You don’t know when it happened, or how, but somewhere between the endless sparring matches, the insufferable Earth lessons, and the way he constantly calls you out on your arrogance, you started… caring.

It’s infuriating.

He’s not a Saiyan. He’s soft. Idealistic.

Sentimental in a way that would get him killed on any real battlefield. Yet, he doesn’t break. No matter how many times he's knocked down, he always gets back up.

He’s stubborn. Stupidly determined. And worse—so much worse—he’s kind.

And every time he smiles at you, your stomach does this weird thing that you refuse to acknowledge.

You blame it on Earth’s atmosphere.

You’re sitting on the edge of a rooftop, the city sprawled out beneath you, golden from the streetlights. It’s late—too late—but neither of you seems particularly eager to leave.

Mark leans back on his hands, staring up at the stars. “Y’know, I used to think I was strong.”

You snort, swinging your legs over the ledge. “Used to?”

He gives you a sideways glance. “Yeah, and then I met you.”

You smirk. “Ah. A humbling experience, I’m sure.”

Mark groans. “I hate that you’re so smug about it.”

“But I earned the right to be smug,” you counter, grinning. “Besides, I’m doing you a favor. You should thank me for showing you how weak you are.”

Mark scoffs. “Oh yeah, thanks so much, Your Highness. I love getting my ass kicked on a regular basis.”

You shrug. “You should. It builds character.”

Mark huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “You love messing with me, don’t you?”

You tilt your head. “Of course.”

“Why?”

You blink. The question catches you off guard.

Mark watches you expectantly, but there’s something different about the way he’s looking at you—less irritated, more curious.

You feel a strange warmth creeping up your neck.

You click your tongue. “Because you react.”

His brows furrow. “What?”

You wave a hand at him. “Most beings—weaklings—would just fear me, but you? You get angry. You argue. You fight back.” You smirk. “It’s entertaining.”

Mark shakes his head, exasperated but smiling. “You are so weird.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He leans back again, gaze shifting to the sky. “It’s not.”

Something in your chest tightens.

You don’t like the feeling.

The next time you spar, it’s different.

You’ve fought Mark dozens of times now, and it’s usually predictable. You win. He loses. He gets slightly better each time, but the outcome never really changes.

Except… today, he lasts longer.

His movements are sharper, more controlled. His dodges are precise. His counters actually make you work.

You grin, blood pumping, excitement thrumming under your skin.

“Finally,” you breathe, dodging a punch by a hair. “I was starting to think you’d never improve.”

Mark exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah, well, I’ve had a very aggressive training partner.”

You smirk, throwing a kick that he barely manages to block. “And look at you now! Almost respectable.”

“Almost?”

You grin. “Let’s see if you can prove me wrong.”

He lunges again, and for the first time, you let yourself enjoy it—not just the fight, but him. The way he moves. The way he refuses to back down. The way he looks at you, like he’s actually enjoying himself too.

And then he smiles.

Not a smirk, not a cocky grin, but a real smile. Bright. Genuine.

And something in your stomach flips.

You stumble.

Not much—barely a misstep—but enough. Mark seizes the opportunity, slamming into you with enough force to send you skidding backward.

You catch yourself before you hit the ground, flipping midair and landing in a crouch. Your heart is pounding—not from the fight, but from the fact that you hesitated.

You never hesitate.

Mark grins, slightly out of breath. “Hey, did I actually get you just now?”

Your fingers twitch. You force your expression back to neutral. “No.”

Mark raises a brow. “Are you sure?”

You glare. “Absolutely.”

He smirks. “You totally hesitated.”

You stand up, rolling your shoulders. “You wish.”

Mark chuckles. “Oh, I know I did.”

You hate that he’s right.

You hate that you let him be right.

And most of all…

You hate that your stomach does that thing again.

••••

You don’t care about Earth.

That’s what you’ve told yourself, over and over again, ever since you crash-landed on this ridiculous planet full of weaklings. You don’t care about its people, its customs, or its foolish attachment to peace.

But then someone hurts Mark.

And suddenly, none of that matters.

It happens fast.

One moment, you’re watching him trade blows with some costumed idiot—some third-rate, no-name waste of oxygen who dares to think they can beat him.

And then—

Mark hesitates. Just for a second.

And in that second, the bastard slams a fist straight into his ribs with enough force to send him crashing through a building.

Your vision goes red.

Your usual smugness—your sharp, teasing quips—vanish. There's no room for anything but pure, feral rage.

You don’t think.

You react.

The air around you crackles as you launch yourself forward, faster than the fool can process. One second, they’re standing there, smug over landing a hit on Mark—

The next, you have them by the throat.

Their eyes widen, hands clawing at yours, feet kicking uselessly in the air. You squeeze, just enough to make them panic.

“You think you’re strong?” Your voice is low, almost a growl, vibrating with barely restrained fury. “You think you can just touch him?”

They make a choked noise, eyes bulging. You hate looking at them. This weak, insignificant thing that had the audacity to harm what’s yours.

Your grip tightens. The building behind you trembles from the sheer force of your energy surging outward. Hair flickering between its normal color and golden for a split second.

Mark coughs somewhere in the rubble. "Y/N—"

Your head snaps toward the sound. He’s trying to push himself up, one arm wrapped around his ribs, blood smeared across his cheek.

He’s looking at you now, eyes wide, expression torn between disbelief and something else—something softer.

You don’t like it.

You scowl, then turn back to your prey. You could end this fight right now. Just a little more pressure, and they’d be nothing but a crumpled mess of bone and flesh.

But Mark—damn him—is still watching.

And for some stupid reason, you care about what he sees.

With a growl, you throw the bastard across the street. Their body smashes through a lamppost before skidding to a limp halt. You don’t bother checking if they get up. If they know what’s good for them, they won’t.

The moment they’re gone, you stalk over to Mark, who is still gawking at you.

“Did you just—”

"Shut up," you snap, grabbing his wrist and yanking him to his feet.

He stumbles slightly, and you automatically shift to steady him, one hand gripping his forearm.

He’s warm under your fingers, his breath still uneven from the fight. His eyes lock onto yours, searching.

Your jaw tightens. "If you die, I’ll be very pissed off."

Mark blinks, then—despite the blood on his lip, despite the bruises already blooming across his skin—he grins.

“You care about me,” he says, tone dripping with amusement.

Your eye twitches.

"You care about me," he repeats, sing-song, like he’s delighted about it.

You shove him, hard enough to make him stumble back. "I will end you."

Mark just laughs, wiping blood from his mouth. "Yeah, sure. Right after you finish avenging my honor."

You hate him. You hate that he’s right. You hate that you let yourself care.

And most of all—

You hate the way your stomach flips when he looks at you like that.

••••

It’s late—too late for anyone else to be awake—but you don’t sleep much. Not like humans do.

So you sit alone on the edge of his rooftop, arms resting on your knees, staring up at the sky. The stars above are bright tonight, scattered across the inky black like shattered glass.

They stretch endlessly, far beyond Earth, far beyond this tiny planet with its weak gravity and fragile people.

Somewhere out there, a long time ago, there was a place you should have called home.

But Planet Vegeta is gone.

You don’t remember it. You were too young when it was destroyed, sent away before the blast could reach you. By the time you were old enough to ask questions, there was nothing left to return to—just empty space where your people once stood.

You should be used to it by now.

But some nights—like this one—your chest feels hollow.

The soft thud of footsteps behind you barely registers. You already know who it is.

Mark drops down beside you, not saying anything at first, just watching the sky with you.

The silence stretches between you, comfortable in a way you wouldn’t have expected months ago.

Then, quietly, he asks, “You ever think about going back?”

You exhale slowly, gaze never leaving the stars. “Not really an option.”

Mark tilts his head. “Why not?”

Your fingers clench slightly. “Because there’s nothing to go back to.”

His expression shifts. "Oh."

You don’t like the pity in his voice. You shoot him a sharp glance. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t lose my planet—I never had it to begin with.”

Mark studies you, his expression unreadable. "Still. That’s… a lot."

You scoff. "I manage."

Silence.

Then, softly—“Then maybe Earth is your home now.”

Your head snaps toward him, expecting mockery, but there’s none. No teasing, no sarcasm—just sincerity. Just Mark.

He looks at you like it’s an obvious answer, like it doesn’t matter that you’re not human, that you don’t belong here.

For the first time, you don’t scoff.

“…Maybe.”

••••

Mark is fidgeting.

You’ve been watching him shift awkwardly in place for the past two minutes, and you can’t decide whether you’re more entertained or secondhand embarrassed.

His hands keep clenching at his sides, like he can’t decide if he wants to put them in his pockets, cross his arms, or just gesture wildly. He rubs the back of his neck so much that you’re convinced he might actually rub his skin raw. And the way he’s shifting his weight from foot to foot?

Pathetic. Yet...cute.

Your brow arches. “Are you gonna say something, or are you just gonna stand there looking constipated?”

Mark flinches like you just punched him in the gut. “I—I have something I need to tell you.”

You cross your arms, tilting your head, unimpressed. “Clearly.”

He takes a deep breath, like that might somehow help him, then lets it out in a rush of air that makes him seem even more stressed.

His shoulders are too tense, his expression too strained, and his heartbeat—oh, his heartbeat is practically hammering through his chest. Is he nervous?

He’s never like this during fights. Even when he’s getting thrown through buildings, he usually keeps his cool, and pushing through with sheer stubbornness. But right now?

Mark looks like he might actually pass out.

“So, uh…” He drags a hand down his face, sighing. “I think I—no, I know I—uh—”

Your smirk widens. You can’t help it. “Spit it out, Invincible.”

That seems to make it worse. He groans, eyes squeezing shut, head tilting back like he’s begging the universe for patience.

Then, he just blurts it out.

“I like you, okay? A lot. A lot more than normal, And I know you probably think I’m beneath you, but—”

You don’t think.

You act.

Before he can finish whatever self-deprecating nonsense he was about to say, you grab the front of his suit and yank him forward, crashing your lips against his.

It’s instinct. It’s reaction. It’s the only thing you can do when faced with something that makes your chest feel tight.

For a second, he freezes.

Then, he melts into it.

His lips are warm, slightly chapped, and he’s so still. You realize he’s holding his breath, and maybe you are too. The world around you fades into nothing, like the only thing anchoring you to reality is the heat of his mouth against yours.

And then it’s over.

You pull back so fast you nearly trip over your own feet, letting go of his shirt like it just burned you. Your heart is pounding in your chest, your face—damn it, why does your face feel hot?

You clench your fists, resisting the urge to cover your mouth, your brain screaming at you for what you just did.

Mark just… stares.

His mouth is slightly open, his eyebrows raised, his lips still parted like he’s still processing what just happened. There’s a deep flush creeping up his neck, painting his ears red, but—he’s not speaking.

Oh, universe.

Why isn’t he speaking?

Panic creeps up your spine like a slow-burning fire. You shouldn’t have done that. What if you—what if he—

“…You kissed me.” His voice is dazed, barely more than a whisper, and that’s when you snap.

You stiffen, looking anywhere but at him. “You were—talking too much.”

Slowly—too slowly—something shifts in his expression. The stunned silence fades, melting into something smug. His lips curl at the edges, the flush on his cheeks still present but no longer uncertain. It’s a look of pure, unfiltered victory.

His voice is annoyingly triumphant. “You like me.”

Your entire body locks up.

“No,” you say immediately.

Mark steps closer. “You so do.”

“I don’t,” you insist, but the way you’re backing up is not helping your case.

Mark follows, his confidence growing with every second. “You totally do. Oh my god.” He drags a hand down his face, but it’s not exasperation—it’s exhilaration. “I knew it.”

“You don’t know anything,” you mutter, face burning.

He grins. “You are so cute right now.”

Your hands clench into fists. “I will end you.”

“Oh, sure,” he teases. “But not before I kiss you again.”

You whip around so fast your hair nearly smacks him in the face. “I hate you.”

He has the audacity to laugh. A full, bright, obnoxiously victorious laugh.

“No, you don’t.”

Your mouth opens—probably to snap something back—but Mark just leans in, smirking.

“If it makes you feel better,” he muses, “I really enjoyed it.”

You go completely still, face burning impossibly warmer.

Mark grins wider, “And I know you enjoyed it too.”

Your eye twitches.

He laughs again, and you hate how much you don’t hate the sound of it.

[quimichi]

↳˳;; ❝ MK1 CHARACTER INTROS ᵕ̈೫˚∗ - WITH SPIDER F!READER pt.1, pt.2

INFO: Had this idea where the reader is a spider, hybrid or drider? Whatever you imagine, they have spider like/string powers. Also, i apologize if some seem OOC or something, joined the fandom around 2 months ago and didn't play all of them so ;3

CHARACTERS: Ashrah, Baraka, General Shao, Geras, Havik, Johnny Cage, Kenshi x F!Spider Reader

Ashrah

Y/n: "I offer you a challenge, Ashrah. A duel of skill, and a test of our... affections."

Ashrah: "A dangerous game, Y/n. But I have never shied away from a challenge, especially one with such enticing stakes."

Y/n: "Let's tangle, Ashrah, weave our hearts in combat."

Ashrah: "A tempting offer, Y/n. Let's see whose heart is stronger."

Y/n: "Are you the predator, Ashrah? Or are you just pretending to be the prey?"

Ashrah: "Let's just say, Y/n, I enjoy playing both roles. And I'm quite good at it."

Ashrah: "Your webs are quite... captivating, Y/n. Are they as strong as they are beautiful?"

Y/n: "Strong enough to hold you, Ashrah. But I'd rather use them to draw you closer."

Ashrah: "You've woven a delicate trap, Y/n. But I wonder, who is truly caught?" Y/n: "Perhaps we both are."

Ashrah: "I sense a hidden desire within you. A desire I'm quite willing to explore."

Y/n: "And I sense a hidden passion within you. One I'm eager to awaken."

Baraka

Baraka: "Your webs are strong. But can they hold these blades?"

Y/n: "Strong enough to hold you, Baraka. And perhaps, strong enough to keep you."

Baraka: "You fight well. I...respect that. Let's see who is stronger...with respect."

Y/n: "A respectful clash? A rare and welcome offer."

Baraka: "Whoever wins this fight... they win the other too."

Y/n: "Excuse me what?"

Y/n: "Heard Tarkatans are pretty intense. You got any chill vibes?"

Baraka: "Chill what?"

Y/n: "You're strong, Baraka. But can you be gentle too?"

Baraka: "I can be as gentle as you let me. But I prefer when you fight back. It makes the reward sweeter."

Y/n: "Do you always get what you want, Baraka?"

Baraka: "Always. And I want you. Now. Will you make it easy, or do I have to take you?"

General Shao

Y/n: "The web tightens, Shao. Struggle is futile."

Shao: "I crush spiders. You are no different."

Y/n: "That axe looks heavy. Let me lighten your load."

Shao: "I'll lighten your life."

Y/n: "Tell me, Shao, do you dream of conquest? Or do you dream of being conquered?"

Shao: "I dream of domination. And you, little spider, will be my next conquest."

Shao: "Little spider, your webs are a tempting trap. I wonder if they're strong enough to hold a god?"

Y/n: "A god? Or just a brute with a big axe?"

Shao: "Such a beautiful distraction, little spider. I'll savor the moment before I… eliminate it."

Y/n: "Savor? I'll savor the moment you realize you've walked into my carefully crafted trap."

Shao: "Your eyes betray your desire. A desire I intend to exploit."

Y/n: "And your arrogance betrays your weakness. A weakness I intend to shatter."

Geras

Y/n: "Let's pause time, Geras. Just for a moment. To enjoy each other's company."

Geras: "Time is ever-flowing, but a moment of shared serenity is a treasure to be cherished."

Y/n: "You're like a walking history book. A really dusty one."

Geras: "Indeed. And within these 'dusty' pages lie wisdom and experience."

Y/n: "You're like a knight in shining… sand? Is that a thing?"

Geras: "A knight's armor is but a symbol. True valor lies in the heart, and I assure you, mine is…unwavering."

Geras: "Such vibrant energy. A shame it will soon be… extinguished."

Y/n: "Extinguished? I'm just getting warmed up. You're the one looking a little dusty."

Geras: "I find myself… appreciating the… unique perspective you bring to our… interactions." Y/n: "Unique? I'm just being me. And you're loving it."

Geras: "Our interactions, Y/n, are like adelicate dance. A graceful exchange of…energies."

Y/n: "Dance? I'm thinking more like a wrestling match. Winner gets a date."

Havik

Y/n: "You speak of freedom, yet you are bound by madness."

Havik: "Madness is my freedom, and soon, it will be yours."

Y/n: "I will weave a cage for your insanity." Havik: "A cage? How delightfully intimate. I've always wanted a personal audience."

Y/n: "You're like a bad rash, you just keep popping up." Havik: "And you're like a particularly sticky cobweb, I just can't shake you off!"

Havik: "Every strand you weave is a thread pulling me closer. You will be mine."

Y/n: "I belong to no one."

Havik: "I will paint the realms with your name, a masterpiece of devastation."

Y/n: "Ensure the paint is vibrant, Havik. I enjoy a good spectacle."

Havik: "I will dismantle reality itself, just to build a throne for you, my queen of chaos."

Y/n: "A throne built on rubble? How... fitting."

Johnny Cage

Y/n: "You mistake arrogance for skill."

Johnny Cage: "And you mistake beauty for... well, actually, you're right on the money there."

Y/n: "You're a has-been, clinging to past glories." Johnny Cage: "Has-been? I'm a timeless classic! Like 'Casablanca,' but with more roundhouse kicks."

Y/n: "You think a wink will distract me?" Johnny Cage: "Distract you? I'm hoping it'll make you forget we're even fighting. Unless you'd rather kiss and make up?"

Johnny Cage: "You know, I've always been a fan of strong, independent women. Especially ones that can tie me up." Y/n: "Oh I'll tie you up, Cage."

Johnny Cage: "I've got a balcony overlooking the city skyline, perfect for a late-night vibe." Y/n: "The city lights are a distraction. I prefer the sound of your heartbeat… as it fades away."

Johnny Cage: "Game room? Winner gets... a kiss." Y/n: "My kiss is venomous."

Kenshi

Y/n: "Your lack of sight doesn't hinder your perception, does it, Kenshi?" Kenshi: "I feel a pull, yes. A dangerous and alluring one."

Y/n: "Your senses are heightened, Kenshi. Can you feel the vibrations of my webs, or your own anticipation?" Kenshi: "Both, I suspect."

Y/n: "I'll leave a trail of silk, Kenshi, like a breadcrumb trail." Kenshi: "A surprise? I'm always eager for surprises. Especially when they're wrapped in silk."

Kenshi: "Those webs...they seem to whisper secrets. Perhaps they'll reveal your deepest desires?" Y/n: "My desires are simple. And they involve you."

Kenshi: "I sense a playful tension, spider. Are you trying to tease me, or are you just naturally irresistible?" Y/n: "Naturally irresistible, Kenshi. But a little teasing never hurt anyone… much."

Kenshi: "Are you daring me to try and escape, or are you daring me to try and catch you?" Y/n: "I'm daring you to try everything, Kenshi."

[sweets3rial]

'the girl next door' masterlist

di!leon x fem!reader

synopsis: leon is a good man. a pure man. he believes in the good. he sees the good in men always but he can also see the sick. the twisted. the evil. the greed. just like he can see that in other men, he can see it in himself too.

and he can definitely see his pretty neighbor getting undressed right in front of her window.

tags and warnings: DEAD DOVE! DO NOT EAT! neighbors, stalking, obsession, heavy smut, p in v, creampie(s), biting/marking, depictions/mentions of abusive relationships, pervert! leon, phone sex, forbidden love (?), mutual masturbation, shower sex, sexual tension (resolved & unresolved), public sex, voyeurism (?), masturbation, cheating/adultery, greed, leon pretends to be a friend to get closer to you, ooc (?), more to be added...

1 - red cherry pies

a married couple just moved next door. typical couple. business owner husband, boisterous, rich, asshole, and his pretty little wife who loves to bake cherry pie.

2 - through her red curtains

she finds comfort in a cool breeze and natural light. she likes to watch the sun cast shadows down in her room from the window. which is why she likes to leave her red curtains wide open. but it's not only the breeze that her open window lets in.

3 - red silk and lace

date night with your husband doesn't go well. you're left in tears and with a sunken heart. who knew your knight in shining armor would be right under your nose.

4 - red roses and thorns

tbd....

(divider cred to @saradika,, photos off of pinterest)

note: if you'd like to be tagged in this upcoming series (god knows when it'll be out) please dm me or fill out the form below :D!

taglist

[water-to-drink]

Be a Gladiolus in a Field of Belladonnas pt17

“Degenerates Like You Belong in Prison”

(Synopsis): After being captured by Fontainian authorities you are placed in confinement and are forced to come to terms with the fact that you’re on your own

Part 1 Last Part Next Part

✧ Masterlist ✧

(Characters): traveler!Lumine, Paimon, abyss prince!Aether, Childe, Wriothesley, Sigewinne, Neuvillette, Jean, Al haitham, Kujo Sara, Ayato, Ganyu, Ningguang, ???, ???, ???, & ???

(Tags/Warnings): This takes place before Fontaine’s archon quest, gn!reader, harm is done towards the reader, not beta read, possible ooc characters, (if i missed anything lmk)

(A/n): I can’t embed links in post anymore, if anyone has any suggestions or ideas than please feel free to share

(Word Count): 2k

Heavy footsteps echo throughout the lavish halls. A soldier clad in golden armor makes her way to a large door that leads to their Grace’s quarters. With an equally heavy hand she pushes the door open and there she sees your doppelgänger sitting on their golden throne

They turn their attention towards the lowly soldier and the look in their eyes sent shivers down her spine

“What is it?” Your doppelgänger spoke coldly

The soldier bowed before them and hesitantly whispered “Uhh, the imposter… was captured, your Grace…”

“Where are they being held?”

“In a maximum security prison in Fontaine, your Grace…”

Suddenly the room was filled with a maniacal laughter, the soldier looked up to see your doppelgänger doubled over in laughter

“Finally! That rat has been caught! I bet they’re a crying mess!” Your doppelgänger cackled out while falling out from their throne before standing up at full height, towering over the kneeling soldier. “Hehe, you’re dismissed. I have to make arrangements for that filthy imposter’s execution.” They said with an evil smirk that also uncanny

Rough and calloused hands grab your arms and drag you into an underwater prison, which you learned it’s named the Fortress of Meropide

Your feet drag against the iron floor, the guards don’t let you walk, preferring to drag you wherever they are taking you. You take in the surroundings and see that the walls and floors are all made of iron and has dingy atmosphere, you just can’t help wallow in your own misery

Finally the guards stop in front of a door with a deadbolt lock on it, a third guard presses in a code and the door opens. The guards shove you into the room and slowly walk through the door. You look up at them to see they’re taking out their batons. Realizing what’s going to happen you instinctively curled up into a little ball, making sure to protect your head and stomach

The guards bring their batons down on your helpless form, their blows mercilessly and brutal. You don’t know how you were beaten for you just pay attention to the floor, mainly the bolts protruding from it. Examining each unique scratch the bolts have was all you could focus on, even counting every scratch you could see, you were so focused that you didn’t notice the loud sound of the door opening

“What is the meaning of this?!” The strong voice broke you out of your trance and made the guards stop beating you

“Your Grace! We’re just-”

“I don’t want to hear it! Get out before your punishment is worse than it is right now!”

The footsteps of the guards quickly became more quite as they rushed out of the room. You lifted your head to see a muscular man with black and white hair kneeling over you

“Don’t move, I’ll get Sigewinne to look at your wounds.”

Your eyes felt heavy and before you knew it

A small girl with two unusual horns on her head that look soft to the touch entered your room, she looked uncomfortabled in your presence. She slowly walked towards you and stopped by your bed

“I’m going to need you to take off your jacket.”

You followed her instructions and put the Fatui jacket right next to you. A look of horror filled the young girl’s face, you saw a few tears forming in her tear line. Before you could ask Sigewinne what’s wrong she blinks away her tears and starts to bandage your bruised arms

The two of you didn’t utter a word to each other and after she finished patching you up she handed you a cup filled with a strange liquid

“Drink this, it’ll help with the healing process.”

You wordlessly took the drink and examined it, the concoction gave you an uneasy feeling like this drink wasn’t meant for human consumption

“Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned.” You looked up to see the same man from before. “It’s safe to drink but it will taste weird.”

Your eyes felt don’t have much confidence but at least if is poisoned your death won’t be at the hands of your imposter. You downed the drink and instantly your mouth is filled with an unpleasant taste, it almost taste like that awful medicine your parents forced you to take as a kid whenever you were sick

Your parents…

You wonder how they and your friends are doing?

How long has time past since you’ve been gone? Have they filed a missing person case? Your taken out of your thoughts when Wriothesley speaks

“Since you’re an usual case, I have decided that you will be in solitary confinement. You will be given 3 meals a day and be allowed some time out of your room.” He heads towards the door and Sigewinne hesitantly follows him, before he could close the door you see Sigewinne wordlessly mouthing a word that you can’t quite understand

Before you think you a grasp on it the door is closed and you hear it locked leaving you alone with only your thoughts to keep you company

Outside Wriothesley walks into his office and makes a phone call

Half way across the world a phone rings and a woman picks it up

“Hello this is the Liyue Qixing, Huixin speaking.” The secretary spoke with a little hesitation due to her limited experience working a telephone. “Yes, he’s here. Wait one moment.” Huixin stood up and handed the phone to a man with long white hair. “Mister Neuvillette you have a call.”

“Hello?”

“Neuvillette, the imposter is in my custody, they’re in solitary and have no way of escaping.”

“That’s good to hear. I will let them know.” Neuvillette puts the phone down on the base before turning towards the other envoys and sharing the news with them

“That’s a relief.” Jean said

“We shouldn’t celebrate just yet, we must take every precaution to ensure that they don’t escape again.” Al haitham stated

“I don’t know why their Grace insist on waiting and not killing that vile imposter.” Kujo Sara crossed her arms

“Questioning their Grace’s actions, that’s almost blasphemous.” The Natlan high priestess joked

“Chimalma is right, we are no position to question the actions the highest among the gods.” Ayato advises

“So who is going to make their Grace, aware of this recent update?” Ganyu asked looking around towards the others in the room

“Their Grace is already aware.” Nigguang announced causing the others to look at her in surprise

“H-how did they take the news, relieved I bet.” Ganyu asked

“They weren’t relieved. I would say more elated.” Ningguang explained while leaving the part out where your imposter looked maniacal. The Tianquan won’t forget the look of fear on the poor soldier’s face as they described their Grace’s features to look almost demonic like

Staring up at the same wall you’ve been staring at for the past couple of days, the only reason you know a few days have past is because of the food the guards have given you

You can recognize some breakfast food items, like toast with butter, eggs, pancakes, and a few strips of bacon. The food is okay, most times the food is tolerable while some it feels almost inedible. You miss the food you grew up with, the smile on your face it brings to your small features

Without anything to do you think back on your home

Your friends and family

How are they doing? Have they notice that you were gone? Have they even file a missing person report? All questions that rumble around in your mind

Another question that you often asks yourself is where are the twins and Childe?

Were they captured along with you? No, Aether could easily open up a portal to the abyss when things get too hot, so why hasn’t he opened a portal in your cell? Have they decided that your too much trouble to save? All of this mess started when you first arrived here, everyone was happily living their lives until everything went out of whack

Perphaps the twins and Childe thought that it was better for you to be killed off by your doppelgänger

Tears filled your vision, you curled up into a ball and cried

You cried and cried

Until you had enough of crying

“I going to get out of here.” You told yourself. “I’m not going to lay here and wait to die.” You stood up from your cot and wiped away your tears. “No matter what. I will get out of here!”

You hear the lock on the door and it opens to reveal Wriothesley. He has a lunch tray in his hands, he walks in and put the tray on the desk in your cell, a pleasant and welcomed surprise compared to the guards just throwing your food on the floor and making it spill onto the floor

Wriothesley looks around to see the baroness of your room. “I came in to see how you’re holding up.” Wriothesley sees your tear stained face and had to fight the urge to go over to you and to hug you, take you somewhere that isn’t this hellhole. He doesn’t know why but he composed himself before continuing on. “Since you aren’t allow out of your cell like the other inmates, can I offer you some form of entertainment? Within reason of course.”

You took a while to think of what you want to say before deciding on something that might help you

“I want a book.”

In the depths of Teyvat, there a sky of deep blues and purples is looked at by a certain harbinger. A sense of nostalgia fills his chest, but before he can get too wrapped up in his old memories he turned towards the twins, mainly Aether who is trying and failing at composing himself

“What do you mean, their Grace is in the Fortress of Meropide?!” Yelled the prince

“That is what our intel suggests, your highness.” Spoke an abyss mage

“If their in the fortress of Meropide, then why can’t we sneak in and take them out of there?” Paimon asked

“It isn’t that simple, all of Teyvat knows that we’re on their Grace’s side and will do everything in their power to stop us. They might even try to kill us if they see us approaching the prison.” Lumine explains

“Maybe we can get one of the lectors to disguise themselves and enter the prison?” Aether wondered aloud

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Childe spoke

The twins and Paimon turned towards the ginger, Aether stormed other and grabbed him by the collar

“What the hell do you mean, harbinger?!” Aether hissed out. “Their Grace is in a maximum security prison and their execution is quickly approaching, time is of the essence!”

“We both know that the Fatui wants their grace safe and sound, so don’t think I’m not as concerned as you!” Childe grabbed onto the blond’s wrists

“You two, stop it! We’re all worried about their Grace!” Lumine shouted as she got in between the two men

“I know that the news has already reached Snezhnaya, and knowing a certain associate of mine, she’s already has a plan to get their Grace out.”

In the overworld of Fontaine, rounds of applause are held in a theater

Even some roses are thrown on the stage where a young magician and his assistant are standing. The two look nearly identical except for his sister who had cat ears and a tail

“Thank you, you all have been wonderful tonight!” Spoke the magician before walking off stage and returning backstage

There a blonde boy was waiting for them with a phone in his hands

“Lyney. You have a call, it’s Father.”

Going up to the young man, Lyney takes the phone and puts it against his ear

“Hello Lyney.”

“Hello Father.”

“I have a special assignment for you and Lynette.”

Taglist:

@chuuya-brainrot @creation-magician @tartarsaucechi1de @vvyeislazzy @aludicpoet @undecidingfate @annoying-mary @randomnatics @bore2808 @esthelily @yurivision @angelamelamela @chocolatekuns @mmmhyperfixation @legendaryexperthideout @lapinaenmicoche @sinsdumbdrabble @ghost-mint @rebeccawinters @imyme20 @nymphsdomain @sun7lowxr @blackcoffex @itz-luna @flowerpesky @land-of-eternity @deathcvltcivilofficial @d4y-dr3amer @yuriclouds @artwitch @mercy-not-merci @xyaxyn @starxvs @dreamoffireflies06 @desirabletravel @bidisasterforever @dxprived4-starboys @angstylittleb1tch @lhaol

[adhd-fandom-hyperfocus]

Perfection

Pairing: Perturabo x Reader(f)

Arthur's Note: What is this? A little continuation from the Perturabo x Reader thing I did a while ago? Yes. Yes, it is. Also again, I am sorry if this is really OOC of Mr. Turbo, never thought I would be writing him, lol.

First part, technically

Warnings: General Grimdarkness, pregnancy, depression. Light NSFW at then end

Tagging @kit-williams because I know he is your boy.

+18 Minors DNI

★。------ ＼｜／------。★

A ship was no place for an expecting mother-to-be, and Perturabo desperately hoped to hide what this crusade asked of him from you. For you to have some illusion he was not destroying. Even if it was clear you knew, he wanted to just think of what he would be when this was over. But the other option was to risk missing such a glorious and wonderous thing; you growing fat with his child, and that he couldn't allow. He was missing much as it was, having to siege and handle so much on his own. At least this way, when we returned to his vessel you were there waiting.

And Throne your smile and gentle touches kept his soul from becoming cold like the rest of him. You kept him human, what part of him that was. However, he could sense something dark overtaking you. The light in your beautiful eyes seemed dulled. A nasty malaise was taking you.

Wanting to rectify his lack of knowledge in the area of reproduction Perturabo delved head first into all knowledge he could find. The Lord of Iron will not fail at any task, especially being a good partner to the woman giving such a gift! He knew of the hormonal changes, and what they bring, but he had no idea they would be this bad. How your mind turned against you and him!

Perturabo was sure there was some comparison to be made about creating and nurturing life and doing such for creativity, but he would not simplify the sheer wonder you were doing.

He had been away a week, and last he saw you, this cloud was growing over your head, and he wished nothing more but to return to you and vanquish such thing with the appropriate amount of affection, within reason of course. Oh, how he wanted nothing more than to touch you, feel every new curve. The primarch growled and barked demanding the rites of removing his armor move quicker, he did not have time for the tech priests to be so lazy in their tasks. Sending one into a wall made his point clear enough.

As he entered his chambers, Perturabo could feel his cold and unrelenting demeanor start to melt. His footfall was not as heavy and angry. His jaw was not clenched. Even his anger about getting out of his armor faded. A thought occurred to him, his rage; outbursts, would he lash out at his grand creation? On the great design that brought it into this world? You? A sickening fear.

The Lord of Iron looked down at his hands stopping short of his bedroom door. What expectations would he push? No, he couldn't. Wouldn't. The babe would be flawed, weak and cry, and he would love it. No one but you ever made him feel seen and he would return that love to you tenfold and he would make sure his child would not have the same pathetic childhood he had. His child would have one, where he had none.

Done lingering in his thoughts, he cracked his door open, hoping to find you reading in bed or playing with one of the many puzzles he had made for you. But what he saw was your naked form before a large mirror. He wasn't one for such vanity things, but he got it for you, and he did like looking over and seeing how breath-taking you were being taken by him.

Sadly, the rising heat in his chest quelled quickly when he noticed you were crying. A mix of fear and rage took him, were you injured? Who hurt you?! He would raze his own ship to find out. Destroy all his sons for this grave mistake!

"My great treasure, why are you crying?" he asked, trying to keep his mounting fear and anger contained; hidden.

You turn with a start, how did a man so large manage to go unnoticed? More the fool you were, and further proved the malicious thoughts in your head. You were flawed, stupid, gross. Not only physically unsightly now, but what little intelligence you had, faded.

"Perturabo!" you shriek, frantically reaching for your robe to cover your body.

The primarch frowned, "Why do you cover yourself? No need for modesty, I have seen this finely crafted gift to me before." he mused trying to raise your spirits, assessing you were not injured physically at least, and did not seem ill.

When you lower lip quivered and you flinched at his words, like they wounded you, his hearts sank and knotted. The mental darkness that had been seeping into you had worsened it seemed. Curse this crusade and the damnable jobs his father sent him on. You should be planetside on Olympia with him living a life of sunshine and ease, while he worked on the nursery. He should be creating while you created the greatest thing of all.

"Please do not lie to me, Perturabo." you whimper so meekly he wasn't sure a baseline would have heard or understood.

Perturabo closed the gap between you two, gingerly taking a knee before you and taking a hand into his, "I do not lie, you know this. What have I said to make you think such? Tell me, so I can fix this."

He waits as you try to collect your breath and steady yourself to speak, "I am not pleasing anymore," you sob, your body trembling violently from your cries, "My body is bent and ugly. It is why you won't love me anymore!"

Oh. Oh Throne take him. It would seem the standards he pushed onto himself and his gene-sons had made this illness worse. Not to mention his information about expecting mothers and sex was now painfully clear to be incorrect. Here he thought he was doing what you desired, and instead, he made you feel undesirable.

With all the gentlness he could muster Perturabo guided your hands down and thus the robe exposing your body to him once more. He could feel how uneasy you felt. his own wife thinking she was not worthy of him, or his touch? This was a grave insult he had cast upon you and it hurt more than any torture or wound.

"Bent and ugly?" He repeated in a murmur, "How so?" his fingers trace your stretch marks, and his kisses your belly, "I see something so marvelous it takes my breath away. I see the woman who is offering her body to create something so beautiful and precious with me. Oh, I think there is nothing more beautiful in all creation." he mused planting more kisses on your belly, smiling as he does.

"I quite like these marks, shows how enduring and strong you are. No simple woman could carry my children! Only the right one; you," he kissed up your bump and his lips grazed over your milk-swollen breasts, "As for love making. Again I have failed, not you. I was under the impression sex would be...unpleasant for you right now and I did not wish to hurt you or the babe. Nor make you do something you would not enjoy..."

The primarch took one of your tender nipples into his mouth, and when your whimpers turned to moans that fire in his chest roared back to life and consumed his body. He dearly missed hearing that sound, been dying to have you make such music for months.

"My diamond, my great treasure, let your foolish husband fix this. I long to work your body, to meld into you." he cooed as he moved up your chest and neck.

As you moan his name his lips catch yours and you melt into his embrace. You felt foolish for doubting his love, but he would not give you time to be upset over it; already he was carrying you to bed, his eyes hungry and blown out.

"Not to be heretical, but allow this arrogant man to worship at your alter," the primarch rumbled as he hovered over you, his lips kissing over your body, leaving little fires where his lips touched, "And I will be gentle."

You didn't reply, merely whimpered his name, and rocked your hips as your lips begged for his; wanting his fire inside you. By all that was good, you had been craving this for months. Perturabo chuckled breaking a kiss, "I do not think I have been so pleased in all my years to have someone so needy for me. Do not worry, my wife, I will make up for my error."

[no-name-omo]

hi ur literally a gem for doing this bc the lack of content for mha vigilantes is actually sending me into a frenzy

anyway!! would it be okay to request knuckleduster x gn!reader? maybe smth like strangers to lovers/fateful meetings almost? and the reader doesnt have to be a hero or vigilante they can just be a regular person that somehow got tied up in the middle of it or smth

hope that fits ur criteria and apologies if smths off😭

[A/N] the first post I made that isn't zzz... Nice, anyway I didn't know if you wanted a head cannon or one shot so yeah next time just make sure the I know what you want fully and maybe a little ooc so yeah; hope you enjoy

[type] One-Shot

[word count] 1,800+

[Summary] For some reason you a nurse nurse couldn't stop bumping into the vigilante to the point that a relationship form

[Genre] fluff / Strangers To Lovers?

[pairing / characters] Iwao Oguro (Knuckleduster) x Nurse Reader

You still don’t fully understand how you got wrapped up with the vigilantes. One minute, you were just walking home from your shift at the hospital.exhausted, still wearing your nurse uniform, mentally cursing out every difficult patient you'd dealt with that day. The next, your life was tangled up in something way bigger than yourself.

You turned into an alleyway, taking your usual shortcut like always. Behind you, faint at first, you heard people screaming sharp, panicked cries that prickled at the back of your neck. You paused, heart beginning to race. Then came another sound, closer this time. Not a voice, didn't even sound human. A low, guttural roar that rolled through the alley like thunder. It wasn’t a cry for help. It was something far worse.

You turned around slowly, not out of curiosity, but fear, heavy and cold in your gut. Down the alleyway, barely illuminated by flickering streetlights, you saw what you could only guess was a man. Or used to be one. His skin was an unnatural shade of blue, his bloodshot eyes wide and unblinking. Ice crawled up his arms and legs like armor, jagged and uneven, and you could see the tips of his fingers blackened with frostbite, just like his tongue when he let it loll out, panting like some kind of beast.

You’re frozen. Stuck. Your body refuses to move. The man or whatever he is stares you down with eyes full of desperation and rage. It’s not just anger. It’s hunger. You try to speak, to scream, but nothing comes out. Then, without warning, he lets out another guttural roar and charges. Ice explodes beneath his feet, spreading like a wave as he sprints straight toward you

You try to step back, but your foot lands on a glass bottle. It rolls, and you slip, crashing down hard onto the cold concrete. Pain shoots through your palms as they smack the ground, but you barely notice it. Your eyes lock on the charging man.he’s only three feet away now. One thought flashes through your mind, cold and final 'Is this how I die?'

But then, just as the thought forms, a fist swings past your head, fast, brutal, and perfectly timed. It slams into the man’s face with a sickening crack, sending him flying backward like a ragdoll.

A gruff, rugged voice came from behind you. “Heh, you’re not getting away from me that easily.” You turned, still sprawled on the cold pavement, and looked up. Towering behind you stood a man who looked like he’d fought through a dozen wars and didn’t bother patching up after any of them. He was broad-shouldered and built like a wall, dressed in a worn dark grey jacket with the sleeves rolled up, exposing scarred forearms. His face was rough unshabby and weathered. A faded mask covered his eyes, and there was something dangerous in the way he held himself.

You try to thank him for the save, but he doesn’t even glance your way. It’s like he didn’t hear you or just didn’t care. His focus is locked on the man he just flattened. Without a word, he strides forward and grabs the unconscious man by the collar, yanking him up with ease, like lifting a bag of trash. “Weak,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. His eyes narrow as he inspects the frostbitten tongue hanging out of the man’s mouth, as if it confirms something he already suspected.

From where you’re still sitting on the ground, you can tell he’s annoyed. He clearly wanted to ask the man some questions, but he’d hit him too hard and knocked him out cold. With a grunt of frustration, he drops the unconscious body like dead weight.

Then, finally, he turns his attention to you. “Hey. You.” The sudden acknowledgment makes you flinch, your heart jumping as you blurt out, “Y-Yes?” He jerks his chin toward the limp body. “Call the police, won’t you?”

“O-oh! I can do that,” you stammer, fumbling to pull your phone from your pocket. You start dialing the police, glancing down at the screen as you speak. “Also, thank you again for the—” But when you look up, he’s gone. Just like that. Only the unconscious man remains, crumpled on the pavement. “—save,” you finish quietly, the word feeling a little foolish now.

---

It’s been a week since you saw that man. You’re still not sure if he’s a hero at least, not in the legal sense of the word. But technically, he is your hero.

Ugh. That thought alone makes you cringe, and you mentally roll your eyes at yourself as you walk past the alleyway you used to take as a shortcut. Lesson learned. You’ve avoided it ever since.

But just as you’re about to keep moving, a familiar, gravelly grunt echoes from the shadows. You freeze. It’s faint, but you recognize it. Weirdly enough… it sounds like him.

You sneak a peek into the alleyway and there he is. The man that save you. One man already lies unconscious behind him, while he’s locked in a fierce brawl with another, much larger opponent. Somehow, he’s holding his own. Every move is fast, brutal, precise. It’s like watching a street fight choreographed by nature itself. You can’t help but stare until something catches your eye.

The unconscious man is stirring. Slowly, quietly, he starts to rise. Your hero hasn’t noticed. 'Oh no. What should I do?' The man behind him braces his stance, his arm beginning to harden like stone. Instinct takes over. “Watch out! Behind you!” you shout.

Your hero doesn’t hesitate. He sidesteps just in time, narrowly dodging the hardened punch, then spins on his heel and drives a crushing blow into the ambusher’s gut. The man doubles over with a choked gasp, collapsing like the wind’s been knocked from his soul.

After finishing off the second guy complete with another quick check of his tongue, for whatever reason your hero stood tall. You just watched again, hands at your sides, but at least this time… you’d helped. And then, for the first time, he actually acknowledged you. Properly.

“Thanks,” he said, flashing a big, toothy grin. Most people might have found it unsettling, like a wild dog showing teeth but to you, oddly enough, it was… kind of charming. He wasn’t acting like he did last time either. Less distant. More human.

You coughed into your hand and gave a small, awkward nod. “It was no problem. I mean, you saved me, after all.” He tilted his head, brows scrunching beneath his mask. “I did?”

That caught you off guard. You frowned, mildly annoyed now. “What do you mean, ‘I did?’ You saved me. Just last week. In this exact—” you threw your hands out, gesturing around you “—alleyway!”

For a moment, he just blinked. Then his eyes lit up with recognition. “Ohhh… right. You’re the good looking nurse from last week!” he said, followed by a short, rough laugh. “Didn’t recognize you without the panic face.”

Your face went hot in an instant. Good looking? He actually called you good looking. You opened your mouth to respond with something sharp, something witty but nothing came out. Just air and a frustrated groan.

The man chuckled again, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Didn’t mean to rattle you,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “it's just that I remember you being all skittish.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to recover your dignity. “Well, someone had to keep you from getting sucker-punched." He grinned wider. “Fair enough. Guess that makes us even now, huh… nurse?”

"... Fine"

---

As the weeks passed, you started running into the vigilante more and more. Almost too often to be coincidence. You eventually learned his name: Knuckleduster. And the more it happened, the more you began to suspect he wasn’t just “passing by.”

He never admitted it, of course. But the way he lingered a bit longer after fights, the way his eyes always found you in a crowd, the way he smirked when you called him out on it. it all said more than words.

You got to know his partners well more like students, really. One was a fast-talking guy who slid around like a hockey puck with a jetpack, and the other, a sharp-eyed girl who soared through the air like it was second nature. You found yourself patching them up from time to time. Nothing too serious, just scrapes, bruises, and the occasional sprain.

But somehow, he always seemed to be the last one to get looked at. The one who waited behind while the others left. Sitting there with that cocky grin and battle-worn jacket, tossing out lines like, “You sure you're qualified for this?” just to get a rise out of you.

And yeah… maybe you looked forward to those moments a little more than you should have.

---

It was late, past midnight and the city outside your apartment buzzed quietly with distant sirens and the occasional honk. You’d barely managed to unlock your door with one hand, the other gripping Knuckleduster’s arm as he leaned heavily against you. His jacket was torn, and blood soaked through the side of his shirt.

“You know,” you muttered as you kicked the door shut behind you, “you could stop taking punches with your ribs. Just once.” He grunted in response, half amusement, half pain. “Wouldn’t be much of a fight if I dodged everything.”

You guided him to the worn stool in your kitchen and flicked on the overhead light. Harsh. Too bright. But necessary. “Shirt off,” you said flatly, already reaching for your first aid kit. He raised an eyebrow at you. “Getting bold, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, heat creeping into your cheeks anyway. “Shut up and lift your arms.” With a smirk, he peeled the shirt off, wincing slightly as dried blood tugged at the fabric. His torso was littered with scars, some old and faded, others fresh and angry. You swallowed and got to work, cleaning a gash along his ribs. His skin was warm under your fingers, muscles tensing slightly every time you dabbed antiseptic as you tried to ignore the closeness; even though you know that it's impossible to.

“You really need to learn what ‘taking it easy’ means,” you muttered. “I don’t get the luxury of easy,” he replied, voice low and gravelly. But he wasn’t looking at his wound. He was watching you. You kept your eyes on the bandages, pretending not to notice. A beat of silence passed. Then, softer: “You always do this?”

“What, patch up stubborn vigilantes in my kitchen? No. Just the reckless ones who keep showing up like strays.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “Lucky me.” You tied the bandage off, your fingers brushing the curve of his side. His breath hitched, just slightly. Your eyes finally met his close, quiet, charged.

“Next time,” you murmured, “try not to bleed on my welcome mat.” “I’ll aim for the couch,” he shot back, voice rough but teasing. And despite everything, the hour, the blood, the danger

you smiled.

The silence lingered after your smile, thick with something unsaid. You started to turn away, to clean up the bloodied gauze and wrappers, but his hand caught your wrist; gentle, calloused, firm.

You looked back at him, your breath hitching just a little. He didn’t say anything, just searched your face for a moment. Eyes softer now, less guarded than usual. Like he was trying to memorize you in this moment, the quiet calm between chaos.

“I keep showing up,” he said lowly, “because I know you’ll be here.” That stopped your heart for a second. No sarcasm. No smirk. Just honesty. Raw and stripped down.

You didn’t even realize you were leaning in until he was, too. Slow, like either of you might still back out. But neither of you did. The kiss was brief. Warm. A little rough around the edges, like him but real. And when you pulled back, his hand lingered on your wrist, thumb brushing your pulse.

“Guess I’ll be bleeding on your welcome mat again sometime soon,” he muttered, the smirk returning, but softer now. You rolled your eyes, but your lips curled anyway. “Just try not to make a habit of it.”

[spnjediavenger]

Big Brother Duties (Charlie Cox x reader)(platonic)

Title: Big Brother Duties

Type: very long one-shot; charlie cox x reader (platonic), daredevil cast x reader (platonic)

Warnings: mean fans, self-doubt, feels, too many author’s notes, potentially ooc charlie cox? (Ngl don't know him as well as some other actors but i hope i did him well)

POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNINGS: mean fan comments that could maybe be considered bullying? Idk what triggers people when it comes to things like that so i just wanna be thorough in my warnings

Spoilers: MAJOR DDBA SPOILER!!!

Notes: i imagine reader being young adult age in this - like low 20s and they're filming S2 of DDBA

this idea sprouted from a dream i had where i was an actress in daredevil (not sure who i was playing but i was close with charlie cox and vincent d’onofrio and it was amazing). Also got help from an actual GQ article that was written from a recent interview with charlie cox. I can't believe he wasn't their first thought for matt murdock in born again. Like…that should be illegal. 

Might have similar tones to ‘I See You’ if you've read it

As always, love and/or constructive/friendly criticism and requests are welcome and encouraged!

Disclaimers: i do not own daredevil, its characters, or plot

Word count: 3316

Summary: Charlie Cox takes his on screen duties as a big brother just as seriously  off screen. 

Matt had 3 men on him; he took hit after hit but barely felt their impact through his Daredevil armor. He finally had one knocked down and kept fighting with all his might. His sister, Emily, had her own hands tied - literally, a mere 20 feet away. A man gripped her arms behind her with a knife in that hand and held a gun to her head as he watched the fight with a smirk on his face. 

Emily breathed heavy through her flared nostrils as she was forced to watch her brother fight these men. 

“Come on!” the man behind her yelled. “You gonna let a man in pajamas beat you?!” 

The hand holding his gun moved away from Emily’s forehead as he was yelling. She stomped on his foot so he bent forward and  took the opportunity to throw her head back into his face, earning a shout. She spun away as his grip on her was released. 

“You bitch,” he growled, glared daggers at her. 

Emily backed away as he stalked after her until he struck her in the face with the butt of his gun. 

Matt froze as he heard Emily’s gasp and a body fall to the ground. 

“Cut! Alright, Y/n freeze where you are - we’re gonna do the next scene in just a second here,” the director said. 

Y/n stayed in her spot, laying on her side on the ground. She opened her eyes and turned them up to look at Charlie. He threw a gang sign her way, making her chuckle and roll her eyes. He smiled and turned his attention back to the director. 

After correcting a fight move from one of the stuntmen, he reiterated to Charlie what was going to come after. “Ok, Charlie, you’re gonna listen for her heartbeat, make sure she’s still alive, finish your fight, we’re gonna have a couple gunshots, then you go get her to safety so you can take the rest out.”

Charlie nodded. “Alright. How do you want me to get her out?”

“Do what feels natural.”

“Alright. Got it. Let’s do it.”

“Action!”

Matt tilted his head. Heavy panting, loud heartbeat. The man who was holding Emily. Slightly quieter heartbeat, steady. Emily. 

Matt allowed some relief to fill him before he deflected a punch aimed for him and took the last adversary out. He ducked to miss a gunshot from the man that had Emily, who had approached Matt. Matt did a flip, kicking the man to the ground and knocking him out. Taking a deep breath, he ran over to Emily. A couple more gunshots rang out. He would have to get her out of the way before finishing things.

He put one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders before hoisting her up and throwing her over his shoulder. 

 Y/n shrieked as she was thrown over his shoulder, not expecting it. 

“Who just screamed?” Charlie asked, American accent still present, spinning around as if looking for someone. “Emily’s unconscious!”

“Charlie!” Y/n yelled. 

Charlie groaned and bowed his head in faux irritation before looking back towards her. “Y/n, why did you break character? The direction was to get you!” The British accent returned.

“Yeah! He told you to get me to safety! Not throw me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes!”

People around set, Charlie included, laughed. 

“Ok ok, guys. Reset to Matt running to get Emily. And Charlie - carry her bridal style,” the director said. 

Charlie smirked but nodded. He set Y/n down on her feet, chuckling as she punched his arm. He ruffled her hair and walked back across the set. Y/n swatted at his hand but smiled and layed back down on the ground to wait for ‘action’ to be yelled as one of the makeup artists quickly added some red to her cheek from the gun ‘hitting’ her. She adored the whole cast and crew of Daredevil and always felt at home with them. And she and Charlie shared a special bond. Like siblings on screen and in real life. Her thoughts were interrupted at the call she was waiting for. 

Taking a deep breath, he ran over to Emily. A couple more gunshots rang out. He would have to get her out of the way before finishing things.

He put one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders, gently lifting her up into his arms. He ran as fast as he could into a room off the large open one they were currently in. He set her down on the ground out of the line of fire and placed a hand on her cheek. 

“Emily. Emily, please wake up, sweetheart,” he begged. He used his free hand to shake her shoulder and sighed when he heard her sharp intake of breath. 

Emily squeezed her already shut eyes before opening them and looking up at Matt. “Matty?”

Matt sighed again and nodded. “You’re ok. We’re both ok. Let me finish this then we’ll get you home, ok?” Matt cut the rope holding her hands together before helping her sit up against a wall. Emily nodded. Matt pressed a kiss to her forehead before heading back out into the fight. 

“And, cut!” the director called. “Ok, that’s a wrap for today! Great job everyone!”

Y//n grinned and jumped up from her spot. She jogged out of the room she was in only to be jump-scared by Charlie standing around the corner, making her scream. 

“Dammit, Charlie!” she yelled, punching his arm again as he laughed at her expense. 

“Hey, I had to take the opportunity!” he defended, hands raised. 

Y/n scoffed and shook her head but couldn’t help the small smile that crossed her face. Charlie smiled and threw an arm around her shoulders.

“So what’s my little sister got going on tonight?” he said as they walked off set. 

“Not much,” she shrugged. “Just gonna hang around the apartment.”

“Want to come over and say hi to the kids? They miss their aunt Y/n.”

The girl smiled. “Polite pass for tonight. We need to be here early tomorrow and I know if I go to your place I’ll be out too late.”

“Fair enough. You be safe on the way home, alright?”

“Of course,” Y/n smiled. Charlie planted a kiss on her head, they shared a quick hug, then went their separate ways. 

Later that night, Y/n had eaten, taken a shower, then plopped on the couch in her living room to wind down before bed. She turned the tv onto something random and fixed her eyes on the screen until her phone buzzed and broke her attention. She furrowed her brow as she grabbed it. The screen lit up with a notification

@ y/fIGacct sent you a post

Y/n tapped it and unlocked her phone, going straight to Instagram. In the chat with her friend, a post was there, and under it, her friend said: Thought you might want to see what people are saying…

Furrowing her brow deeper, she tapped the post - one Marvel posted about the series premiere of Born Again, and went to the comments, her lips pulling into a frown as she read them. 

Emily Murdock is such a waste character. They just forced her in to have another female lead. 

We don’t need her. And @ Y/nL/n isnt even that good

Agreed. And she doesn't even look a little like matt. Couldn't they have found someone closer?

Yeah seriously. They expect us to believe she’s related to that greek g-d? I don't think so

Her entry in the OG series was stupid enough. Why’d they have to bring her back to DDBA?

Y/n’s shuttered breaths sawed in and out as she read comment after comment. She dialed her friend’s number and got her on the second ring. 

“Hey, Y/n,” F/n said sadly. 

“F/n, how long has this been going on? Have you seen other comments like this?”

“I don’t know. I know audiences were kinda split in season three but it’s really started taking off again since the double episode premiere of Born Again. I’m so sorry, Y/n. But you can’t listen to them, ok? You’re amazing!”

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut as tears leaked from them. She slowly shook her head as she listened to her friend. That’s easy for her to say, she thought. 

“Y/n?”

“I have to go, F/n,” she said, not giving her the chance to say anything else before hanging up. Y/n dropped her phone and her hand flew to her mouth to keep herself from sobbing. She had no idea fans hated her so much. Coming in at the end of Daredevil season 2 was huge for her and had brought on an amazing opportunity with Born Again. Was she really that bad? Did the directors make a mistake bringing her on? Was she worthy of sharing the set with Charlie and the others? Did she belong with them?

The next day of filming, Y/n arrived and tried to stay out of sight as much as possible. She knew the others would be able to tell right away that she was off and she really didn’t feel like having a heart-to-heart right now. 

When she was out of wardrobe and makeup, she snuck onto set where they ended the day before, sending a quick wave to the director. 

“Has anyone seen Y/n?” Charlie’s voice echoed. 

She slumped against the wall, ready to shoot, as she heard the director say how Y/n had just passed him by. Y/n heard Charlie’s footsteps echo closer and closer until he was standing in the doorway, Daredevil costume on and helmet in one hand. 

“Y/n, love, what’s wrong? Where’s the usual flying hugs you give every morning?” he asked, his attempt at a lighthearted smile on his lips to mask his concern. 

Y/n bit her lip to keep it from trembling and shrugged. “Just a little tired. A friend had me up last night. I’m just ready to go,” she said simply, hoping she came off apathetic. 

Charlie went to speak but stopped when the director called for him. He looked at Y/n one more time and nodded. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

Y/n acted her best smile and nodded, then Charlie was on his way. When he was out of sight, Y/n sighed and rested her head against the wall, closing her eyes to fight off the sting at the back of her eyes. Don’t cry, don't cry, don't cry, she thought. This is literally the worst place. The scenes outside the room went on and soon enough, it was Y/n’s turn. 

Emily’s head felt fuzzy as she sat up against the wall. She moved a hand from her abdomen to hold her head but noticed it was wet with blood. She looked down and saw blood seeping through her shirt and she let out a whimper. 

@ Y/nL/n isn’t even that good. 

Emily’s lip wobbled as she heard what were hopefully Matt’s footsteps jogging towards her direction. 

“Ok, Em. We need to get out of- are you bleeding?” Matt cut himself off when he got the taste of copper in the air that wasn’t as strong before. He dropped to the ground next to her and removed one of his gloves, hovering his hand over her until he felt the heat and moisture from the wound on her side. 

“He-He must’ve cut me when I fought to get away,” she said. 

Y/n cursed herself for the stutter but figured it could play out as pain. 

Matt bowed his head for a moment before hearing sirens approaching about a mile out. “Ok. Ok, you’re gonna be fine. We just need to get you out of here, ok? I just need you to stay awake for me. Can you do that, beautiful?”

They expect us to believe she’s related to that greek g-d? I dont think so.

Between the thoughts in her head and the feelings she was playing out for the screen, her own emotions elevated and she let out a sob, immediately throwing a hand up to cover her mouth. 

“Y/n?” Charlie sobered up real quick, dropping everything Daredevil in a split second. 

“Cut!”

“Y/n, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Charlie asked again, gently gripping her shoulders, trying to get her to look at him. 

Y/n just shook her head and stood quickly, trying to run off but failing when Charlie grabbed her and wrapped her in his arms. Pathetic sobs escaped Y/n’s lips as she trembled in Charlie’s arms. He looked over his shoulder and saw the director signal the others to head out to give them a moment. 

“You’re ok. You’re ok. Let it out. It’s just us, the others left,” Charlie said, his voice soft. The girl let out a mix between a cry and a sob, prompting Charlie to rub his hand over her back, quietly shushing her. When she began to quiet down a bit, he used one hand to pull his Daredevil mask off and drop it to the ground before moving it back to Y/n’s head. “C’mon, love. Do you wanna go to your trailer?”

Y/n nodded against his shoulder and let him wrap an arm around her shoulders and lead her to her trailer, avoiding any passing glances as they went. 

Once they were safely inside, Y/n turned to wipe the tears off her face but Charlie grabbed her arm and spun her around. “None of that,” he said. “You don’t need to hide. Not from me. Please tell me what’s going on. I can’t help if I don’t know, yeah?”

Y/n let out a shuddery sigh and sat on the couch, Charlie sitting next to her. 

“I was honest in a way when I said a friend had me up last night,” she said, not wanting him to be mad at her for keeping things from him. “But there was more to it.” Charlie kept his eyes on her but stayed silent, letting her speak as she was ready. She felt another wave of tears coming as she relented, “She…she sent me one of Marvel’s posts about Born Again and mentioned the comments…most of them were the fans being split on how the first episode started but…there were others about me…not good ones…Charlie…they hate me,” Y/n sobbed, finally looking into his eyes. “I-I knew there were some sparse comments when I first started in the show but not like this. They-They aren’t just talking about Emily; they’re talking about me, Charlie. About how I’m not that good and-…”

“And what?” Charlie probed gently. 

“And how I don’t look like you. Someone said how they can’t be expected to believe I’m related to you on-screen because you look like a greek g-d.”

“Ok, first of all - I definitely do not look like a greek g-d. Unless my last name is Hemsworth I don’t think I could get remotely close to that,” Charlie said, earning a teary chuckle from Y/n. “And second of all - I think it’s time I teach you a very important lesson: you cannot listen to people like that, ok? I know it’s easier said than done but you have to tune them out. If you can’t avoid them altogether then tune them out. They’re just haters,” he added with an american accent, making Y/n laugh again. “And if that’s not enough, I’ll remind you every. Single. Day how amazing you are, alright?”

At this, Y/n looked down at her hands before looking up at Charlie through her lashes. “Am I though?” she said meekly. “What if the directors made a mistake with me? What if I’m not talented enough? If enough people hate me, who’s to say I deserve to be with the rest of you?”

“I’m gonna stop you there,” Charlie interjected. “You are good enough. You hear me? And do you wanna hear a secret to prove it? When the producers and directors were getting together for Born Again - I wasn’t their first thought for Matt.” Y/n’s eyes widened and her head shot up at this. ”That’s right,” he said with a somewhat sad smile. “So if you feel like you don’t belong, I almost wasn’t even here in the first place. Besides, you’re the most talented person I’ve ever met - especially so young. Vincent, Elden, and Deborah would all agree with me. In fact, they’ve all said it at some point. And you are beautiful. Anyone who says otherwise is just self-conscious about their own looks and they’re trying to make themselves feel better by picking on someone they think is superior to them.”

Y/n mustered a half smile. Charlie had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Get your phone out. Pull up instagram,” he said, holding his hand out. Furrowing her brow, Y/n did as she was asked then handed her phone over. Charlie went through until he found the post she was talking about. He scrolled a bit, he and Y/n remaining silent as he did so. 

“Here,” he finally said. “If our words aren’t enough - don’t stop on the negative comments. Keep scrolling until you find the replies that defend you.” When Y/n looked at him confused, he smiled a bit as he read the replies out loud. “Emily Murdock is not a waste character. I think she adds even more depth to Matt’s character and gives him family to hold onto. Plus big brother!matt is amazing. His sister brings out a side of him we otherwise would never get to see

“Not good? You're joking right? As if foggy’s death wasn’t painful enough, @ Y/nL/n’s/Emily’s reaction GUTTED me (I cried too, @ IGuser)

“Yeah seriously - she’s amazing

“You must have confidence issues to pick on someone so talented #TeamEmilyForever (Charlie laughed as he read out the hashtag)

“If anything, @ Y/nL/n is the g-ddess (no offense Charlie Cox) (non-taken, mate)

“I live for the playful scenes between Cox and L/n. So sweet; makes my heart swell (mine too, @ IGuser2)

“There are so many more good comments than bad, Y/n. Believe those. Because you are enough. Ok?” Charlie handed her phone back and squeezed her hand for good measure. 

Y/n’s eyes teared up, but in happiness this time. She gave him a real smile and nodded. Charlie pulled her into a hug that she happily returned. 

“Thank you, Charlie,” she whispered. 

The man smiled and gave her an extra squeeze. “Anytime. I take my duties as big brother very seriously, you know,” he joked.

Y/n chuckled and pulled away, wiping the last of her tears. “Don’t I know it. You tease me just as much if not more often than you comfort me.”

“Don’t act like you’re not the same!” he defended, chuckling a bit. 

“I’m not nearly as bad as you,” Y/n grinned, glad the difficult part was over. And it was just her hanging with Charlie. With her brother. 

“Oh yeah? You wanna see how bad I can get?” Charlie challenged in his Matt Murdock voice. 

“Oho gosh no!” she laughed, jumping from her seat on the couch, only to be pulled onto Charlie’s lap and locked in his arms. 

The laughter that filled the trailer after was a sign to the rest of the cast and crew that everything was ok now. They were thankful but not as much as Y/n was. If there was one person who could always fix things when they were down, it was Charlie. Her brother on screen and off. He always took his big brother duties seriously. And he always would. 

[ordowrites]

Insomnia Pt 2

characters: kaeya, neuvilette, diluc (again)

cw: depression mention, anxiety mention, no pronouns used but reader is given affectionate terms, warnings for diluc's past, honestly this is just written for my own self comfort and indulgence so mild ooc warning. mdni, blank blogs dni. reader is not the traveler, reader has an electro vision. fluff. very corny. i have writer's block so pls forgive me.

Kaeya is woken up by you a few nights in a row now - he knows how quiet you try to be when you crawl out of bed as he has long mornings, days, and sometimes even nights. still, the bed is always too empy without you and the minute you leave, he considers getting up to follow you. But he understands your need to be left alone.

It's only when you don't come back to bed that he's getting up, hardly caring about being robed as he joins you in the living room, where you've tucked yourself away.

Puffy eyed and staring at the purple gem.

Ah.

"Shall I make you the cocoa you love?" You shake your head. "Okay, what would you like?"

"Just sit with me." So he does, and you lean into his arms. He wishes he could shield you forever from the pain of the world, take it all away and be your knight in shining armor. But he can't always do that. So he kisses the top of your head and murmurs things he hopes helps.

Sleepless nights are not uncommon in this household at all.

Neuvilette is somehow both surprised and not too surprised to see you outside so late at night - eyes straining in the dim street lighting to read your book. When he prompts about it, you merely shrug.

"It's a good book." you simply say. "Care to join me, Monsieur Neuvilette?"

"I would be honored." Your smile is lovely as he sits down in the metal chair that is, quite frankly, uncomfortable. "It is late, are you alright?"

"'m fine, got my book." You nod to the book you aren't actually reading. "Couldn't sleep, so...came out here. I like it when it's night time. Everything is so calm and quiet."

He gets it - the bustling city of Fontaine, the hectic schedule of an overworked journalist. You're doing your best and that's all he can tell you.

"But if you don't mind....I do like the company of another." So your thoughts don't wander, so you don't feel like you'll breakdown again.

"I shall stay for as long as you need."

Diluc is no stranger to sleepless nights, in fact, he's quite uses to them. Thoughts of his past linger too closely to him, they return in sensory - biting cold, a loud voice, flames that burn too hot.

And tonight, you're tossing and turning - tonight, you're struggling with anxieties about things neither of you can control.

"Wanna go for a walk?" Your voice breaks the air - tired. Exhausted.

"Yeah."

He feels like a kid again - sneaking out, and walking around the manor's grounds under a starlit sky.

"Nightmare again?"

"Nothing to worry about, my beloved." Diluc lets out a heavy sigh. "What about you?"

"Ugh, just can't sleep much these days." He understands and beckons for you to follow him - it's a spot where he and Kaeya used to hide out late at night. "You know how it is. I worry for you."

"My beloved, I always come home.

"I know." you mumble as he pulls you into a tender hug. "Archons, Diluc, I have nightmares about losing you."

"I know, I know. I'm here." Diluc hushes. "I'm here now."

"For how much longer?" You cling to him tighter and you both stay, hidden in this field until Adelinde calls for breakfast. Diluc doesn't get the chance to answer as you pull away to head back to the manor, the conversation dying.

For the rest of time, he thinks, as he follows you back. I promise.

[celestia0473]

Hello! Have a tf2 request for you if you like. GNC reader, romantic or platonic, whichever Mercs you would like.

Reader is the new Tenth Class! They have been fighting alongside the team for a long time now, effective on the battlefield and easy to get along with otherwise.

One day, the team may start to notice some odd changes to their teammate. Reader is always feeling hungry, they are more sensitive to smells as of late, and they have become a bit more brutal in battle. In top of all that, sometimes one could *swear* Reader looks at them like they want to eat them.

Of course, Reader is completely oblivious to all of this (cause it's funny that way). It's almost no surprise when their teammate finds them collapsed on the floor, writhing in hunger pangs. Reader's eyes go red, hearing everything all at once... including the beating of their friend's heart. What follows is a blur, but let out be known that not even Heavy can withstand the force of a starving creature.

Tldr, Reader has been turned into a vampire at some point, and is completely oblivious and doesn't notice anything wrong... Until its too late~

Tf2 mercs x vampire! reader

Note:absolutely love the idea,btw i already wrote this but it vanished i was so fucking angry,english isn't my first language,may be ooc,overusing some words,I don't use ai for my writing.

Characters:Scout(crush),pyro(close teammates but can be seen as crush),medic(married).

Warning:blood,corpse,some sexual jokes,tell me if i forgot something,medic,gif are deep fried and over crispy.

Scout-Jeremy

•The first details he noticed about you isn't your eyes changing colors or how your nose scrunch up whatever you smell soldier.

•It's how you're looking at him especially this neck.

•He didn't know you're freaky like that 😛.

•But one time he saw you rapidly gutting an enemy THEN he knew something was wrong.

•After connecting all the dots,he gasp after having the idea of you begin a vampire.

•Then he laughed about it and brush it away from this mind.

•After 1 day especially after he heard some noise that belong to you(like steps or growls),he think about it again.

•And he lowkey think that's hot.

•As long you don't suck him dry in the undesirable way then he chillin'.

•But that doesn't mean he won't turn you back into a human if he had a chance.

•Because you're scaring him shitless.

•He will help you through some problems,like putting an umbrella above your head whatever you're about to go out in the sun like some sort of a knight in shining armor.

•Will take advantage of your situation to throw some cheesy,corny pick up line that he probably took from Google and poor you absolutely confused why he talks about vampire so much.

"Are you thirsty? Because I’m ready to be your midnight snack"

"You must be a vampire because my heart beats faster every time you’re near"

Pyro-Pyro.

•It took him some time to finally discover about you begin a vampire but honestly he thinks it's very cool.

•He like drawing you as slander person with a sharp triangles pair of teeth and descending hairline for some reason.

•He see you in this vision(Pyroland) as a charismatic cunning person that he always look up to during problems.

•He wonder since you're a not a human does that mean you're burning differently too? Like faster and more painful?

•he likes you a lot so he won't risk putting you in deep pain for the sake of his sick desires and argue.

•But he can't handle it,he's so so curious about your vampirism.

•However whatever he's asking you some question using paper and pen,you look skeptical when you're reading the notes.

•Saying that you don't understand what is he talking about and returning the notes thinking that's part of this daily delusional.

•Huh,maybe this is a close secret of your that he was only able to caught and you're acting dumb so he won't expose you? Eh it's better to keep this mouth zipped,after all revealing the secrets of your close ones to other is very bad.

•Just like scout he won't mind you begin a bloodthirsty creature,And the best thing he won't be bothered by your strange habits and actions.

Medic-Ludwig Humboldt

•If he couldn't love you even more,but it seems like you go beyond this exception.

•the first 30 seconds and he already know what you are.

•Will ask you if he can see your insides even if you don't need a surgery,if you refused he will understand,ask again after 3 days and won't stop until you're agreeing,and the countless amount of check up make you want to sigh,but he honestly admire the look of your eyes,fangs and everything.

•If you're hungry then medic will be the best person to satisfy your carvings,a nice lungs or fresh kidney? Maybe with bloody drink,honestly he doesn't mind if you devored him.

•During Halloween he really wants to wear a matching vampire costumes with you,the idea of scaring the others and causing violence as a couple make him giggle.

•Meanwhile during Valentine's medic will gift you a dark red heart in a cute pink box♥︎,you screamed when you first saw it.

•He understands that you don't recognize your life as a vampire and think that you're a normal person,but either way you're perfect in this eyes.

•Wil always apply sunscreen on your skin,Remove stinky smells of corpse and garlics for your safety and comfort.

Hope you enjoyed my writing please correct any mistake or give me some tips:3.

[queenendless]

Chase (Darth Vader x Fem!Adult!Reader)

A/n: Tales of the Empire gave me ideas. Particularly on a snowy chilly planet ... it's a very open setting as to what is going on in this so bare with me. First time writing SW stuff on here.

So AU with unburnt Vader who's also kinda OOC in this, some fluff and steamy romance with some Anakin at the end, but it's a short ass piece cause of short notice for today.

PLEASE DONT REPOST, EDIT, COPY, PLAGARIZE, TRANSLATE AND OR STEAL MY FANFIC WORK. RATHER IF YOU DO ENJOY IT THEN LIKE REBLOG AND FOLLOW ME PLS N THNX.

And May The 4th be with you.

Your cloak blew from the chilly winds.

Your hood covered head raised up to meet at the top of the snowy hill.

Climbing up with the darkening gray storm clouds piling up, heighting the anxious tension filling you up inside, the helmeted figure coming into view struck through your core.

He had pursued after your wandering lost self.

You wanted to see how far he would go, as selfish as that was.

Your fear of the cold blooded, brutal Sith Lord becomes mingled with how you are lustful of his imposing presence.

Your cape fluttered in the blowing cold winds as you hurried away, straight to the ice cave entrance.

He knew you thrive off the chase.

And you knew he was relentless in playing along.

“You cannot run forever, Y/n."

His deep modulated voice bounced off the towering crystal ice walls, using the light shining from the high cracked ceiling to guide you.

“I've come this far.” Your tepid sweet voice echoing back at him had him growling a bit.

“You cannot hide from me.”

You didn't need to be Force sensitive to feel that he was honing in on you quickly.

Your flushed nervous face met your eyes as your bumpy reflection followed your side, his heavy footsteps sounding that much closer. “Doing good so far, all things considered.”

You should have figured uttering those words into existence would jinx your ongoing streak. The moment you stepped back from the dead end and spun around on your heel, you bumped into that armored chest.

You screamed a bit as his leather black gloves grabbed your forearms and pinned you to the wall gently but firmly.

His red lenses hid his eyes boring into your very soul, his giant frame enveloping you, pressing you carefully against the alien texture. His heavy breathing made your breathing go silent like a scared mouse, caught by the big bad beast.

“The game is over.” For some reason, he sounded so smug about it.

“You're unbelievable.” You pouted up at that obsidian face.

“You're foolish.” He scoffed.

“Says the man wearing the robot suit.”

The fact that he released his grip on you and leaned back a bit to actually take off that intimidating helmet still took your breath away.

“It helps with the image.” To hear that warm enriching amused voice again already had you giggling as your hands cupped his sculpted cheeks to pull his face down to peck those tempting lips.

His helmet clanked along the ground as his arms slithered around your waist to lift you off the ground, grinning slyly to you hugging his waist in response.

“It's working, my Lord.” You shakily spoke, weaving through that shoulder length darkened hair to tug him closer, pecking many a time quite desperately.

“This little ploy of yours has gotten us completely off track.” His husky tone was sheer evidence that he did not give a damn. Not one bit.

“Forgive me, Lord Vader, for my teasing.”

You squeaked as those giant leather hands of his cupped and squeezed your ass.

“I shall have to punish you, my dear. Quite thoroughly~” Those blue eyes were riddled with devious intention, marking your neck with ferocious bites along your delectable skin.

Your fevered gasps and lecherous cries traveled the caves as you became a mess under his wet steamy mouth. “A – Ani~!”

The former Jedi turned Sith Lord smirked, devouring your mouth with that needy tongue of his.

“Hush, my love. We're just getting started.”

[soulessjourney]

One Last Time

Paring: Astarion x fem!DurgTavReader

Word count: 5.5k

Summary: Just what truly happened during the battle with Ketheric Thorm?

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of violence, OOC Astarion, injuries, talk of mental health, some fluff, Tav is on her journey of having a redeption arc, Confessions, some fluff, Heavy Act 2 Spoilers

A/N: Buckle up kiddies this is gonna be a long one. I did add a bit of my own spin on things in some parts just to help fill in the aspects of the fighting to make it more dramatic.

Ketheric Thorm, a man who defied death and wasn't meant to survive. He bore the responsibility for unleashing the Shadow Curse and cowardly sought refuge in Moonrise Towers, at least that's how you perceived it. Meeting him as a true soul set the stage for your downfall. Upon your arrival, your Guardian, with a hint of disgust in her voice, made you acutely aware of his identity. Being in proximity to the absolute felt like a dream, yet an unsettling feeling lingered. You sensed manipulation, as if you were a mere pawn in his game. Moonrise, though familiar, seemed to beckon you, and the guards appeared well-informed about your identity. Anger and fury welled up within you, resentful of the power he wielded. A part of you contended that this power was rightfully yours, and an irresistible urge to claim it consumed you.

As your eyes follow Thorm out of the room, Astarion clears his throat beside you. "Well, that was eventful. Say, how are we supposed to kill someone who can't be killed? Seems like a setup if you ask me." He shrugs, prompting a scoff from Shadowheart.

"You know, Astarion, I would like to go one day without your comments," she grumbles, eliciting a pout from Astarion and a breathless laugh from you. After about a month or two of being together, your group had grown close, opening up in various ways. Despite only being together for a short time, they appointed you the leader, leading to disagreements, especially with more qualified individuals like Gale.

The banter between Astarion and Shadowheart continues as you walk out of the tower. "I'm just saying, Darling, there's no way in the nine hells we can kill someone who simply cannot be killed. That's like asking a rock to walk," he shrugs, shooting a smug smile toward Shadowheart.

Just as she opens her mouth to respond, you cut them off. "That's enough, you two. The entire Shadow Land can hear your bickering," you grumble as Lae’zel nods in agreement. "Besides, we're almost to the Mausoleum, and it's rude to disturb the dead," you say, suppressing a smile at the pure annoyance on Shadowheart's face. It's rare for Astarion to get the last word, and when he does, he becomes the cockiest man alive.

Falling behind your group, Gale nudges you and raises a questioning brow. It's unusual for you to lag behind, considering your usual determination to lead and be the first to jump into action to protect your party. "What's going on in that head of yours?" he asks, keeping his voice low so as not to draw attention.

Shrugging, you fiddle with your armor before letting out a sigh. "I just don't have the best feeling. It's like something is about to happen, and we won't be able to avoid it. I'm worried that whatever we're about to face, there's no coming back from it." Odd feelings weren't unfamiliar to you; after all, you constantly battled the urge to commit daily murders. However, today's unease had you more concerned than usual.

Gale nods, letting out a thoughtful hum as he considers his response. "It's not because I plan on blowing myself up, is it?" he asks, a laugh escaping his lips. His expression turns serious when he notices your lack of laughter. "Tav, everything will be okay. We have each other, and we're all equally dedicated to ensuring our survival. Nothing will happen, and I especially know that Astarion won't let anything happen to you," he says, giving you a knowing look.

You and Astarion shared something, although you weren't sure what it was beyond the occasional intimacy. Both of you were highly protective of each other, yet he dismissed it as shameless flirting. You desired something more with Astarion, but you knew he was apprehensive. He was new to the affection you showed him and unfamiliar with being cared for in a way he had never experienced before.

Just as you were about to respond, a figure emerges from the shadows just before you reach the Mausoleum. Astarion groans at the sight of Raphael gliding towards your group, his usual mischievous smile spread widely across his lips. "Well, well, isn't it my favorite group of adventurers?" he says, stopping just before your group. You step forward, noting how Astarion positions himself behind you, rolling his shoulders forward almost as if to appear larger—a simple act of protection that's hard to resist smiling at. "I know it's odd for a Devil to ask for a favor, but there's something I'll grant you in return," Raphael says, locking his eyes on yours.

Astarion scoffs and crosses his arms. "Just spit it out already; we don't have time for your riddles," he deadpans, shifting closer to you, ready to throw you behind him if Raphael makes a move to harm you.

"Now, now, this isn't the time to lack patience," Raphael says, standing taller. "I need you to take care of a problem, a competition, we can call it. In return, I'll give your little vampire friend answers about the scars on his back—a translation that I know you both are just dying to know." He grins, watching your eyes widen before turning to look back at Astarion. "His name is Yurgir, and dealing with him will do a lot of good. He's breaking his contract and needs to be sent right back to where he came from as a...lesson." He says, looking over your group. "Once you find him, take care of him. I will know, and it will determine if you get the answers you so desperately seek." Just as he finishes his sentence, he disappears right in front of you.

Exhaustion seeps through you as your group stays quiet. "I guess we have some work to do," you mumble, walking forward into the Mausoleum. The others hesitate as they watch you, concerned about your sudden lack of energy. Usually, you would be up for anything, even if it meant dealing with a devil. As you walk into the building, the group exchanges worried glances before following you inside.

---

The confrontation with Yurgir turned out to be surprisingly easy, given his already paranoid state. With his contract entwined in a song, convincing him to turn against his allies, including Nessa, a displacer beast you empathized with, proved to be a straightforward task. In your mind, she didn't deserve to meet her end in the manner she did. Subsequently, you seamlessly entered his paranoid thoughts, persuading him to take his own life. Lae’zel and Astarion, usually at odds, expressed their shared disappointment at the lack of an actual fight to entertain them.

Amidst the discontent, your primary concern shifted to the current state of your group. Shadowheart, driven by determination, sought to complete Shar’s Gauntlet, a symbolic act to ascend and prove her loyalty to her goddess. While you couldn't help but worry about your friend, you understood her desire to seize this opportunity. As she faced the three challenges, ultimately finding the Spear of Night, you sensed a subtle shift in her demeanor.

Standing before the Nightsong, a woman bound to this realm with no apparent escape, you noticed a spark of questioning in Shadowheart's eyes, despite her determination. Confronting Thorm, you learned that releasing the Nightsong was the only way to weaken him and break his hold on immortality. The moment of decision arrived when Shadowheart, succumbing to her doubts, threw the spear over the edge, the mentioning of the forest and the wolves.

A surge of indescribable emotion coursed through you—perhaps pride or worry. It wasn't until Dame Aylin stepped forward, kneeling before Shadowheart, that the situation took a new turn. "Lay a hand of friendship upon me, and break my chains," she gently requested, her eyes meeting Shadowheart's before focusing on you. "Only when I am free can I aid you in taking down Ketheric Thorm." Shadowheart hesitated, glancing back at you for guidance.

Slowly nodding, she reached forward, resting a hand on Dame Aylin, breaking her chains once and for all. A portal opened behind you, and just before you could turn away, your eyes locked on Dame Aylin. Her armor began to form on her skin, and wings emitting a heavenly glow spread out behind her. Despite the look of recognition, all you received was a nod before she took off, leaving your group alone.

---

Now that Dame Aylin was free, things seemed to have accelerated much faster than anticipated. Drained and utterly tired, all you desired was to rest. Your head buzzed, and your ears rang, yet there you stood before Moonrise Towers, gearing up to face Ketheric Thorm. The urgency escalated with Dame Aylin's freedom, and a dark part of you wished she hadn't been released just so you could have some time to recuperate.

As you looked up at the towers, your body tensed when someone moved to stand beside you. A sense of relief washed over you as you saw Astarion. Smiling down, he shifted on his feet. "We're going to win, Darling. You have all of us ready to fight at your side. Don't overthink it," he said, shaking his head to silence any protests. "I can practically hear the gears turning in that pretty little head of yours," he added with a teasing grin. "But before we go in, can we talk? It's rather important, just in case we do meet our doom in there," he said softly.

Giving a half-hearted smile, you felt the exhaustion seeping out of you. Astarion took your hand, leading you aside as the rest of the group looked at you in question before starting their own conversations, providing you and Astarion with some privacy. "Are you alright?" you asked, scanning him for any injuries he might have sustained.

His expression changed, as if he were at war with himself. "Oh yes, I'm fine. I just... feel awful about something," he admitted. Confusion crept over you as you tried to recall any recent events that might explain his unease. It wasn't until you saw him shift nervously that you gave him a reassuring smile.

He continued, revealing a plan to seduce you, manipulate your feelings, and use you to defeat Cazador. The revelation left a bitter taste of betrayal in your mouth. You shifted, your posture rigid, waiting for an explanation. The truth unfolded—his plan fell apart because he couldn't resist falling for you.

His confession left you grappling with feelings of betrayal and hurt. "Were you even attracted to me? Or was that all a lie as well?" you asked, unable to contain the pain in your voice. His flinch confirmed the discomfort he felt.

Astarion, now uncomfortable and terrified, admitted, "Of course I was attracted to you. Look at you, for goodness’ sake! You’re a vision and so much more than that." He hesitated, expressing uncertainty about his feelings. "I just… I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what I want."

You shared your care for him, admitting your deep feelings. His face lit up at your words, and a soft 'really?' hung in the air. Without thinking, you moved forward, wrapping your arms around him in a gentle but secure hug. It felt like a silent promise of your genuine care. As he reciprocated the embrace, you sensed a change in him.

Astarion, being himself, smiled and cleared his throat. "You... You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?" he remarked, his eyes locking with yours, revealing hidden emotions. He let out a nervous laugh, pulling your attention back to him. "Honestly, I have no idea what we’re doing or what comes next," he confessed, holding out his hand.

You stared at his hand before placing your palm on top of his. His cool skin covered yours as he drew you closer. "But I know that this? This is nice," he whispered.

There you stood, face flushed, realizing that, in a twisted way, Astarion truly loved you, and you loved him more than anything. Happiness mingled with worry, as he chose this moment to confess, fearing the possibility of not making it out alive. Yet, living in the now, you vowed to fight alongside him, grateful for the truth he finally shared.

Wyll cleared his throat, redirecting your attention to the group standing there, beaming at the two of you. It was evident they had overheard everything, and judging by the look on Shadowheart’s face, a secretly hopeless romantic, they had heard it all.

"Okay, you lovebirds, we have a Thorm on our side that we need to kill," Wyll declared, letting out a loud laugh at his own joke. However, the laughter died down when no one else joined in. An awkward silence hung in the air until you snorted, breaking the tension and sending the rest of your group into fits of laughter.

Even in the face of potential doom, moments like these made you grateful to have them by your side. Wyll looked around, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. "Oh, I see how it is. It’s only funny when you put me down," he grumbled, prompting a genuine laugh from Lae’zel. The sound, rare and cherished, resonated among your group, appreciating the unexpected moment of joy.

---

The echoes of your laughter felt like a distant memory as you stood before Ketheric Thorm, anger seeping through you at the sight of him. The yells of your party echoed behind you as they fought against his soldiers, while he remained solely focused on you. Despite being mortal, he carried himself with immense confidence, as if convinced you could never truly defeat him. His smug demeanor fueled your desire to rip his head from his shoulders, yet something kept you rooted in the spot where you stood. Your attention shifted when something hot grazed your arm, prompting a pained yell as you gripped the wounded area. Thorm looked down at you with a smug smile, his eyes darkening.

"Who knew that you would come crawling to my doorstep? Why have you returned? Do you miss the throne in which you once sat?" he taunted, his words striking you like poison.

Although you had been here before, the realization that you used to occupy the throne he now warmed was a revelation. "I’m here to kill you," you declared, your hand warming with the blood seeping from your wounded arm. "I’m here to witness your downfall, and I’m going to enjoy every second of it," you spat, dropping your hand from your arm as you reached for the staff positioned on your back.

Thorm responded with an amused laugh, scanning the surroundings. "You? Kill me? I suppose you didn’t learn your lesson from the last time we had a falling out. Your father would be laughing at you now, seeing his perfect child turning her back on him," he seethed. Your eyes widened slightly before you shook your head. He was trying to toy with you, attempting to make you drop your guard, but you refused to let that happen.

You felt the fire spread through your palms before it traveled across the room toward Thorm. The lack of any reaction from him made you second-guess whether he was truly mortal now. Ascending the stairs, you stood face-to-face with Thorm, narrowing your eyes into a challenging glare. Swinging your weapon, the sound of steel clashing filled the air.

"You have the opportunity to surrender, Thorm. You don’t have to live like this," you declared, your voice stern as you pushed your weight into your weapon.

Thorm laughed and glared down at you. "You’ve become so weak. Your father has done nothing but brag about you, and yet here you are, offering me mercy. You are no daughter of his; no wonder you were cast out," he seethed, lifting his foot to kick you back. Tumbling, your weapon clashed against the ground beside you, and your eyes filled with fire. The urge to rip him apart from the inside out consumed you, and the taste of blood filled your mouth as your body became rigid.

The staff next to you vanished as a long sword with intricate designs slowly appeared in your hand. Standing slowly, you raised your eyes to meet his once more, and a smile settled onto his face. "There she is—the killer your father raised you to be," he said, rolling his shoulders back. A snarl escaped you as you raced forward, only to be thrown back as Dame Aylin slammed down into the area next to you and Thorm.

"Ketheric Thorm, your time is over. Here, you will fall by my hand," she declared as you stood up, your body shaking in rage. "My friend here has kept you busy enough; now it is my turn to aid her in this fight. You should’ve stayed dead," she snarled, leaping forward and landing a hit on Thorm, causing him to stumble back. Seizing the opportunity, you ran from beside her, slicing at him and making him groan in protest as your blade sank into his arm. The two of you fought in sync, one striking after another, knocking Thorm back with each blow.

Just when you thought things would finally be over, Thorm's soldiers stopped fighting, and the room grew quiet. Clutching your side to put pressure on the wound Thorm had given you moments prior, you spat the blood that filled your mouth onto the ground.

"You should’ve just let things rest. We wouldn’t have to go through all this fighting if you just let things remain the way they did," Thorm remarked, glancing toward the side of the roof. As if on cue, a large tentacle sprouted from the side of the building, knocking you off the platform. Landing on the ground a few feet away from Shadowheart, you struggled to suck in the air that was knocked out of your lungs. Helpless, you watched Dame Aylin try her best to fight the tentacle before being wrapped up and taken under the tower.

Shadowheart dropped to her knees beside you, holding a vial up to your lips. "Drink this; you’re in no shape to move," she said, her eyes scanning your body, taking in every wound. "Gods, Tav, you’re going to overwork yourself like this. We can take Thorm while you rest," she suggested gently, attempting to tend to your wounds. Pushing her hand away, you shook your head before sitting up, finally able to catch your breath.

"No, I need to take him down. I won’t leave you guys to fight alone," you grunted, wincing at just how sore your entire body was. Muffling the whimper that left your mouth, you stood before hobbling over towards the hole left in one of the pillars. The others walked up behind you, peering down from beside you. Looking at the others, you nodded before jumping down into the hole, listening as they followed behind you.

---

The path to find Thorm once again was long and grueling as you made your way through the mind-flayer colony. Along the way, you enlisted the help of a small brain that you had saved on the ship when you were first kidnapped. Now, you stood before the door separating you from Thorm. Upon your entrance, you noticed two other individuals with him—the same ones from your visions, but something about them seemed familiar. A chill ran through your bones when you heard her name: Orin. Hearing that name sent waves of anger through you, and you could even taste a small hint of betrayal as you looked at her. Something snapped you from your trance when you noticed Gale step forward. You had completely forgotten that he promised to carry out Mystra’s request, and the anger towards the goddess filled you once more.

“Whatever you are thinking of doing, Gale, it’s not worth it,” you said, meeting his gaze. He looked determined, and the sight broke your heart. “I won’t let you blow yourself up. We can find another way to please her or even save you, but ending your life like this isn’t worth it.” Part of you couldn't figure out why you were determined to save Gale, but the other knew that you needed him there. He was a friend and someone you knew how to talk to, seeking comfort when you weren’t sure how to open up to Astarion.

Astarion stepped up next to you and brushed your fingers with his before looking at Gale. “For once, I agree with our Darling leader here. We can’t afford to lose you just yet. You can blow yourself up another time, but that time isn’t now,” he said, meeting Gale’s eyes with determination.

Gale sighed and nodded as he looked at his two friends—one who was nothing but worried about him and the other begging him, in the most twisted way, to stay alive. “Alright, you’re right. Maybe this isn’t my time to go just yet. We have other opportunities for me to blow myself up. I’ll stay and fight beside you, and I promise to give it my all,” he said, smiling as your body relaxed, and relief filled your worn-down body.

As you stepped forward, Thorm met your gaze, his eyes hardening. "I see you all made it here alive—a shame, truly. I never wanted to hurt you, and I certainly never wanted to kill you. You all had so much to live for," he said, pity filling his voice. Your mind raced as you thought back to the letters you found in the tower. The letters from his wife and daughter gave you a chance at an attempt to convince him.

"Thorm, you don’t need to do this. You could be with Melodia again; you can be with the one you love without consequences," you said softly, stepping forward and wincing as you raised your arms to hold up your hands. "She’s waiting for you to come back to her, and you can finally use this as a chance to see her again." The battle in his eyes was evident. Looking towards Gale, you signaled him to go free Dame Aylin from the hold Thorm had on her. Gale nodded in silent agreement before disappearing from the spot next to you.

If Thorm did see Gale, he paid him no mind. "The goddess wouldn’t allow that to happen, not with what I have done," he said quietly, almost as if he was thinking it over. "Selûne would never allow me to be with her, not after the things that I have done." You couldn’t help but hear the pain in his voice as he spoke. He truly wanted to be with her, and you could see that internal war happening in his head.

"But you can. You can show Selûne that you’re willing to give this all up and give yourself to her. You can show her that you’re willing to sacrifice power just to be with the one person that you truly love." You didn’t know why your voice wobbled or why it felt like you would cry, but then it hit you. You would give everything to be with Astarion; you would sacrifice yourself to see him if he had been taken from you. You would destroy the world or give yourself to a goddess just to see him one last time.

Thorm looked at you for a moment before nodding, and nothing but relief filled you. You weren’t sure if your body could take another fight right at this moment. “You’re right,” he said, “I can be with her, but I apologize for what happens next. I can’t stop it.” You froze at his words. What did he mean by those words? Before you could continue to think, Thorm threw himself over the edge into the green abyss.

Astarion scoffed as he looked at the others. “So you’re telling me all we had to do was convince him that he could see his wife, and he would just end any and all fighting for us? Why didn’t we do that sooner?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Just as he spoke his words, a rumble vibrated around them. Astarion opened his mouth to say something when a large skeletal hand reached up and slammed itself down in front of you, causing you to stumble back to avoid being smashed.

Another rumble sounded, but this time it sounded more like a groan. “I am the haunt of mausoleums, the god of graves and age,” a loud booming voice grumbled as a large figure started to emerge where Thorm had thrown himself. “Of dust and dusk. I am Myrkul, and you have slain my Chosen.” Your eyes widened in recognition. The god of death. You were about to go head-to-head with a god, and part of you just wanted to drop then and there. With your injuries, you had no idea if you would survive this. “But it is no matter, for I am Death. And I am not the end–I am a beginning,” it finished.

Beside you, you heard a gasp from Astarion and the others. “What in the nine hells is that thing?” he asked as you began to back away. The large skeletal figure reached out his hand, and a large scythe flew into his grasp. Sweat began to collect at your brow as the stinging in your side grew. You could taste the bile starting to rise in your throat, and the loss of blood started to catch up with you.

You didn’t miss how Shadowheart looked at you; she knew you were in pain, but you were relieved that the others were oblivious. Biting back a groan, you stood taller, letting your eyes focus on the being before you. “That is a god,” you grumbled, listening to Astarion let out a string of colorful words. Before you had any time to react, Myrkul swung his weapon down towards you, the tip of it catching your leg, causing you to let out a pained yell.

You weren’t sure if it was your yell that set them off or the sudden attack, but as you caught your balance, spells and arrows began to fly through the air toward Myrkul. The moment Dame Aylin was free of her confines, she let out a roar as she aimed to take down the god in front of you. Your head was spinning, and you felt as if the world would go black, but you kept pushing, determined to help your friends. Missiles shot from you, landing their mark as Myrkul let out a screech, swinging his weapons towards everyone. The fight felt as if it went on for hours, years even, before the sight of Astarion and Karlach were thrown off the raised area in which you were standing.

The sight of the lack of movement from Astarion sent a blinding rage through you. A loud and violent scream tore through you as panic filled your very being. You swung your weapon, landing hit after hit on the God of Death. It wasn’t until there was a loud screech from the god that you realized that he had fallen. The sight of Thorm now lying a few feet away from you put you in another blind rage. Stomping towards him, he looked up at you helplessly, fear filling his eyes at the sight of you. He was terrified of dying by your hand, but you paid no mind to the thought. Letting out another scream, you sunk your dagger into him, only to pull it from him and repeat the motions over and over. “This is your fault,” you seethe over and over, the blood coating your face in the process. The feeling of hands on your shoulders and a large body dragging you away had you kicking and screaming as you thrashed in their grip. “No, I need to send him back to where he came from, he doesn’t deserve to see her.” You scream, your eyes focused on the body before you.

A hand cups the back of your head as you’re spun around in the individual’s arms where they press your face to their broad chest. “He’ll get what’s coming to him, but you need to breathe, calm down.” Halsin. His low voice works to calm you as he massages his fingers into the back of your head just above where the now loose knot of your hair sits. You begin to feel your body relax as every ounce of rage leaves you and sobs begin to rack your body. “It’ll be alright, go to him, see if he’s okay,” Halsin whispers, slowly letting you go. You back away and welcome his touch as he wipes his thumbs under your eyes, swiping away any tears you had. He looked at you like you were his daughter, and he worried just like any father would.

Nodding, your gaze falls on Astarion before you scramble over to him, falling to your knees. Grabbing his face in your hands, you caress his cold cheeks before shaking him. “Astarion, wake up,” you grumble, shaking him again. “Wake up, or I swear to the Nine Hells I’ll sell my soul to make Raphael bring you back just so I can kill you myself.” You whimpered, when there was no response you let your head fall to rest on his chest as you squeezed your eyes shut.

A hand moves and places itself on the back of your head before you feel his chest rattle with a cough. “Who knew you were such a romantic, Darling, threatening to take my life all over again.” Your body snaps up as he keeps his head on the back of your head before moving it to rest on your cheek, caressing the skin gently.

Smacking his chest, you let out a sniffle as your muscles and wounds scream in pain. “I thought you died,” you sob, looking away from him. His laugh sent a wave of relief through you as his hand took yours.

“I couldn’t leave you, not after threatening to have Raphael bring me back just so you can do the job yourself; that threat was more terrifying than the god we just faced.” He jokes, causing you to let out a breathless laugh as you lean into his touch. “I’m not going anywhere, my sweet, you’re stuck with me.” Nodding, you help him to his feet as you turn to the others.

“Let's get out of here; we deserve to celebrate, especially since we finally broke the shadow curse. A night of drinking and sleep sounds perfect right about now.” You say, watching as your group, no your family, smile and let out a loud yell of celebration with Dame Aylin as she leads the cheers. This was your family, and one you would fight thousands of gods for, even if it means losing yourself in the process.

A/N: She was a long one, but I do hope you guys enjoyed it. I will be turning this into a small series as we get to explore the events that have taken place throughout thier adventure.

[guizika]

The Winchesters' savior

Dean Winchester x Male! Reader

Cw- Male! Reader, fight, mentions of death, mentions of killing, use of a knife, swearing, Fluff. Maybe it’s a bit ooc.

Synopsis- The Winchesters are always the ones who save, however, in a situation it seems that things changed and they needed to be saved.

Word count- 841

It was supposed to be just another normal hunt in Texas, just a monster and nothing more. The more they investigated, the stranger the case became, but they didn't give up. However, during a search in an abandoned place far from town, a group of demons surrounded them. Sam and Dean were ambushed and tied up in a room.

A few hours passed and they were still there, the demons trying to interrogate them to see if they could get any information. "I'm not going to tell you anything, little bitch." Dean said with a tone of irony, making the being who was interrogating him snort with anger.

However, soon some noises were heard and then some demons were sent to check. "Dear Dean, I think you misunderstand the circumstances..." The tone of debauchery was noticeable in the dark being's voice.

However, before he can continue, a loud noise makes him turn around and then, before he realizes it, something heavy is thrown at him. Sam and Dean look at the door, which has been kicked in, and then there you are, saving them as if you were a knight in shining armor.

"I am here now!" An arrogant smile is on your face, and in your hand is the demon-killing knife (you've hidden it to use on a hunt, but Dean doesn't need to know that part). The demon lets out an angry noise and comes at you, pulling out a knife that was on his belt.

However, you soon get into a grapple as you try to stab each other. In the background, you can hear Dean encouraging you and shouting some insults at your opponent, while Sam remains silent because he has a gag in his mouth.

Soon, however, your knife and the demon's are thrown away as you continue to fight. As luck would have it, the knife falls on Sam's side and he waits for the right moment to kick it to you. Soon, the ideal moment appears, you land a punch on the evil being's jaw and then he staggers backwards. When the younger Winchester notices he quickly kicks the knife towards you, you notice and grab the knife. Quickly, you kill your opponent and then a sigh of relief escapes your lips as you stash the knife in your belt.

"Finally, I thought he was going to beat you." Dean says with a provocative smile, making Sam roll his eyes. "Right, without me you'd be screwed." Quickly, you untie the younger Winchester and then the older one.

"Shut up Dean, stop teasing." Sam says as he pats you gently on the shoulder, then stretches. "Anyway, we still have a lot of demons to kill out there." The shorter Winchester says as he snaps his fingers and looks at the door, but he soon turns to you when he hears an amused snort.

"I've already killed them." You say as you look at the two brothers with your arms crossed, an arrogant smile on your face as you put your hands in your pockets. "I'll wait for you in the car." Then you get out and leave them there,

-

"So you mean you found us because Dean sent you a selfie and there was a local burger joint in the background? Wow, I can't believe it!" Sam says laughing, patting you gently on the shoulder as he eats a hamburger rather enthusiastically.

"Shut it, Sammy." Dean's cheeks flush and he stuffs his mouth full of potato to cover it up, making you and the younger Winchester laugh. You take a sip of your drink while enjoying their company.

Soon, Sam stops laughing and looks at you, curiosity present in his gaze. "Hey, weren't you already on a hunt? How did you finish so quickly?" A soft laugh comes out of you and then you lean back in your chair, looking at the table. "I was, but I ended up finishing faster because I got help."

Your sentence seems to arouse Dean's curiosity, who takes a rather small bite out of his burger. "Well, it was a nest of vampires and a friend of mine showed up to help, maybe one day you'll meet him."

Soon, the older Winchester raised an eyebrow, wanting to know more, quickly swallowing the food in his mouth. "What's his name? How old is he? Is he better looking than me?" A sigh leaves your lips, knowing it's going to be a long conversation.

-

Now everyone is in the car, Dean and you in the front seat and Sam in the back seat, leaning back and getting into a relaxed position. "You know what we learned today? That even Dean Winchester needs saving sometimes." A muffled laugh comes out of Sam and Dean looks at you out of the corner of his eye, raising an eyebrow.

"We also learned that Dean is very good at interrogations!" Sam says as he starts laughing, making you giggle. Your laughter seems to infect Dean, who laughs softly.

Maybe being a hunter isn't so bad after all...

Please don't translate or copy my work and don't repost on other social networks, if there are any grammatical errors I ask you to excuse me!

[akirakirxaa]

Either 5 or 17 for that list.

Stares at you. You are going to use this to develop your hok.😊

[Alright everyone I fell down the Oblivion rabbit hole so for context, this is for my main character, Lyvia. Most of these will be going on my main, @akirakirxaa-ooc, so if you'd like to see more of Lyvia make sure to follow me over there!]

Prompt: “Here, lean on me. I can carry you.”

Lyvia slides inelegantly from her horse; her legs tremble as she barely remains upright, one arm tucked against her side uselessly as she barely catches herself on the wall of the stable with the other. She's ridden for probably longer than her condition really would like for her to, but the ache lancing up through her left arm was demanding care, and her own unpracticed healing spells and basic potions had done nothing to ease it. So she had pushed the beast as hard as she had dared, determined to get back to the best healer she knows. Lyvia barely manages to undo the saddle and bridle, sliding them off the pretty paint and onto the ground before leading her into her stall. She hopes there's food for her, but she didn't have the wherewithal to check; if there's not, she's certain stable hands will be there soon enough come dawn. Stumbling back into the thickly falling snow, shivers wrack her body as the flakes melt on her gear almost on contact, soaking the clothes under her armor and making the chill of the wind in even such a short walk worse.

One shaking hand reaches out to pry open the large, heavy door of Cloud Ruler Temple, and, even at such a distance from the main hall's fireplace, the relief from its warmth is nearly enough to make Lyvia forget the pain in her arm. One last vengeful gust blows from behind her, though, driving a chill up her spine and disturbing the papers scattered over two tables. Said tables' occupant glances up, the barest hint of annoyance on his face melting away at the sight of her.

"Lyvia!" Martin stands quickly, grabbing the papers that had flown askew and weighing them down with various books and inkwells. "I didn't think you'd ride in this storm. Come closer to the fire." He picks his way quickly around the benches and tables, reaching for her, and she lets him guide her by her good hand closer to the intoxicating warmth. She shuts her eyes, just for a moment, to enjoy the heat and the familiarity. Now she only wishes that her arm would stop throbbing.

"I wouldn't have," she mumbles. "But I have an issue I need some help with—"

"You're deathly pale, you should have stopped somewhere warm until it blew over!" he scolds, and she opens her eyes again; he's taken her by the shoulders and is scanning her face with intense concern. She opens her mouth to explain that there had been no time, that her arm worsened no matter what she did to it, but suddenly the room spins, and Martin only barely catches her before her legs crumple. Lyvia sets her jaw and tries to stand under her own power again, but he holds her close regardless, guiding her carefully to a nearby bench.

"Easy now, lean on me, I have you," he mutters to her, settling her in place, and… And it always feels strange to have someone preoccupied with her well-being. Everywhere she's gone since Kvatch, she's had to do the saving but— "Now, what happened?"

"I was working on something for the Guild," she starts, and hisses as he takes the arm still tucked close to her. "And I found out an acquaintance was in trouble. Bad trouble, the kind of trouble he might not walk away from." She can't help the pained yelp when he pulls her gauntlet away, and he shoots her a look of apology before pulling up her sleeve (concernedly covered in blood; some dry, some fresh). The wound beneath is an angry red, much more so than when she'd last checked it that morning. And despite her attempts to heal it and the time she's spent traveling, the little oval of teeth marks still look as if she'd been attacked just hours ago. He looks back to her face, eyes flickering to her cheeks and her lips, analytical, before peering at her eyes.

"Lyvia, what bit you?"

"…I had to, the prisoners were going missing—"

"What bit you?"

"…The prisoners called her 'The Pale Lady'," Lyvia swallows the dryness in her throat as Martin presses his hand to her forehead; his skin feels cool in comparison. "She would take the prisoners away and they'd never be seen again. She took my friend, Amusei, and I couldn't just leave him—"

"I know you couldn't," his voice is smooth and calm, despite the worry she can still see in his eyes. "However, I believe this 'Pale Lady' was likely pale because she was a vampire." Lyvia blinks at him for a few moments as he returns to investigating the bite on her arm, prodding carefully at the puffy skin around it with fingers and magic.

"Then…then am I—"

"No," Martin leaves his scrutiny of the wound for a moment, taking her hand and running a thumb over her knuckles reassuringly. "But — as much as I hate to encourage riding in a near blizzard — it's good you got here so quickly. Had you not, it likely wouldn't have been much longer until you had reached the final stage, as it were." He stands, straightening his robes slightly before offering her his hand. Lyvia hesitates, just for a moment, before taking it, and he helps her to her feet. She tries to stand on her own, but moments later she's held snuggly against his chest, and she can only presume that her stance had not been as steady as it felt.

She's not sure if the fluttering in her stomach is a side effect of her addled senses.

"Here, you can hold onto me. I'm plenty capable of carrying you," he assures, adjusting so that her good arm is wrapped around his shoulders, walking slightly hunched so she could reach comfortably. "I have some scrolls and potions in my quarters that can fix this up for you." Lyvia knows this time that the heat in her face has nothing to do with the fever raging through her.

"The barracks are closer, I could wait there."

"Lyvia," Martin scolds lightly. "I'm not treating a patient, let alone my dear friend, on a glorified bedroll." And what exactly is she to say to that? So she shuffles along with him, almost certain that her legs aren't truly helping much at all, and is grateful that the pallor she knows has taken all but her infected arm hides the heat in her face. They stumble together up the few stairs; Lyvia regrets that she can't offer much in the way of help, but it seems that she truly arrived just in time as her strength is fading fast.

Or, just maybe, she's spent so long running on the fear of this wound that defies healing and now, finally somewhere she feels safe, clinging to someone she feels safe with, the exhaustion of the past several days is hitting all at once.

When they finally reach the Emperor's quarters, Lyvia is past the point of caring (well, as much) that it's Martin's bedroom and is more focused on just wanting badly to rest. He gently takes the gauntlet from her good hand and helps her steady herself against the footboard of the grand bed taking up a large part of the room. She determinedly stares at her hand clutching the wood as he undoes her armor with utmost care; it's practical, she thinks to herself, just practicality. She needs rest and she can hardly do that in her armor, even with it being much lighter than what others might wear. Soon enough, she's left in just the pants and shirt she wore to protect her skin from the metal, and even though it's still somewhat damp from the snow, the fire in the hall had dried much of it. She thinks she might have died on the spot if she'd needed help changing her clothes and not just removing her armor. Her gaze lingers on the dirt under her nails, the smudges on her skin, as Martin adjusts the bedding.

"I should probably wash up first," Lyvia's voice is weaker than she'd like it to be, but surely she could handle at least sponging herself off. She looks up to see Martin frowning at her and knows he disagrees, emphatically.

"I am not worried about sheets," he insists, approaching and wrapping one arm around her waist to help her around to where he'd pulled the coverlets back. "I'm worried about you." He carefully lowers her to the mattress, helping her as she awkwardly adjusts herself with one arm until she's nestled amongst a nest of incredibly soft pillows and blankets nicer than anything she'd ever had the luxury of even touching before. She's more comfortable than she's been… certainly in the last few weeks, and quite honestly maybe ever, and it would be so easy to just let herself sleep.

"Stay awake a little longer for me, my friend," Martin says softly, a gentle squeeze of her hand dragging her back just barely from her rest. Lyvia looks up at him and she thinks it must be the fog cloaking her mind making him look so soft and lovely by the candlelight. He gives her a reassuring smile before going to rummage among the bookshelves around the room. She watches him quietly, pondering the little speck of warmth blooming in her chest.

They're friends; unlikely ones, even. The runaway daedra worshipping thief and the Akatosh worshipping Emperor-to-be. She's deeply grateful that he sees her as worth being friends with, even if she can't see why. She would be foolish to wish for anything more. Greedy.

And yet.

"Here we are," Martin returns with a bottle in one hand and a somewhat-weathered scroll in the other. "I'm afraid this potion isn't going to taste very good, but it's important you drink it all, alright?" Lyvia eyes the bottle with as much trepidation as she would an oblivion gate, but relents easily. She takes it with her good hand, carefully noting it's already unstoppered, and begins to drink. The liquid is hopelessly bitter on her tongue and she grimaces deeply, but refuses to do something so childish as trying to spit it out. As she fights her battle against the potion, Martin turns his attention to the wound on her left arm, drawing the magic from the scroll and applying it far more skillfully than she's ever managed, even with spells she knows well. By the time she finishes the bottle and he's finished applying his spell, the pain in her arm has nearly vanished, and even in her exhaustion notices her skin has already regained its color.

It unfortunately also means that instead of the sting of the bite, her skin tingles where he runs his hand over it to check that the wound is fully healed. She swallows as quietly as she can, clinging to the glass flask and tinking her nails against it as a distraction. Ridiculous, she is being absolutely ridiculous. She's simply tired, bone tired, and it's clear that it's just making him seem like…

He favors her with a warm glance, and she thinks for one ambitious moment that she can handle walking back to the barracks after all.

"I'm happy to declare you completely free of porphyric hemophilia, my friend," he smiles softly at her with something like relief. "Before you leave next, perhaps we should supply you with some disease cures to take with you, hmm?" Lyvia hums agreeably, but finds that between the dim candlelight (growing dimmer as the sticks burned down), the comfortable bedding, and the now-lack of pain, sleep's siren song tugs incessantly at her, weighing on her eyelids as her aching, travel-worn muscles finally relax.

She isn't sure if she dreams the kiss to her forehead or not.

[thechaoticdruid]

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts (1)

Pairing: Astarion x F!Tav

Plot: Tav and Astarion have been settling in to life in the Underdark, trying their damnedest to find a good lead on the Ring of the Sun Walker when suddenly a distress message from an old friend lands them in a place they certainly did not see coming. An extravagant soiree hosted by a very eccentric stranger!

Content/Warnings: First chapter focuses on Tav and Astarion's life so far. Chubby Tav, Tav uses She/her pronouns, Violence and slight gore, brief nudity, suggestive content, mentions of Astarion's trauma, descriptions of a panic attack, Tav based on my own (human druid) Tav. Possible smut in future chapters. Grammar/spelling mistakes are possible. Ooc moments are possible, slight angst, comfort, fluff.

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The dark cold caverns of the Underdark were definitely not anyone's first vacation destination. They were perilous, full of several bloodthirsty beasts just waiting to tear even the most skilled of adventurers apart.  

“HEY ASSHAT! OVER HERE DUMBASS! LOOK AT MEEEE!” A young human woman shouted, waving her arms around like a complete fool.

She stuck her tongue and blew a raspberry up at a massive figure. A towering green humanoid with multiple limbs and multiple heads, only wearing a loin cloth and what appeared to be a belt made of human skulls. 

The human was short, chubby, dressed in a red cloak embroidered with little wolves on it and druidic armor tucked underneath.  She continued to mock the beast pointing two middle fingers at it. The beast growled and began to charge towards the much smaller human female.

“That's it, dumb fuck! Come to Tav!” The druid smirked, getting into a fighting stance and she looked up above.  A flaming arrow came down fast, hitting the beast in one of its foreheads.

It let out a loud low growl of pain, almost immediately shouting something in its strange native tongue. Tav couldn't for the life of her figure out what it was saying, but she was pretty sure it was far from intelligent.  Tav glanced back towards the origin of the arrow with a smile seeing her ivory haired elven lover perched up upon a high cliff. 

“Excellent aim as always, my Star!” Tav cheered. 

“Hells Teeth Tav! Get out of the way!” Her lover exclaimed. The monster lunged over for Tav, seeming to recover from its wound rather quickly before going in to grab the human female in one of its huge hands, attempting to crush her. 

Tav simply smirked before suddenly changing her shape, taking the form of a large owlbear and sinking her claws into the beast's arm before leaping away, using her wings to glide a good distance between her and the monstrosity.

The elf huffed as he reached back, grabbing for another fire arrow only to realize he had used the last one. Looks like he'd have to improvise.

“Ignis.” He recited the incantation before shooting a firebolt right at the creature’s main face, setting it ablaze and allowing Tav to get in some slashes across its lower body. The beast flailed and screamed, kicking Tav in the face and knocking her down into the ground with powerful force before charging towards the elf's advantage point.

“Shit.” The silver haired male cursed before beginning to make a run for it, only to have the ground crumble beneath him.

“Astarion!” Tav screamed, now returned to her human form, pure horror in her eyes as she saw the giant beast slam its body into the ledge her beloved had been standing on. He let out a shout as he began to fall, so close to hitting the ground before a black blur flew over and took hold of the back of his doublet.  Tav growled in anger before conjuring a thorn covered vine using her magic before lassoing it around the monster’s throat. 

Astarion blinked noticing he hadn't hit the ground, the sound of flapping wings and huffing could be heard above him.

“Ugh ... .Star, you're so heavy!” A little voice said before suddenly Astarion was gently placed on his feet. He looked back to see a black fluffy tressym huffing before slowly landing on the ground, very winded from having to hold up the elf with her tiny body.   

“Darling, where in the hells have you been?” Astarion stared down at the little black tressym as she caught her breath. 

“I tried to go catch that half-elf trader before he got too far! I think he conned us on that sun walker map!” The tressym exclaimed.

“You think?” Astarion rolled his eyes before gesturing to gigantic green humanoid.

“FUCK MEEEEEE!!!!!” Tav screamed as she was yanked up from the ground by the enormous creature as it yanked its neck hard, pulling both Tav and her vine lasso and slinging them around. 

“Tav!” Astarion quickly dashed over as Tav went flying through the air. He swiftly leaped up and caught her before tumbling down with her on top of him. “My darling, are you alright?” He asked, voice full of concern. Tav immediately got up off the elven male seemingly ignoring him. 

“I'm gonna kick some green prick’s ass!” She shouted before running back towards the beast.

Astarion huffed in annoyance, his love could be so difficult at times. It excited him back when they had first met. Her eagerness to rush into danger and slaughter her foes without a second thought truly got him going, but now that he had come to care for her so deeply things were different. He was terrified of anything happening to her. Astarion let out a sigh before drawing his bow and notching an arrow, aiming at the head he had previously been able to set ablaze.  His arrow was able to tear right through the beast, leaving blood to pour from its skull. Its other heads roared in pain as the creature flailed its arms around frantically.

Tav then suddenly remembered something she had hidden in her pack and given the creature’s distraction, now was the perfect opportunity to use it. She quickly pulled out a scroll of fireball before reciting the incantation and firing right at the monster, setting its entire body aflame. The beast twitched and spasmed, crying out in pure agony before eventually falling flat on its back, body burnt to a crisp as the life depleted from its eyes. Tav took a deep breath before running up and kicking what was left of the charred corpse.

“Take that you big green bitch!” She huffed. Astarion wiped some sweat from his brow before letting out a sigh of relief as he watched his lover take out her frustration on the carcass. 

“Goods gods. A dire-troll…” The winged cat exclaimed as she scurried over towards the couple. 

“Oh…So that's what this thing was? I had no idea those were in the Underdark.” Tav blinked before looking over at their feline companion. “Did you have luck spying on that merchant, Maddie?” 

“I believe he was making his way back to the Myconid colony. Considering we were almost killed following this map he gave us I think it's safe to assume we got scammed.” Maddie stated.

“You're right. Nothing out here but a dead end and a dead troll.” Tav sighed, stretching her arms behind her head. 

“I told you I thought he was a rogue. Why didn't you tell me you suspected he was scamming us?” Astarion asked.

“I didn't want to crush your hopes of finding the ring of the sunwalker.” Tav sighed.

“Darling, we were both almost literally crushed today.” Astarion crossed his arms. “Perhaps we should forget about feelings if there's a chance we're walking into certain death, hm?” 

“Sorry….” Tav looked down, hanging her head in shame before feeling Astarion's cool hands cup her face and make her look at him. 

“I'm not angry at you, I just don't want you getting hurt on my behalf, love.” He said before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We will find this magic sun ring in time, but you must be by my side when we do.”  He looked down at her fondly, eyes round and full of love. Tav couldn't help but give in to the smile that was creeping its way across her face as she glanced back up at her love. Maddie then suddenly cleared her throat as she looked up at her humanoid companions.

“I do hate to interrupt this beautiful moment my friends, but there is the matter of the man who conned us out of 1000 gold pieces for that map.” The tressym exclaimed, tapping a paw against the ground.

“Right. That bastard owes us money.” Tav said as she pulled away from her partner. “Hmm…You know Astarion, we could always invite him out for bite ...if you have the appetite, my Star.” 

“Oh my love, you know I simply adore it when you treat me to dinner.” Astarion flicked his tongue over his fangs, a sadistic grin making its way onto his face. “I'm salivating just thinking about it.~” 

“I always make sure to take good care of my man.” Tav boasted with a smug grin, giving her vampiric love a wink. “Come on Maddie, let's go pay this con man a visit.

“Yes, of course Tav.” Maddie said before hopping up onto Tav's shoulder and hitching a ride on her. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once they tracked down the merchant who scammed them, took back their gold and allowed Astarion to have a nice little treat, the trio returned to their current abode to rest up after a tiring day of adventuring in the Underdark.  Tav and Astarion had taken up residence in the old abandoned Arcane Tower after getting assistance repairing it from the Kuo-Toa. Conveniently the fish folk had still believed Tav to be some god of murder and were easily convinced to build her a palace for her and her murderous bride (which was what they referred to Astarion as).

It was less building a palace and more so just doing renovations on the tower to make it more homey as Astarion put it. Once they returned home, Tav went down to the basement with Maddie trailing after her. Since her and her former companions had cured themselves of their tadpoles and defeated a threat to all of Faerûn she'd began to take up some wizard skills, studying the weave and expanding her abilities.

She'd honestly always wanted to be a wizard, but when you grow up in a family full of druids, in a village full of druids you don't exactly have that many options. Tav opened up one of her journals, sketching a little doodle of the dire-troll she fought today before looking through one of the magical tomes Gale had sent to her from Waterdeep. She studied the pages, taking in the different techniques and incantations for fire spells. These definitely would have been hells of a lot more help earlier today. Maddie leapt up on the desk Tav sat at in the basement, stretching out her wings before letting out a yawn and taking a seat next to Tav. 

“Star was asking for you Tav.” The little feline spoke up in her sweet high sounding voice. “He said he patched up the tear in your cloak.” 

“Tell him I said thanks, but I'm busy right now.” Tav muttered, trying to concentrate on reading the current page she was on. 

“He also said something about gagging you and tying you up if you keep ruining the clothes he makes you?” The tressym tilted her head innocently, a bit confused by Astarion's threat.

“Oh well, that's nice.” Tav said, barely paying any attention.  She was too invested in the tome to even hear the noise of the elevator coming down, followed light footsteps moving across the stairs.

“Darling, just what exactly are you doing down here?” Astarion suddenly took a step behind her, causing Tav to jump.

“AH! Hells Astarion!” She said, turning back to see him, crossing his arms. 

“I thought I told that cat to fetch you…” Astarion huffed and glanced over at Maddie with a raised brow.

“I'm a tressym!” Maddie pouted, ears shooting straight back. Astarion ignored her offended demeanor and focused solely on Tav.

“I'm trying to study…You know wizard stuff…” Tav sighed before looking up at her needy vampire boyfriend.  

“And you can't just read this upstairs? With me?” Astarion stepped over to Tav before suddenly planting himself on her lap and snaking his arms around her shoulders. If it wasn't for Tav’s well filled out form he probably would have squished her. The position honestly looked a little funny given he was taller than her.  

“Not when you do stuff like this.” Tav pouted, a blush spreading across her face as he sat on her lap, muscular ass pressed down on her thigh. “I know you don't have much to do when we're here but I need to study. This could be so useful for when we're out there searching for that ring!” Tav gave him a small smile. 

“You already know enough magic as it is, you're a druid for gods sake. I don't see the point in forcing yourself to do this unnecessary work.” Astarion huffed. 

“Please Star this is important to me. Just give me a little longer. Then we can do whatever you want.” Tav hummed, looking back at him with puppy dog eyes. 

“Oh alright. You have twenty minutes. Then you and I are getting a bath.” He smirked before planting a kiss on her cheek and getting up. Tav continued on with her studies before eventually getting up and joining her lover in a hot bath he'd prepared for the two of them. Tav stripped down her armor and undergarments before exposing her thick curvaceous form and getting into the tub beside him. All the stretch marks, creases, lumps and imperfections were completely on show for the vampire to see.

It had honestly taken a long time before she had become confident enough to expose herself in front of him so casually, but she'd come so far.  Not too long ago she'd thought of herself unworthy of having a lover.  Funny how things could change so drastically.  Astarion at times practically worshipped this body she loathed so greatly.

Tav still didn't understand it.

“You know you could probably try finding a hobby, Star. Something besides killing, and me…” Tav hummed a bit as her elven lover washed her messy locks. “You're very good at sewing. Why not try that? The cloak you made for me is gorgeous.” 

“And yet you ripped it.” Astarion rolled his eyes as Tav sat between his legs.

“Technically the troll ripped it.” Tav sassed, before wincing at a slight tug on her hair. 

“Yes well who's fault is that now is it?” Astarion smirked. 

“You fixed it though, didn't you?” Tav grinned, turning back to look at him,“see this is a perfect hobby.”

“You just want me to be your personal seamstress don't you?” Astarion booped Tav's nose playfully.

“Would that be so terrible?” Tav tilted her head.

“Maybe not…I will admit I do rather like dressing you up…. Almost as much as I like undressing you.” He growled in her ear before planting a kiss on her neck. Tav couldn't help but giggle, feeling him wrap his arms around her ribs, pulling her back against his chest before resting his chin on top of her head with a sigh. “This is nice…” He hummed, resting his eyes. Tav let out a peaceful sigh before relaxing against him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peace never truly lasts. Eventually there's always something that comes along to throw one’s world back into chaos.  

Tav and Astarion had gone to bed, all snuggled up in their elegant silky sheets Tav had been able to purchase. She used funds she'd made while writing her popular book series ‘Blood-Mage’ (a ridiculously smutty novel featuring a handsome young sorcerer named Garrett Delarous who ends up forced to team up with Vampire Lord Arian Arcane to save the world or something…).

Tav laid there, bloodshot eyes staring at the ceiling while Astarion tranced beside her, arms wrapped around her plush waist as his head rested against her chest.  Usually Astarion’s embrace was enough to keep her anxiety fueled insomnia away but tonight her mind would not still. Too many thoughts ran a muck in her head, never calming down. It was almost maddening. 

Eventually she shut her eyes, trying her damndest to relax and drift away. She did a little exercise where she'd picture herself sleeping in her mind, thinking of the cool feeling of the sheets, the softness of her mattress and the comfort of her lover's arms.  Tav was so, so very close to drifting away, but then the worse happened.

“No! G-Get away!” A voice whimpered out beside her, sending Tav on high alert. Astarion had jerked away from her. “Master please! No more!” 

“Astarion.” Tav sat up and looked over at her panicked love.  She moved quickly to shake him awake, fearful he may hurt himself in his unconscious state with his thrashing.

“GET THE HELLS AWAY FROM ME!” He hissed, fangs barred as he dug his nails into the bed. Astarion was wide awake now, breathing quickly, frantically. His eyes were filled with terror as tears formed in the corners. 

“My love…. It's me….Tav…” Tav said calmly getting off the bed to give him space. “No one is going to hurt you. You're safe.”

“I….I saw him again….” The elf shakily choked out. “He was reciting poetry…as he carved it into my flesh...” Astarion took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure but he still shook like a leaf. “I'll never get rid of that fucking bastard!” 

“Cazador is dead, Astarion. He will never hurt you again.” Tav said calmly. “I will never let anyone hurt you again…” 

“You can't promise that Tav.” Astarion huffed, “he still lives in my head.”  The druid slowly moved towards him, heart aching as she noticed a tear running down his cheek.  

“You're so strong my love. I know you can overcome these demons, but I'm also here when you need me.” Tav said, slowly taking a seat back on the bed. She moved her hand towards him slightly, but not too close, just close enough for him to grab if need be. It took a few more moments before Astarion glanced back over at Tav, slowly intertwining his hand with hers and giving it a squeeze. “If you want to talk about it I will listen.” Tav said. 

“I don't…” Astarion said simply. 

“Well then I won't pry…” Tav gave him a sad smile. Astarion turned towards her before pulling her close and burying his face into her neck, arms slipping around her waist. She shushed him, rubbing circles on his back in a soothing manor. 

Astarion's old master was dead and gone, but he was certainly not forgotten. Tav knew better than most that the scars of the mind were far worse than the scars of the body.  All she could really do now was stay by her lover's side and whisper sweet nothings into his pointed ears.  

Eventually the two gave up on sleep for a bit. Tav had Astarion sit in one of their armchairs adorned in his eccentric silky red night robe as she scampered over to their cooking pot in only a tank and boxers. She grabbed one of the blood bank jars they kept stored away before pouring some into a mug and heating it over the fire just enough so it would appear fresh. She took the mug back over to Astarion once it was ready and gave it to him.  

“Thank you darling. I.. I'm sorry I must have woken you.” He muttered before sipping from his cup. 

“No. I actually haven't been able to sleep myself. My mind just won't settle down I suppose.” Tav hummed. 

“Were you thinking about the drow again?” Astarion asked. 

“Oh no…I..for once it wasn't him…Just a lot on my mind…Nothing important really.” 

“Tav! Astarion!” Suddenly Maddie's small voice called out as she came up the elevator and into their room.  “There is something very important you guys need to see in the basement!!!” The little black tressym flapped her wings in a panic before galloping over to them. The vampire and druid looked at each other before following their furry and feathered friend downstairs before eventually being met with a familiar face. 

Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep…or his projection self anyway. 

“Good evening, I come with an urgent message from Professor Gale of Waterdeep. He is in grave danger and is in dire need of your help.” The projection said.

“What? Can't the wizard take care of himself for one evening!” Astarion let out a frustrated sigh before crossing his arms.

“What happened!? Where's Gale?” Tav asked.

“The details of his predicament have been left enclosed in an envelope on your desk.” 

Tav hummed in confusion before walking over to her desk and tearing the envelope open. She expected a letter or maybe some cryptic message entailing that Gale was being held hostage in some dungeon somewhere, but no, all that stood out was an invitation to a formal extravagant soiree being thrown by some noble in Waterdeep. 

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Note From TheChaoticDruid: THIS IS THE SURPRISE I'D BEEN TEASING A WHILE BACK! I honestly wanted to do a fic like this ever since I'd seen people asking for a fancy party type of quest in BG3 and I was like yeah.....I want that too! Imma have to do some research for the next bit so don't expect super fast updates, but it will be continued.

Hope you enjoyed! And to all the people who recognize Maddie, you get this cookie 🫴🍪. Y'all are the real ones. 😎

~Druid