#White Fang found her again

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Mad Woman"

ok yall im out of school now! this was rushed so don't judge, when i write i just pour out whatever's in my head, that's why it's almost always rushed. i feel like if i don't write it, it'll disappeare! also to everyone hating in my asks, NO ONE IS FORCING YOU TO READ MY WORK!!!! hating does nothing but discourage me and lower my already non-existent confidence in my writing. pls leave me alone, if you don't have anything nice to say; don't say anything. i LOVE all my positive asks and comments, they make my day. don't ruin it for me.

Prologue: hapter 1: Chapter 2: Chapter 3: Chapter 4: Chapter 5 Chapter 6:

Six months, that's how long it's been since Bruce exiled you to New York and left you alone once again. It's been 387 days since Tiffany Maverick pulled the rug from beneath your feet and ensnared your family in her web of lies and manipulation. For six months, your family ignored you, only Alfred sending you the occasional care package which you promptly threw in the garbage.

You wish Tiffany and Damian were as content with ignoring you as the rest of the family but unfortunately, they went out of their way to rub their closeness in your face by sending you pictures of family movie night, family game night, and the family attending their school events. It made you angry at first, before you saw how funny it was. A family of billionaires, a family of detectives, a family of vigilantes, sitting next to a spy; obliviously feeding her insider information. The Batman, sitting grinning ear to ear next to a girl who could be his downfall.

Surprisingly, boarding school was amazing. The boys were hot, though most arrogant and dumb, they were all loaded and into you. The girls idolized you from the moment you walked in, your word was law around here and the power felt amazing. You decided what was in and out, who was hot and who was not; a huge difference and change of pace from the years of bullying and ridicule at Gotham Prep.

The charm came with your new abilities, most likely. Sure, the first two months were fucking painful and exposed you to pain you didn't think was possible but it was a small price to pay. It was nothing for the power of being able to charm and flirt your way out of just about anything, being able to eject venom with the slightest trace of your fresh set of acrylics, being able to literally bite people with your fangs and have them enjoy it, sensing heat signatures and feeling emotions and eyes on you, having the ability to give literal bone-crushing hugs, and so many things you haven't even discovered.

Not to mention your random overnight makeover! Suddenly, your figure was to die for, perfect in all senses of the word. Your skin gleamed and shimmered in the light, long shed away were all the blemishes and scars. Your hair always shiny and your teeth always pearly white, albeit a bit sharp. You're the image of beauty.

Who cares about the price when the product was this good anyway?

Who needed familial love when everyone here worshipped you? That new view and utter hatred for the family is what convinced you to accept Ariele, your boarding school bff and roomie,'s offer to spend summer break with her family in the south of france. Of course, you wanted to go back to manor for a week before meeting her there. Alfred asked you to come and though you were angry at him, you missed the old man. You swore to yourself that you'd only stay the night, catch up with Alfred, and ignore your 'family' then promptly spend the summer half naked, tanning on a super yacht with your girls.

Little did you know that you'd never make it to france, in fact, you wouldn't even make it out the manor now that Tim discovered the truth and told the rest of the family.

Tim Drake noticed things. Small things. Minute details that other people might overlook. That's how he found the truth.

It started with the cooking. Tiffany had casually mentioned one evening that she’d found some old recipes in the manor’s archives, recipes that you had once written down, hoping to impress Damian with Arabic dinners and desserts. Tiffany had barely glanced at the handwritten notes before she had offered to make dinner that night—a perfect replica of your signature stuffed cabbage leaves, Malfoof, as you called it.

Tim had been there when it happened. He’d recognized it immediately. The dish was one of your favorites, one you had made for family dinners. It was too familiar, too precise for Tiffany, it lacked the usual love and effort.

Then came the awards. It was subtle at first, too. Tiffany casually dropping that she had “entered a local baking competition” and how much fun it had been to win. Tim had known that you had been the one to actually win that competition the year before, he remembered rolling his eyes as you foolishly tried to impress him. But when he checked the award Tiffany had won? It looked eerily similar to the one that you had earned. Tiffany didn’t even bother hiding her gloating as she showed it off, calling it “another step toward making Gotham proud.”

Tim’s stomach churned. It wasn’t a coincidence. Tiffany was stealing your life and he was the only one that saw it. Who knows what else she was stealing.

The pieces clicked into place when he found the old photo albums. Tiffany had been snooping around the library one afternoon, pulling out albums that had been tucked away in the back, ones that hadn’t been touched in years. They were full of memories of your achievements, pictures of family vacations, awards won for charity work and academic excellence. Baby photo's, old camera's, journals, even old clothes.It wasn’t just admiration. It was an obsession.

He saw her dig through and read every one of your old entries, saw her stare at pictures and attempt to manuever her body how you stood, but what really creeped him out was when she started tracing over your handwriting.

Tim couldn’t let it go. This was insane. It was almost as if Tiffany wanted to wear your skin.

It wasn’t that he wanted to make Tiffany an enemy or villainize her, quite the opposite actually, he'd been ignoring her strange behavior and smell for a year now because of how fond he was of her. But this? This was crossing a line. She wasn’t just trying to fit in anymore, this was dangerous.

He now suspected there was more to Tiffany than just her obsession with your life and after putting the pieces together, it was becoming clear: Tiffany was playing a much deeper game. She wasn’t just trying to steal your identity, she was stealing information, too.

Tim’s investigative skills had been honed through years of being the tech guy of the Batfamily, and when something felt off, he didn’t ignore it. Not anymore, he started tracking small anomalies—times when Tiffany’s presence seemed too convenient, moments when crucial data about Gotham’s underworld went missing from the Batcomputer, or when confidential mission details were leaked through channels Tim knew the Batfamily didn’t use. Times when the Joker seemed to know the family's course of action and times when villains knew Duke's plans.

That’s when it clicked.

Tiffany wasn’t just trying to fit in with the family. She was spying. Her affections with the family were a cover for something darker. She had been gathering intelligence for a shadowy organization, feeding them vital information about their operations. This was bigger than him—this was a full-blown infiltration. Tiffany was working for someone else, someone dangerous.

Tiffany’s betrayal ran deep, and her spying wasn’t just about information anymore; it was personal. She had been stealing pieces of your life, your successes, your talents , your family. She had slowly taken everything that you had worked for and twisted it into her own false narrative. It was sickening.

Tim couldn’t stand it anymore. He had dug through encrypted files, tracked hidden transmissions, and pieced together cryptic conversations. Tiffany wasn’t just trying to steal your identity for the sake of becoming the perfect family member. No. She was mimicking your cooking and baking skills, down to the awards she had won for those very talents. She had been trying to erase you and replace you with a manufactured version of herself.

It was almost too much for Tim to handle. But there was something even worse lurking beneath the surface: the deeper he dug, the more it became clear that Tiffany wasn’t just feeding information to criminals. She had been feeding off your spirit, your presence and she had nearly replaced you entirely.

Now he just needed to tell the other.

The tension in the Batcave could be cut with a knife as Tim stood before Bruce, Dick, Jason, Damian, Duke, Cass, Steph, Barbara, and Alfred, ready to show them what he had discovered.

“I’ve been tracking Tiffany’s movements for the last few days,” Tim began, his voice low but sharp. “And I found something that’s... unsettling.”

Bruce, who had been scanning a mission report, looked up with interest. Dick turned to Tim, a puzzled expression on his face. Alfred stepped forward, his usual composed demeanor now replaced with a rare concern. Even Damian looked confused.

“What did you find, Master Tim?” Alfred asked, his tone calm, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes.

Tim didn’t hesitate. He clicked a button on the computer, and the large screen behind him flickered to life. A series of encrypted files appeared—mission logs, surveillance footage, and even intercepted communications. The Batcave was suffocating in its silence as Tim presented the evidence to Bruce, Dick, Jason, Alfred, and the others. His fingers flew over the keyboard, and every new image, every new file, felt like a punch in the gut.

There was a long silence as everyone processed the information. Bruce’s usual stoic expression faltered for a moment, and Dick clenched his fists. The weight of the revelation was hitting hard, but it wasn’t just the betrayal that hurt. It was that someone in their midst had been pulling the strings behind their backs for a year.

The data was damning. It was all there, proof that Tiffany had been copying your recipes, your designs, your machines, even stealing the culinary awards that you had earned over the years. And on top of that, she had been siphoning critical Batfamily intel to an unknown organisation. The information was so sensitive, it could have jeopardized every single one of them.

“Do you see it now?” Tim’s voice was quieter, but his anger was unmistakable. He flicked the last file onto the screen. Tiffany’s false accomplishments, stolen directly from you. The stolen recipes. The mission intel sent out from the Batcomputer under her watch. “All of us have been blind to it.”

“About a month ago,” Tim said, “I found an odd encryption pattern in the Batcomputer—something I’ve never seen before. When I decrypted it, I found a set of mission details. Ones that shouldn’t have left the system. I traced the origin back to Tiffany.”

Alfred's face tightened as he took in the footage on the screen. It was a recording of Tiffany accessing classified Batfamily data, tapping into their most sensitive files.

“She’s been stealing information,” Tim continued, his voice gaining intensity. “Every single time she’s interacted with the Batcomputer, she’s been sending that data out to an unknown address. I can't track where it's coming from, it's too advanced; even for me.

“Impossible,” Bruce muttered, but his eyes were narrowing in disbelief. “Why would she—?”

“Because she’s a spy,” Tim interrupted, “and it gets worse. She’s been feeding them everything. Our weaknesses, our next moves, our schedules. She’s not just a mole in the manor. She’s been working against us this whole time. She's why so many missions have failed.Tim’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not just the family’s accomplishments she’s been stealing. She’s been getting close to each of us, using our trust. She knows things, personal things, and she’s been leaking that information. She’s been feeding it to the highest bidder, giving Gotham’s worst players a playbook for taking us down.”

Dick’s face twisted with disbelief. “She was pretending to be (y/n), taking her accomplishments as her own, but—” He trailed off, his voice faltering. “How could we have let this happen? How did we not notice?”

Jason’s voice cut through the heavy silence, rough and sharp, like a crack of thunder. He stepped forward, fists clenched. “I should’ve known. She’s been playing everyone, pretending like she’s all sweet and innocent, but she was using all of us.” Jason’s eyes flicked to the screen, then back at Tim, his face a mask of fury. “She lied to me. She’s been lying to all of us. And she’s been trying to replace her.” His hand slammed onto the table, and the anger in his voice was unmistakable. “She doesn’t belong here. We trusted her. We all trusted her.” Jason’s anger bubbled over. This betrayal, the way Tiffany had wormed her way into their lives, made him see red

He couldn’t keep it in any longer. “I should’ve known,” Jason spat, pacing in circles, his fists clenched tight at his sides. “I let her get close to me. I let her in, we all did! And now look at this. She’s been pretending to be everything she’s not. She’s been trying to take her place, her rightful place in this family!”

Alfred, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat, his voice filled with quiet but growing fury. “I should have seen it,” he muttered, his gaze darkening. “I was too lenient with her. I allowed her to slip through the cracks, to play at being part of this family. I should have known better.” His usually calm demeanor was cracking, and the regret in his voice was palpable.

Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line as the weight of Tim’s words sank in. His eyes hardened as he stared at the screen, disappointment creeping into his features. Tiffany had been their guest, their supposed family, and this whole time, she had been playing them all. You had tried to warn them.

Duke, who had been standing quietly at the back of the room, spoke up. His voice was low but steady.

“I knew something was off,” Duke said, his eyes fixed on the screen. “I couldn’t put my finger on it, but... she’d been acting weird around me. Always asking questions—asking about the family, the missions, everything. I thought I was paranoid.”

Damian had always been fiercely protective of what he considered his, no one could ever doubt that. He mocked you, saw you as his pathetic bastard older sister, he had wanted to hurt you. But now, as the reality of Tiffany’s betrayal settled in, something darker began to take root inside him. He remember your unconditional love for him, how you took everything he said did to you with grace and compassion. He remembered how good you were to him. He noticed that everything he thought he loved about Tiffany was what she stole from you. His eyes burned with rage as he thought about how Tiffany had wormed her way into the family and his heart, how she’d stolen your accomplishments, and how she’d attempted to erase his sibling from the very fabric of their world.

She was trying to replace her. That thought alone made his fists tighten, nails biting into his palms.

It had been a long time since Damian had felt this kind of protective rage. He was the blood of the Wayne family, the one who deserved to be at the center of it all, but you; his blood sibling, his equal, had always been ignored, undervalued ridiculed and neglected. And now Tiffany, a mere interloper, had dared to manipulate and tear him away from you.

Damian watched the family, his gaze flicking to each of them as they tried to process the betrayal. The anger from his family was palpable, but there was something else there too: possessiveness. Protectiveness. regret. They weren’t just angry at Tiffany for what she had done to you, they were furious at themselves for pushing you away and leaving you alone and unprotected in New York.

You were his responsibility, his blood, and no one; not even Tiffany, was going to steal you away from him. He had always wanted to prove his superiority to the others, but now that wasn’t his focus. His attention was fixed solely on bringing you back to him, where you belonged.

Cass, who had been silently observing, nodded. Her face was unreadable, but the tension in her jaw told Tim that she, too, had been sensing something wrong for weeks.

Steph, ever the sharp observer, had her arms crossed over her chest, her usual sarcasm now tempered with a cold seriousness. “I knew she wasn’t perfect, but this? This is next-level crazy. Are you sure bout this Time?” She leaned forward, her voice suddenly harder.

Barbra was too shocked to say anything. This was not how today was supposed to go.

Alfred glanced toward Bruce. “Master Bruce,” he said softly, “the level of infiltration, this is something I never anticipated. We should have seen the signs.”

Bruce’s expression was steely. “We were too distracted, too willing to accept her presence as part of the family. We let our guard down.”

“That’s not just her fault,” Dick interjected. “We’ve all been too trusting. Especially with everything that happened with (y/n).” His voice hardened as he glanced at the screen again, eyes flicking to Tim. “What now? What do we do about it?”

Tim stepped forward, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. “I’ve already notified our allies. The information she’s passed is enough to give this organization an upper hand in Gotham, maybe beyond. She hasn't revealed our identities but she might soon. we can’t let her get away with it. She’s been playing us this whole time.”

Steph threw her hands up in exasperation. “So what, we just let her go? She’s been lying to us, manipulating us for months! ?”

Tim’s eyes were cold, calculating. “We’ll have to trap her. Use the information she’s already stolen to set her up. Once we confront her, we’ll make sure she doesn’t get away.”

Bruce’s fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw set in stone. He had failed [Y/N]—he had failed his child. The weight of that was too much for him to bear. “This ends now. We’re going to fix this.”

Ok yall since apparently 8 ppl think my work is absoulte shit and and SURE i knew how they felt this is pretty rushed and i feel like it sucks! anyway!! i hope at least some people enjoy <33 send in nice aks and questions and ideas pls. its so fun answering them. yall are mind readers and are so creative!! lmk if there's any typos bc I copy-pasted half of it from my notes app. yeah i did write half of this when i was supposed to be in class, and??? Next chapter Tiffany gets confronted, reader comes home, Batfam start groveling and regretting their actions, sort of on their way to yandere-ism and make reader move back to gotham to be closer to "family"

[nightingale-prompts]

Batboy meets Kitten-Batboy Au-DCxDP

First | Previous | Next

(I know I'm really late but...things happen.)

Danny unfurled his wings in a long and slow stretch. He let out a yawn, his fangs seemed to grow longer as his jaw flexed.

"Tired?" Nightwing asked leaning over Batboy.

"Not even a little. I have to show off my new wings." Batboy said pulling on the wings like a cape.

"Don't go overboard. Stick to gliding." Nightwing said knowingly.

Yeah, there are still drawbacks to wings. The important one is that flying takes more energy from him than a bat. So no extra flapping.

It was fine though, the updrafts in the city are more than enough. If Danny fully shifted it wouldn't be a problem.

"Yeah, yeah, yea-." Danny froze.

There it was. That feeling again. It was like it called out to him.

It felt like a runner's high. When you've pushed yourself to your limits but you just keep going. The taste of pure euphoria. Like a shark smelling blood. Like skydiving off a mountain. An adrenaline rush.

And it called to him. Like a deer taunting a mountain lion.

Danny stared off in that direction. His pulse racing. His eyes dilated.

He managed to pull away just long enough to see Dick look at him with concern in his eyes. He tried to open his mouth and speak but his mouth felt dry.

This effect would only come from someone like him. Another Halfa, one that had a powerful obsession. And Danny needed to see them. They were in his territory and their ghosts said demanded a fight.

But Danny wouldn't run. Not this time. He had to tell Dick that he needed to do this.

"I need to go. I don't know how to explain but it feels like I have to go there. I don't want to disappear on you like...before." Danny said earnestly worried that Dick will try to stop him.

"I don't understand completely but I trust you. You're my...s-Batboy. You're a good kid." Dick said ruffling Danny's white hair. "Though if I end up in a fight tonight they might miss you."

Danny only smiled as he took off.

****

Danny landed in a gutted old factory. Rusted industrial equipment made the air smell musty.

The acidic scent in the air had nothing to do with the environment. It was them. Stalking and moving in the corners of the factory floor.

"Enough playing," Danny said testing the way his voice bounced around. He couldn't echolocate his target in the space properly. But he could feel them just find.

A low purr was all he heard until a body crashed into him.

"DANNY!" A familiar voice screeched in joy.

A pair of green eyes and stark white hair that wasn't his own looked down on him. What was new was the pair of white fluffy ears that wiggled on top of her head.

"DANI! YOU'RE ALIVE!" Danny pulled her into a bone crushing hug as they both laughed. "How did this happen? I thought I had lost you!" Danny wrapped his wings around them both in a tight embrace as her tail curled around them.

After a lot of hugging and crying the two finally talked properly.

"It was a bit of a surprise for me too. Nocturne found me a while ago in the mist or something. I don't know what he called it but he pulled me out of it. He put me in this thing and it sort of slowly built me around my core. But I kind of...escaped. I was scared if it after what happened with Vlad. So I ran to find you because that was all I knew. But I wasn't actually finished so I kind of started to melt...again." Dani trailed off.

"You what?! Why would you do that? You almost died again?!"

"Relax, I figured it out. This place is full of ecto and after turning into something smaller I was fine. Kinda. But I was picked up."

They didn't get to talk for long as the jeweled bracelet on her wrist vibrated.

"I gotta go. Mom is looking for me. I'll come find you next time and we'll have our brawl then." Dani said phasing out.

Danny tried to stop her but Dani was always faster then him.

He shifted uncomfortably in place. The lack of a fight was something a ghost never liked. It was basically a greeting.

Still, Dani was back. DANI WAS BACK! He wasn't alone here anymore. That was enough for now.

[deadsetobsessions]

There, in the fog, a pair of glowing green eyes. Who does it belong to?

Surely not that which lays beneath the city, Gotham’s spirit that drowns in the cursed bogs buried beneath concrete and stone. Surely not she, who sobs songs of grief, she who croons silently for aid. Surely not she, madness incarnate, all gnarled shadows and crumbled concrete. Surely not she, Gotham herself, perched along her city’s gargoyles and looks over her own with stone eyes and stone heart that tries to beat like her own.

Her songs were answered with one of her own, a child whose parents were murdered in the heart of her heart. The parts of her that still loved as much as she could wholeheartedly accepted. The child that brought more children- who were all hurt by her and her own and decided she was worth helping anyways. Those eyes did not belong to her own children, those that she pulled the covers of relentless clouds over in order to protect.

No, no. Those eyes belonged to a different child. One that came later who Wailed along side her screams and soothed the madness that roiled beneath her streets.

Her screams were soothed by a child who is her liege, the small one that came and eased the rot that tore her marrow from the bones of her city- her own bones.

Phantom, she ruffles the hair of the boy king. Her gnarled joints and shadowed fangs and clawed countenance does not deter his smile and she loves the child more for it. Far better than the tyrant that tried to use her madness against her own people.

“Hi, Gotham. How are you doing today?”

Better, the gargoyles shifts and grinds. Thank you, my liege.

The boy-king laughs, bright green eyes glowing in the fog she’s summoned to obscure him from her knights. “You did most of the work.”

Not so, the winds whirls in between the white flames of the boy-king’s hair. But we have had this discourse.

Phantom smiles, sadness pulling at the corners of his eyes. She did not know human ways of emotion for she had always been a spirit, but this expression she knows well. It chases at the heels of her knights and now it is in a dogged pursuit for her liege’s heart. Gotham has found new things to hate. The shadows wrap around him.

Go, they whisper as Gotham herself slid back towards the cold stone of her city. Protect. Be happy.

“Okay, okay. But if one of your knights shoot at me again with their weird knives, I’m going to dye their hair neon pink.”

Gotham laughs, spiders bouncing along their webs. They will have deserved it.

The boy-king (hers, her liege, her son, her family, please, Gotham did not want to be alone anymore) laughed again and shot off from the perch she had provided.

[zstartrixxx]

𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐒𝐔𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐌𝐄

⁽ᵏᶦⁿᵈᵃ⁾ ᵛᵃᵐᵖᶦʳᵉ ᶠᵒˡᵏˡᵒʳᶦᶜꜝʳᵉᵐᵐᶦᶜᵏ ˣ ᶠᵉᵐꜝʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀: Once, in a Dresden forest, Dionysus met you—or rather: you met the God of Intoxication. OR The night you whispered your secrets and surrendered your life into Remmick's hands. 𝑨𝑼𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑹'𝒔 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑬𝒔: I’ve just been listening to ‘Ancestral Recall’ on loop, and this scene came to me—something abstract, almost like a creative writing experiment/study. 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: +18, ADULT CONTENT. blood, kinda sexual suggestion, folkloric themes, some more grotesque descriptions. 𝑾𝑪: 1386 words (this one was really small, just like a study text really) for whoever is going to read it, a great read! <3 likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :)

“ERIS: (Ἔρις) is the goddess of discord, strife, and conflict. She is known for sowing chaos and disharmony among gods and mortals alike.„

“dionysus once knew me / he found me on the bridge in dresden, naked with eris / stripped of adornment / he found me again in monte verita draped in aesthetic illusions„

(ancestral recall, emma ruth rudle, thou - 2020).

"Let your hair down, please."

His voice was low, as if whispering a secret meant only for you—penetrating you with that hungry gaze, pupils dilated, lips parted to reveal needle-sharp fangs. You merely nodded, obedient to this god masquerading as a man.

His name felt alien to your ears—rolling off the roof of your mouth, clicking at the tip of your tongue, the color of iron-tinged blood. Remmick. You'd heard he was some noble wanderer who haunted Dresden during the Spring Solstice, always dressed as Dionysus—eyes glittering, razor-edged smile—forever seeking someone to share the night until dawn. The great mystery surrounding this man was that most of his guests for these "idyllic adventures" met curious fates. Once, a girl who had just turned nineteen simply appeared the following night, screaming for blood, completely out of her mind—they took her to a convent and had the poor wretch locked in solitary confinement ever since. Another, a virtuoso musician rumored to communicate with gods through his music, emerged that same night covered in wine and song, wandering off into the night's mist. He never returned to the city. So many other stories that could fill an illustrated codex, with the man depicted spitting fire, sporting bat ears and wings, a goat's tail and horns, and a malicious little grin on his face. Remmick held sway over everyone, always arriving at dusk and leaving before the first rays of light appeared on the horizon.

Your ears had caught whispers from the pious faithful that this man was a demon incarnated in human flesh; others inclined toward the occult believed him to be a sorcerer who had obtained the elixir of youth and needed to steal others' souls—preferably the young—to maintain his integrity; in doing so, he ended up inadvertently sucking out their essence, their anima. And for you, he would be your freedom from that life of suffering and misery—whatever he did to you would be worth it, so long as you could be liberated from the weight of a secret that tormented your conscience every morning when you woke, every night before you slept. That alone was enough to convince you to be there, in that clearing, in the heart of the dense forest, face to face with the magnificent Lord of the Flies, dressed as a strange Dionysus: his crown of dried flowers had more thorns than blossoms, his golden cup was engraved with serpents in high relief, and he wore only white trousers, his torso bare. Barefoot. A contemplative smile on his angular face.

As you let your hair down, leaving it in its natural state, you noticed him hissing some murmur in a strange tongue, unknown to your ears. But you didn't care—or pretended not to, with your desperate heart pounding against your chest, nearly breaking through your ribs, flesh, and skin to expose itself before him. Remmick spread his arms like a statue blessing all around it:

"Come to me, my goddess, and I shall embrace you eternally!"

Your bare feet began walking across dry leaves, broken branches, and damp earth toward him, while wolf howls could be heard in the distance and above your heads a Full Moon reigned with its silver light over your bodies. When you were near him, you smelled his scent more intensely: iron, honey, freshly turned earth, blood, and bitter wine. Remmick immediately cupped your face with his calloused hands, turning it so you'd face his red eyes—a light that came from the depths of his soul while the area around his eyes, nose, and mouth was consumed by darkness, making him look like a talking skull:

"With me, you may whisper your deepest secret."

"I—" Your mouth quivered, remembering things you wished to keep buried in the depths of your memories, feeling tears burning your eyes. Remmick made an expression of contemplation mixed with pity, raising his eyebrows, parting his lips further. He murmured, like an empty tomb echoing from the depths of a darkness you'd fear to face:

"You…? Tell me your secret."

You took a deep breath, closed your eyes to avoid looking at him as you let the words take control of your lips and the memories give life to those words:

"I killed someone."

"Who? Tell me your story." You slowly opened your eyes.

"It was to protect someone I cared deeply about. A horrible man was hurting them, so I poisoned him."

"My Eris—" he whispered, his thumbs crawling across your tear-stained face, smiling with strange pride: "—killing another isn't biblically acceptable, but this was self-defense, and I welcome you regardless of your sins. You creatures are so fragile and susceptible to momentary passions that you act without thinking. That's why I walk among you." His thumbs stopped at your lips. The bittersweet taste mixed with his skin seeped into your mouth.

Remmick then approached you, kissing your lips gently, as if wanting to swallow all your tears, all your pain into himself. His hands slithered down your shoulders, lowering the straps of your dress and exposing your breasts.

"Take off your clothes. And lie down, please."

Once again you obeyed the request, finishing removing your dress, kneeling before him, staring deeply into his eyes before lying on your back on the ground, feeling twigs prick your bare skin. You looked at him as if he truly were Dionysus before you, removing his trousers and crown, kneeling between your legs as he leaned over you, arms braced on either side of your head, his red gaze penetrating you. You weren't afraid. You felt the world around you was just that small bubble between you and this man, illuminated by the Moon, naked, where you'd confessed a heinous crime and he hadn't judged you.

Remmick moved closer to your neck, nuzzling it, inhaling your scent as if appreciating you:

"You need fear nothing more, my Eris, for I will free you from the burden you carry…" His right hand found your neck, caressing the soft skin, a trail of saliva—thick and whitish—beginning to drip from the corner of his lips: "Just kiss me once more."

You grabbed his back, digging your nails into his icy flesh, marble beneath your fingertips, dragging your hands up to his hair and pulling him in for another kiss. Only now your mouth filled with blood as his body undulated atop yours, nearly fusing with your flesh, becoming you. The blood flooding your mouth spilled out, smearing your chin, your neck, his lips and chin—yet he didn't mind. He licked your chin, sliding up to your neck where he scraped his fangs, drawing a desperate moan from you as you squeezed his waist tightly, pulling him against you so he could penetrate you. His teeth broke your delicate skin, blood bloomed from your neck straight into his mouth, and the world around you became a mixture of rending pain that pulled your soul outward, wetting the earth with your blood and his saliva, the gods above you dancing before your clouding vision as primal pleasure emerged at the edges of that tearing pain—that enveloped you and pushed you toward a precipice. Remmick kept dancing atop you—or within you?—your consciousness a thread between reality and waking dreams.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood.

Everything was now wet, sticky, noisy, grotesque.

Remmick finally ended his divine osculation, washed your soul with his lips, made your soul the dwelling place of his mouth—now he was the bearer of your most intimate and infamous secrets. With his mouth stained with blood, ruby eyes, and a smile of ecstasy, he rose up between your legs, your blood painting him from lips to pale chest, the silver moonlight radiating off him like a profane painting. He smiled in delight. You, naked, unadorned, lying and defiled by his fangs, felt strangely free.

Remmick was your profane Dionysus, your blood was the wine he drank, the celebration happened between your bodies that danced together, the theater of life and death performed by you two that night where lilies and birches would bloom the next day. Amid your body cradled by dry leaves, broken branches, damp earth, and now your sacred blood.

And he would find you again one night at Monte Verità, offering you a chalice of bitter wine and toasting the secret you now shared between you.

𝑭𝑶𝑶𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑬𝑺: how they says: "and somehow this secret keeps on passing down to us / down to us / dionysus once knew me"

[sacr1ficialang3l]

Black No.1

WARNINGS: canon-typical violence. dean's hatred for the supernatural. a lot of vampire world-building because i'm a nerd. 7.5k

NOTES: first part of little miss scare-all. as always, english is not my first language. enjoy<3

“I went looking for trouble. And, boy, I found her.”

New Orleans is emptier this time of year.

Dean is kind of glad they got a case here in October instead of during Mardi Gras. As much as he would love the partying, the booze, and the girls in tiny dresses, it's hard to be discreet about their job when there are that many people around.

Sam and he walk into a small, rundown bar near the motel, deciding to stay away from the main streets of the French Quarter. The place is dark—way too dark, even for a bar. The floor is black wood, and the walls are covered in dark red velvet, which looks like hell to clean. Dean could call it goth, but the crowd’s surprisingly mixed.

As Sam and him take a seat at the bar, Dean thinks there are way too many people here for a Tuesday afternoon in a small bar tucked down a quiet alley. There are some college kids, a few young couples swaying on the dance floor to the rock music playing in the background. But there are also big groups of adults, old men drinking alone, and people who look like they’re in their thirties sitting around, glancing from their drinks to the empty stage in the back of the bar — like they're waiting for something.

Dean and his brother share a confused look but decide not to question it. They just started this case today, and it’s already causing trouble.

They both order some whiskey and sip from their glasses while going over the case details.

More people trickle into the bar—all ages, all styles. But most of them don’t even order a drink or head to the dance floor. They just stand around, waiting.

Okay, what the hell is happening?

Before he can ask anyone, the bartender snatches a microphone and bolts for the stage, where a drum kit, a guitar, a bass, and a mic stand have somehow been set up without Dean even noticing.

Sam and he turn to each other again, confused.

This tiny, murky bar has live music?

“Good night, everyone!” The guy greets the crowd, and it’s only then that Dean notices the people packed in around the stage. “Our girl is ready for you, so please, everyone, give it up for Lost Souls.”

Great. Probably some local band of teenagers with way-too-edgy lyrics and way too much eyeliner, Dean thinks. He turns back to the bar and takes a long swig of whiskey.

But then, the crowd erupts in cheering so loud that Dean almost jumps out of his skin. Everyone, both young and old, is losing their mind over this band.

There are two girls and a guy already standing in front of the instruments, but everyone’s eyes aren’t on them. Instead, they’re locked on the figure walking onto the stage.

That's when Dean sees you.

Your hair is long and pitch-black, reflecting the dark red lights of the bar. You’re dressed in a tiny leather mini-skirt, a lacy red tank top that hugs your waist perfectly, and a leather jacket that you slip off your shoulders as you make your way to the front of the stage. The crowd goes wild. You’re wearing knee-high boots, and multiple necklaces, bracelets, and earrings adorn you. You have an eyebrow piercing, and when you wrap your hand around the microphone, Dean notices the rings on your fingers—and how your long red nails are as sharp as fangs.

Holy shit.

Dean’s met plenty of beautiful women—both human and supernatural—but none of them compare to you. There you are on that stage, greeting the crowd like they’re old friends. The shifting red and white lights seem to wrap around you, making you glow like something otherworldly. Your eyes are mesmerizing, and your smile is sharp, almost predatory, as you scan the bar. You move with such smoothness that Dean almost wonders if you’re a siren.

And then you start singing, and he’s almost convinced you are one.

Your voice… it’s unlike anything Dean has ever heard before. Sultry, powerful, piercing—yet soft at the same time. The band plays behind you, but it’s clear that all eyes are on you. On the way you jump around stage, like you own it. Both Sam and Dean stare, eyes wide and jaws dropped. They watch as you sing song after song, people singing and cheering along. 

What the hell are you doing in this run-down bar, and not Madison Square Garden? Dean can’t wrap his head around it. You sip from a huge bottle of wine throughout the show, twirling with it in hand during every guitar solo. You play some covers from big bands—classics that make Dean’s heart quicken, the deep rumble of the bass vibrating through his chest. And then you play some of your own songs, which you announce with a grin, and they might just be Dean’s favorites.

At some point, he thinks you two make eye contact. But Dean is still in the back of the bar, perched on his shaky stool, while you’re bathed in lights and surrounded by the hands of people jumping and dancing in the way. It’s probably his imagination, but he swears he sees you lick your lips.

The show ends with a roaring final song. You introduce each of the band members before saying your goodbyes to the crowd.

“As always, it’s a pleasure and an honor to sing for you.” The crowd erupts in cheers, totally enamored. “Y’all are the best. Stay safe, and long live rock ‘n’ roll!”

With one last bow and a few kisses blown to the audience, you disappear backstage.

Dean stares at the closed curtains of the small green room you’re probably in right now, mesmerized. He hears Sam paying for their drinks in the distance, but it’s all just background noise. He’s completely lost in thought as Sam pulls him out of the bar, unable to focus on anything except you.

He lies on the uncomfortable motel bed that night, eyes fixed on the ceiling. His mind is a tangle of red lips, long legs, and your songs—lyrics of shoving, ripping, sucking. Bloodied lips, sharp teeth, and bruised knees—all echoing in his head until he finally drifts off to sleep.

The next morning, a bloodless corpse awaits them a block away from the bar.

Sam and he continue to work on the case, but every night, Dean insists on returning to that bar.

Every night, he watches with hooded eyes as you walk onstage in some skimpy outfit, twirling, jumping, and kicking around the stage, flirting with a few lucky sons of bitches in the front row. You wink at them, sometimes even kneeling down to sing right in front of their faces. You also flirt with the members of your band, brushing your hand down their arms, leaning back-to-back with them, and sending seductive glances over your shoulder.

It’s always the same routine. You sing a few covers, a few original songs. Every night, the crowd goes feral for both. The bar is never empty—there’s always a huge crowd ready to watch you perform. You drink from your bottle of chartreuse, finishing it by the end of the gig. Dean wonders how you never seem to get drunk. You introduce the band members, give your thanks, and walk backstage.

And then Dean leaves.

For some reason that he—nor Sam, by the confused looks he sends him every night—can’t understand, he always leaves before you even have the chance to walk out into the bar. He doesn’t know why. He likes you, obviously. You might be the most gorgeous, sexiest woman he’s ever seen. And any other time, he wouldn’t hesitate to go up to you.

But you’re different, and he just doesn’t understand why.

But tonight is the night. It’s Friday, and he knows the bar will be fuller than any other day. The case, though, is turning out to be more difficult than they anticipated. They know it’s vamps—another corpse has shown up every night since they got here, all attacked past midnight, and all of them drained dry. The thing is, there’s no sign of a nest. No suspects, no connection between the victims, nothing.

So, Dean is stressed out and ready to unwind a little. And what better way to do that than flirting with (and hopefully having some good sex with) a hot rockstar chick?

Sam and he walk back into the bar around seven-thirty, half an hour before your gig, and sit down on the same bar stools as always. Dean tries to hide his anticipation behind a glass of whiskey. After all, he’s got a cool guy image to uphold.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

You've noticed the guy coming in every night. Of course, you have.

Even though it's near the French Quarter, it’s still unusual for tourists to find this bar. And you definitely had to notice the two extremely hot newcomers, especially the one in the brown leather jacket with sharp eyes that seemed to follow you around like a hawk.

You're supposed to be focused on hunting down those pesky vampires that have been killing people in your audience. You know it’s just a small, cheap excuse for a nest that’s hiding somewhere secluded, using your shows to catch easy meals.

And if they get discovered, you'd be blamed, even though you stopped feeding directly from humans a long time ago. There are four of them—four different kinds of footprints at each crime scene. You’ve pieced together this information, but you still don’t know who they are or where their nest is. You've been following clues, waiting outside the bar to catch them, but they’re some slippery motherfuckers. They manage to escape every time. And, if you’re honest, you’re also a little distracted.

You’ve been in front of some pretty attractive men in your time—from Mick Jagger to Axl Rose in his prime, to the nights spent with Peter Steele in New York. And, okay, you’d admit, Lord Byron had been quite the cutie, too.

But this guy? With his piercing green eyes and that cocky smirk that vanishes, replaced by an almost hypnotized look whenever you sing a particularly filthy song? He’s got you infatuated like you haven’t been in literal ages. But for some reason, you can never seem to find him once the show ends. You’ve heard from a few people that the two new guys are FBI agents investigating the deaths in town, but you have a feeling they’re hunters.

You’ve dealt with hunters before, always trying to convince them to walk away, to avoid a fight they’re not going to win. Some listen, some attack. You never go for the kill—at least, not unless you have to. You prefer leaving them unconscious, just injured enough so they can’t track you down right away. By the time they’re back on their feet, you’ve already moved on to a new city, sometimes a new country. They never find you again.

You kind of hope Green Eyes isn’t a hunter, though. But he has that look. You just pray that he and his partner are after the real killers and not you.

Either way, it’s time to perform. Hopefully, he’ll be there again, and this time, you’ll catch him after the show.

All thoughts vanish the moment you step onto the stage. It’s like the music possesses you, and all that matters is that these people are here to see you. So, you give them the best performance you can, like you do every night.

You let the music guide you, letting the sound of the guitar flow through your veins as you feel free. There, with all the lights on you and the loud cheers of the crowd, with the microphone in your hand as you twirl, jump, and flirt, you feel alive. Or, at least, as alive as a vampire can be.

You decide to sing a Led Zeppelin cover tonight, sensing that Green Eyes is that kind of guy. And you’re clearly right, if the way your enhanced eyes catch his jaw dropping is anything to go by.

In the next song, you jump off stage.

If Green Eyes doesn’t want to be found after the show, you’ll catch him mid-performance instead.

You walk through the crowd, and they part like the Red Sea for you. All of them with wide eyes, trembling hands, but they don’t touch. You cup a girl’s face, singing to her and making her almost faint. You run a delicate hand down a guy’s chest while singing about a poorly hidden metaphor for a blowjob.

Slowly, like a snake, you make your way toward the supposed FBI agents.

You make a show of sitting on a stool, singing toward the bartender, who just chuckles and shakes his head, too used to your shamelessness. You get up and walk past the taller of the two new guys, sending him a glance over your shoulder, before you finally reach him.

Green Eyes is even hotter up close. You lick your lips and lean down, hovering over him as he sits on the bar stool. Your hand runs through his hair, and you catch the way his breath hitches. You whisper filthy lines into the microphone as your hand trails down his shoulder, and you just know your bandmates will tease you about it all night.

You grab his jacket and pull him forward as you walk backwards, not enough to make him stand but enough to leave him perched on the edge of his seat. Then you turn around, making sure your hips sway just right as you make your way back to the stage, a pleased smirk playing on your lips.

The rest of the show flies by, three more songs before you make a show of walking backstage, only to have the crowd scream and beg for one more.

You down the rest of tonight’s wine bottle before rocking out to the real last track. Now in an extremely good mood, you toss your leather jacket to a group of your regulars—the groupies who always crowd the front row. By now, you know them all by name. They fight over the jacket until Alice, you think her name is, snags it. The smile that splits her face is so big, it fills your soulless body with a warmth so real, you almost believe you have one.

You give your little goodbye speech and retreat to the green room.

You retouch your makeup, check that your fangs are still hidden, tug your mini-skirt just a tiny bit higher.

Once you’re ready, you walk out on a mission. 

For your pleasant surprise, Green Eyes is right where you left him. He seems to be in some kind of argument with the other guy, both of them gesturing quickly with their hands.

You walk closer slowly, smiling at the people who offer compliments and gently brushing off anyone who tries to make conversation.

You are focused on something else.

Casually, like you don’t even notice they’re there, you lean against the bartop right next to them. 

“You’ve got quite a line waiting for you today.” The barman, Troy, informs you with a grin. You can feel the two agents stop their conversation and focus on you instead.

“Well then, I better get started.” You thank him when he hands you your first drink, a spicy mango margarita. 

Fans always try to buy you drinks. You never have the heart to tell them you don’t need it, you have more money than necessary even with your eternal existence. But it’s very inconvenient when they all try to buy them at the same time, and you end up with five to ten quickly melting drinks around you.

That’s why Troy and you came up with a system. Fans could go to him and buy you a drink, and he would just add it to a list. At the end of every show, he would start preparing the first drink. By the time you’re done with that one, he has the next one ready. And the next one, and the next one.

Thank the gods for your supernatural alcohol tolerance.

“One day I’m gonna have to drag your cold body off that stage after the cirrhosis takes over.”

“Something’s gotta kill me, right?” you wink at Troy, and he laughs—even if he could never really grasp the irony in your words.

Only after you’ve taken a long sip of your fruity drink do you turn to the two agents. Their eyes dart away, caught staring, and a sharp, Cheshire-cat smirk curls your lips.

“You two are new.” It isn’t a question.

Green Eyes licks his lips but hesitates for a moment. The other one—so tall, even with you in platform heels—takes over.

“Yeah, we’re just passing through.” He extends his hand for a shake, and you meet it, watching him twitch at your icy touch. “I’m Sam. That’s Dean, my brother.”

Brothers. That made sense, the hotness is genetic.

Green Eyes—Dean—nods and extends his hand as well. You grab it, letting your touch linger this time.

“That was quite the show you put on tonight.” His voice is deeper than you imagined, and you take a sip of your drink to hide the grin tugging at your lips.

Oh, you’ve really hit the jackpot.

Only if you’re wrong, and he’s not a hunter... but you try not to think about that just yet.

“Well, thank you.” You smile, stepping away from the bartop and stopping right in front of the brothers. “First time seeing our gig?”

You know it’s not, but you ask anyway.

Sam shakes his head, earning a glare from his brother.

“Nah. We’ve been coming here after work every night.” He says, unbothered by the daggers being thrown his way. “Every show has been amazing.”

“Yeah.” Dean adds, leaning forward, his elbow resting on the bar and a smirk on his face. He seems to have regained his composure. “I can’t believe you haven’t made it out of this hellhole.”

You chuckle and shake your head.

“I’m kinda fond of this hellhole.” You shrug, earning a smile from both brothers. “The booze’s good, the crowd’s electric, so I’d say I’m doing pretty damn well.”

The real reason you could never go further than some goth bar in New Orleans is simple: you couldn’t risk getting famous. Back when the only way to capture a moment was through an oil painting, it hadn’t been a problem. By the 50s, you’d started hiding a bit more. But now, with the rise of the internet, getting too popular could be disastrous.

Someone, thirty years from now, might see you on the street and wonder why you look exactly the same as you did back then. It’s too risky.

You continue to make small talk with the brothers, trading jokes and witty comments. You finish your margarita and continue with a rum and coke. The brothers look at you with wide eyes but Troy reassures them.

“I’ve seen her mix every single liquor we have in this place and she still won’t get more than a little clumsy. I don’t know how she does it, but I wouldn’t worry about it.”

It stops any questioning, but you could see the wheels turning in Sam’s head. He might be trouble.

“So, a Zeppelin fan?” You look up at Dean with hooded eyes over the rim of your glass, subtly changing the topic. He seems taken aback that you noticed his reaction to your cover choice, choking on his last sip of whiskey while Sam tries to suppress a laugh. 

“Oh, you know it.” Dean grins, setting his empty glass back on the bartop. “Classic rock never disappoints.”

You nod, humming lowly. Led Zeppelin had, admittedly, been one of your favorite bands to hang around back then. You remember being at one of their concerts—VIP, then backstage. You can almost see Dean’s reaction if you told him you were actually there for most of the writing sessions for Physical Graffiti. “Oh, for sure. The seventies were wild, the golden age of rock ‘n’ roll.”

You eye both brothers’ empty glasses and meet Troy’s gaze.

“How many whiskeys today?”

Troy glances at his list, then grimaces. “Like fifteen? I don’t get why most of them order you whiskey.”

You laugh, shrugging. You could down any drink without flinching, but you had to admit whiskey wasn’t your favorite. (Too many nights throwing up on a pirate’s deck might have given you some serious PTSD.)

“Care to help me scratch a few more drinks off that list?” you ask the brothers, already signaling Troy to start serving the glasses.

“Am I not supposed to be the one buying you a drink?” Dean’s grin widens, his voice lowering an octave.

You laugh, low and sultry. “Oh, believe me, darling, I don’t need you to.” You wink at him, pointing at the already served whiskeys. “Help yourselves. Tonight’s on me.” You smirk. “Or, well, on my fans, anyway.”

You end up getting pretty hammered that night. The brothers are way worse than you, with Dean stumbling around the emptying bar. His hands start to wander, and his touch lingers longer each time. He leans in closer every time he speaks to you, his eyes half-lidded and his words a little slurred.

At some point, someone gets a hold of the jukebox and plays The Cure. Dean whines about it being too “emo and sappy,” rolling his eyes as the first chords play.

You drag him onto the dance floor, both of you swaying to the beat of Lovesong. You grab his hand, making him spin a few times, the two of you laughing as you end up draped all over each other. His face presses against your neck, and his large hands wrap around your waist.

You are enveloped by his scent, the sweet smell of his humanity (his blood calling to you like honey) mixing with something strong, like motor oil and wood. It is a scent you won’t forget.

“Haven’t felt this alive in ages.” Your words are more literal than Dean realizes, but he nods anyway. His gaze lingers on you, eyes shining with an almost hypnotic intensity, as though he’s as mesmerized as some of your fans. It makes your heart ache in a way you didn’t realize it still could.

At least four more rounds of tequila shots later, Dean is all goofy grins and slurred whispers, insisting more than once that you come back to his motel room.

“Sammy’ll find somewhere to crash,” he mumbles, his words slipping together.

But he’s clearly too far gone, so you gently steer him back toward the bar, ordering a glass of water. Sam is a little more sober—at least enough to shoot you a few teasing glances—and you trust him to keep an eye on his brother. Still, you walk with them to the bar’s front door, making sure they’re both upright and heading in the right direction, not stumbling toward a car.

Dean tries to convince you to let him walk you home, but you just shake your head, laughing. Not only do you not need protection, but you're also sure he'd end up passing out halfway there.

"Go with your brother, darling. I’ll see you at my next gig."

You wait for a few minutes, then follow the brothers from the shadows to make sure they get to their motel without any issues before you retreat. You continue your nightly rounds, still on the lookout for those dumb vamps.

With your mind just the tiniest bit clouded after finishing every drink on tonight's list for the first time in a while, you end up heading home earlier than usual. Maybe the vamps took a break on Friday night.

The next day, you walk outside just to find another body, this time abandoned in the bar’s dumpster. A young girl, black leather jacket clutched in her hand. 

⋆♱✮♱⋆

After Alice’s death, you decide it is finally time to get rid of the plague.

But this also serves as a reminder of why you don’t get attached to mortals. Their bodies are so fragile, their existence so fleeting. You can’t afford to bond with them; you’ve learned your lesson.

So, erasing any trace of Dean from your mind, you double down on hunting the vamps.

You sneak into the morgue first, hoping to find any clues in the body. Just like the others, there’s nothing but fang marks on her smooth skin. If your eyes gloss over at the sight of your autograph scrawled on her arm in black Sharpie, well, that’s between you and the corpses around you.

From there you visit all the previous murder scenes, trying to find any detail you may have missed. You look closely, try to catch any strange scent or trail they may have left while retreating, but find nothing. 

You leave Alice’s for last. She was the only victim you knew by name, and it tore you apart knowing that they all probably knew your name. Or the name the town gave you, at least.

You're just going over the footprints that seem to vanish into thin air when you hear two voices approaching. The sun is already setting, but it is still strange for clients to be here this early, especially roaming around the dumpster. 

You quickly retreat to hide behind a nearby tree, the trunk thick enough to conceal your figure. 

You listen closely, trying to figure out who it might be.

“We already investigated this place in the morning.” An exasperated voice reaches you. “You sure we’re not here just so you can try and catch a glimpse of her?”

“C’mon Sammy, I’m a professional.” So you were right about the hunter thing, damn it. “I’m just saying this is the freshest lead we have. We might as well start here."

“Yeah, right. So the way your eyes keep drifting to that window means nothing, hm?”

Dean scoffs, and his footsteps get closer. 

“I am just… making sure we’re not missing anything.” 

A brief silence follows, as though the brothers are sharing an unspoken moment.

“You’re so fucked.” Sam snorts. “The only person you’re gonna catch behind that window is Troy. I don’t think she’s the type to go out in the sun.”

Oh. He is indeed trouble.

You stay as still as non-humanly possible, trying to gather how much intel the brothers have. They know what you know—that the killers are vamps and part of a nest—but they’re missing some pieces.

And they also know a few things you didn’t know.

“The guy you saw last night, you said he drove a black van?”

Sam saw one of the vamps? Damn it, if you’d been a little more careful, maybe you would’ve caught them too.

“No, he wasn’t driving. Someone else was inside, waiting for him. Took off as soon as he jumped in.”

“And you couldn’t follow them because you were drunk out of your mind.”

“Should I remind you, you were the one passed out in bed.”

“Details. But the tracks are gone now, right?”

“Yeah, somehow they managed to get rid of the tire tracks before sunrise.” Sam pauses, and there are some more shuffling noises.

“What I can’t seem to understand is why they are targeting the bar’s clientele.”

"I think I know.” Sam sounds reluctant, like he’s not sure whether he wants to say it. “And I think it might have to do with your Lily Munster.”

“It does.” You step out from behind the tree, making both brothers jump and pull out their guns. You catch sight of the machetes hanging from their belts, and you sigh. “But not in the way you’re imagining.”

You meet Dean’s eyes, and his jaw twitches. He looks disappointed, almost betrayed. You keep your chin up, but something bitter washes down your throat.

Whatever

“So that’s why you don’t get drunk, or even break a sweat while performing.” Sam’s tone is all-knowing, and you fight the urge to smirk. “And you’re freezing cold.”

“So, what? You use your charm to lure in fresh blood?” Dean sneers, his voice dripping with disdain.

You shake your head, leaning back against the tree and watching him unsheathe his machete.

“You’ve got the wrong vamp, guys.” You try to explain, reluctantly spilling everything you know about the nest and why they’re targeting you.

“And you expect us to believe that?” Dean scoffs. But Sam’s mind is clearly racing now, the wheels turning again.

“You saw the van and the vamp last night. I was circling the bar at that time, trying to catch these assholes.” You shrug, flipping your hair back with casual defiance. “I can tell you more about them if you need.”

“Like what?”

“They’re young vamps, the way they bite their victims…” Something cold flashes in your eyes as Alice’s body comes to mind. “It’s feral. They’re new to feeding, probably abandoned by their Sire, left to fend for themselves.”

“Also,” you add, shaking your head and stepping closer to the brothers. They immediately tense, preparing for a fight. “Their nest is somewhere with a strong odor. I can pick up their scent at the crime scenes, but the trail’s impossible to follow. They’ve covered their tracks, wherever they’re hiding.”

The brothers exchange a look, both mumbling. “The old factory.”

“What?”

“There’s an old factory near our motel. The smell’s unbearable.”

“It’s also close to where Sam saw the vamp yesterday.”

You nod, taking in the information. You wonder how you missed the factory—it had been so easy to get distracted by a cute guy, and now a young girl, along with many others, are dead.

“The sun’s still up, which means the vamps are probably still holed up in there.” You speak up. “If we go now, we can take them out while they’re still vulnerable.”

“We?” Dean scoffs. “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

You lock eyes with him, his green gaze still piercing under the warm sun, and you notice his grip on the machete waver.

“I’m not who you think I am, Dean.” You take a slow step forward. “I don’t feed on humans, I don’t harm people. I’m not like the other vamps you’ve hunted.”

His tongue presses against his cheek, his breath catching as you close the distance between you.

“That would explain how she can walk in the sunlight.” Both of you ignore Sam’s voice, still focused on each other. “She could be useful.”

“I’ve given you everything I know about the nest. Believe me, I want them dead just as much as you do.” You glance at Sam briefly, then back to Dean. “Let me help.”

Dean hesitates, his expression softening for the briefest second before hardening again.

“No. We’re not working with a bloodsucker.” You swallow the lump in your throat. He tightens his grip on the machete, preparing to strike.

“Dean, the sun’s setting. We don’t have much time before it’s dark.” Sam grabs his shoulder, pulling him back. “The nest first. This can wait.”

With that, Dean secures his weapon back in place and walks off. You watch as the brothers climb into their car and drive toward the factory. You try to shake off the tightness in your throat, but it lingers.

Licking your teeth, you turn around and start walking. 

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Dean can’t believe what he’s about to say, but he kind of wishes he had accepted your offer.

He shuffles again where he’s tied to a column, trying to find a way to break the ropes. But the vampires—just some fledglings, as feral and lost as you predicted—knew how to tie someone up. Neither he nor Sam can find a way out, the ropes pulled tight and deliberately placed away from any sharp surface.

The bloodsuckers pace in circles around them, speaking in hushed, frantic voices.

“I thought you said the plan was infallible!”

“Well, I thought it was! They should have gone for her, not us.”

“I told you this would happen! You never listen to me.”

“It’s not my fault, okay? We’ve all heard about the Dark Heiress. I was sure she’d tear any hunter to shreds before they even got close to us.”

The Dark Heiress?

Oh, what has Dean gotten himself into?

Sam and Dean share a look, both trying to piece together who you really are.

Dean has to admit, he’s a little bitter.

You’re genuinely one of the most beautiful girls he’s ever met. Even through the haze of alcohol, he remembers everything from last night—the shared laughs, the slow dancing, the looks that meant a lot more than either of you could handle.

His heart tugs at the idea that you might just be another monster he’ll have to gank.

"Whatever. We have the hunters now. We just gotta get rid of them, and we’re clean."

"I still insist it’s not a good idea to keep bothering the Heiress."

"Yeah, guys. She might find us out, and I don’t want her as an enemy."

"What would she even do to us? We outnumber her."

"She’s invincible! She'll wipe us out before we even get a chance to pull out our fangs. Haven’t you heard the stories?"

"The stories may be a bit exaggerated," comes that smooth, sultry voice.

Dean turns to look at the front door of the old factory, just in time to see you walking in. As disgusted as he is about your nature, he has to admit you look like a goddess.

"But blondie’s right," you continue with a smirk. "You shouldn’t mess around with me."

All the fledglings freeze on the spot, turning to look at you like they’re seeing the boogeyman.

Your eyes drift to Sam and Dean, like you’re making sure they’re okay. Dean tries not to think about the fact that you might actually care.

The sound of your boots against the floor echoes like a marching band as you make your way toward the vampire gang. In your hand, you hold Dean’s machete, the same one that had been ripped from his grasp when he got knocked out.

Dean has trouble breathing at the sight. You move like smoke, slow and confident, your eyes dark and flashing almost red. You’re still wearing your typical get-up: leather mini-skirt and flimsy top. But now, you look dangerous, like sin personified.

The swing of your hips matches the lazy sway of your blade, and when you smirk, Dean catches a glimpse of your fangs. Two of them—long, shiny, and sharp—placed where your lateral incisors should be, instead of covering every tooth like the other vampires.

You slash through the first vamp’s neck like it’s nothing, sending the other three flying. But you’re quicker, just as precise and skilled in combat as you are playing the guitar. Your long hair whips around you as you spin and jump across the factory, and the contrast to the girl he saw on stage leaves Dean dizzy for a second.

He hates to admit it, but he can’t tell which version of you is hotter.

In a matter of seconds, there’s only one vamp left—the one who seemed to be their leader. He puts up a bit more of a fight, and you end up straddling him right in front of Dean and Sam. The machete had been knocked from your grasp, and now you’re pinning the fledgling down, struggling to figure out a way to reach the weapon.

“Should’ve known killing the little bitch was a bad idea.”

Your eyes immediately snap to the guy beneath you, your expression twisting into something almost bestial.

“What the hell did you just say?”

“I told him not to go for the groupies, but the dumbass had to kill the pretty girl.” The vamp spits out, a malicious grin spreading across his face. “Didn’t think you really cared, though.”

The grip you have on the guy’s wrists tightens, the veins in your neck standing out as your voice sharpens to a deadly hiss.

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

“I don’t regret it, though.” The vamp smirks, blood and vampire goo dribbling from his mouth. “She was a good little snack, barely screamed—”

He doesn’t have time to finish the sentence. You rip his head off with a swift, vicious motion, the sound of bones snapping filling the air.

Bare hands, no weapon. You simply wrap your hands around his jaw and yank. You toss the head aside like it’s nothing, then slowly rise off the corpse’s lap, casually adjusting your jewelry.

Your face is splashed with goo, your white tank top—no bra, Dean’s brain notes unhelpfully—now dripping with black vampire blood.

“Damn it, always so messy.” You roll your eyes and casually walk over to pick up the machete.

You head back to the brothers, who are staring at you in stunned silence.

You just beheaded someone with your bare hands.

A sick part of Dean’s brain sends a shiver down his spine at the sight, but he shakes it off.

Bloodsucker. Remember?

First, you free Sam, and then you make your way to Dean. He turns to look at you as you kneel next to him, but your eyes remain cast down. You make quick work of cutting through the ropes with the machete, never once meeting his gaze. There’s something creeping behind your eyes, something dark and morose.

You leave the machete next to Dean, like you’re daring him to use it. He grabs it but doesn’t lunge for you. Instead, he gets up and rubs his wrists where the rope irritated the skin.

“Thank you for that, I suppose,” Sam says after an awkward moment of silence. You let out a bitter laugh and nod.

“No problem. I just thought I should come and check if the job was done.”

Dean nods, studying you slowly with his eyes.

“You’re different,” he affirms, and it finally makes you meet his gaze. Something heavy passes between you, something that leaves him breathless and scared. 

“Could’ve told you that,” you huff, leaning down to pick up one of your necklaces that fell off mid-fight. 

“Who are you, Dark Heiress?”

The nickname makes you laugh, this time genuinely. You throw your head back and all, eyes closed, the moonlight catching on your flawless, fangless smile.

“I told you, I am not like other vamps you know.” You place the necklace back around your neck, a black leather thread with some kind of symbol as a charm. “I am… older. Another breed, if you will.”

Dean turns to Sam, but his eyes are locked on the necklace. It’s a seven-pointed star inside a circle, every space outside the star engraved with a different symbol, and a tiny triangle in the middle of it. On the outside, a wolf-headed snake is eating itself. It’s like nothing Dean has ever seen before, but Sam seems to recognize it.

“No way.” Sam takes a step closer to you, and you simply smile smugly. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Do you mind catching me up?” Dean asks sarcastically, but his brother ignores him, staring way too close at your necklace — and your chest.

Dean’s jaw tightens. “Okay, dude.”

He grabs Sam’s shoulder and yanks him back a step, a little rougher than necessary. Sam just stumbles, still wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

You only laugh, and even then, your voice sounds melodic. You look at both of them with a cocky grin, and Dean can’t tell if he wants to punch you or kiss you.

“You’re Count Orlok’s… daughter?” Sam asks in fascination.

Dean thinks he should probably know who that is, but he’s still completely lost.

“Count Orlok?” He frowns, trying to place the name. Maybe it’s the Vampire Alpha? Or was it in a movie?

“I think you mortals know him more as Nosferatu.”

Now it’s Dean’s turn to drop his jaw. “You’re telling me you’re the daughter of… that creepy gray dude from that silent film?”

You laugh again, still covered in vamp goo — and still beautiful.

“Pretty accurate representation, not gonna lie,” you drag out, walking toward a broken mirror to fix your lipstick.

“So, there’s an entire other breed of vamps? Orlok descendants?” Sam’s eyes are huge and shiny, and Dean can practically see his brain overheating from the nerdy overload.

"It’s just me," you respond after a beat, your voice low. "Father was the last of his kind. He needed a male heir to continue the line... but he only had me."

You turn to face them, shrugging casually, as though you're not shattering everything they thought they knew about vampires.

"So you’re the heiress."

"That’s what the other vamps started calling me." You smirk. "They know better than to disturb me." You glance down at the corpses with a sigh. "Or at least, I thought they did."

"So what’s Nosferatu’s daughter doing in New Orleans?" Dean huffs, finally letting go of the machete. You can't help but smile at his frustration.

All three of you begin to slowly make your way out of the factory. Sam and Dean walk with a slight limp, still feeling the aftereffects of being attacked and tied up, but you glide next to them effortlessly.

Strong. Determined. Graceful. Hypnotic.

“I’ve lived all over the world, met all kinds of people.” You walk closer to him, confident and radiant under the dim lights of the twilight. “When I decided I wanted to perform, I couldn’t help but come here. All the legends and literature weren’t lying, it really has been the best place I’ve lived in a long time.”

A blanket of sadness drapes over your eyes, and for a moment, it looks like you’re not really seeing him—like you’re lost in your own thoughts. You bite your lip, and Dean can’t help but notice the shift.

“That’s why I try to stay away from trouble, keep a low profile. I wanna enjoy this for as long as I can.”

It makes sense. You couldn’t stay in the same place long enough for people to notice you don’t age, and you clearly loved performing. Dean could tell music gave you life, and he doubts you’d jeopardize that. But still…

“How do you feed, then?” Dean’s voice softens slightly, the edge of hostility melting away quickly as he meets your gaze.

You all stop in front of the Impala, you leaning casually against it.

That’s an image Dean won’t forget—you, in your tiny clothes, looking like the cover of a heavy metal album, sprawled across Baby’s hood.

He can easily picture you there in another world, mini-skirt pulled up higher, blood-red lips parted—

“Blood bags.”

It takes Dean a moment to catch up. Right, feeding.

“I haven’t fed on humans in a long time,” you continue, shrugging nonchalantly. “I mostly steal blood bags. It’s enough to keep me going.”

Both brothers nod at the information, but Sam’s eyes flick back and forth between you two.

“I’ll—uh, go put the machetes in the trunk.” He practically scurries away, making you giggle.

Cute.

No, Dean, stop. Bloodsucker.

You straighten up and walk towards him, tilting your head slightly so you're looking up at him through your long eyelashes.

“So, should I get ready to fight you?” Your tongue runs over your teeth, and Dean resists the urge to pull you closer.

“Don’t think it’s necessary.” He gives you a half-smirk. “Just don’t give us a reason to come back and find you, sweetheart. Next time, I won’t be so nice.”

Your grin turns smug, and you lean just a little bit closer.

“I won’t.” You wink at him. “And it was a fight you were gonna lose, anyway.”

That makes him snort, eyes narrowing. He wants to call you out for being cocky, wipe that smirk off your face with his own mouth, but he can’t. He saves people. He hunts things. Things like you.

“I don’t know about that.” He lowers his eyes, pulling away. You catch the shift, taking a step back and clearing your throat.

“Right.” You seem to collect yourself, and Dean can almost picture the armor materializing around you. “I guess I… won’t see you again.”

He chuckles lowly, a little bitter. “I hope so.” He nods, and your eyes linger for one, two, three seconds before you pull away.

You wave goodbye to Sam, and then, with a fluid movement, you disappear into the shadows, as if the night itself is swallowing you whole.

Dean sighs, sliding into the driver’s seat, trying to shake off the bitter taste lingering at the back of his throat.

“Thought I was the one with a history with violent women?”

“Shut up, Sammy.”

“Come on, you practically got a boner when she decapitated that guy with her hands.”

“Are you feeling okay? You might have a fever. Hallucinating things.”

A beat passes, and then—

“She looks like a good person.”

“She’s not a person. She’s a creature.”

“But—”

“I think you should get some sleep, Sam.”

Hours later, as the empty road stretches on, Dean finally lets himself wonder if he’ll ever see you again.

NOTES: Nyx is here!!! I hope y'all liked it. I am obsessed with her and I've been planning her whole story for quite a while. I wanted this to be a little shorter but there's just so much lore to explore! anyways, part 2. coming soon.

TAGS: @littlesoulshine @mostlymarvelgirl @pink-ghost666 @h8aaz @otteropera @xoswiftieprincess @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @losers-clvb <3

If you wanna be tagged in future works, let me know!!

[demonic0angel]

Dragon Bruce meeting his kids mates 👉👈

Bruce curled around Talia, licking the side of her face as their purrs and scents blended into one. She was relaxed, laying over his limbs and spreading out her wings. Eventually, as Bruce finished preening her, he asked, “When do you think Damian is coming back? He shouldn’t visit his siblings too much, what if he prevents them from finding mates?”

Talia snorted, a puff of smoke coming from her nostrils from her laugh. “Do not fret, beloved. Damian knows moderation. Besides, he should be back any moment now…”

She looked up through one of the openings in Bruce’s lair and then paused. She squinted.

“Huh. Beloved, I believe today will be a good day for you.”

Bruce blinked. “What?” He stood, carefully disentangling himself from Talia and then looking through the opening before he froze in place.

Young dragons usually left their nest when they were of age to form their own hoards and find their own mates. Over the decades, his children had all left him to find their own mates and they would not come home until they succeeded. His nest and home had been quite lonely with only Talia and Damian to spend time with him.

However, all of his children were coming home now, nearly doubled in number with their mates.

Bruce perked up, wings flaring. “Alfred!” He called, and the old dragon who used to be his guardian gave a light sigh from his corner of the cave.

“I am aware,” Alfred said as Talia laughed delightedly at his exasperation. "I shall go and hunt for some food."

Damian was the first to come in with a broad, fanged smile. He zipped inside the cave and then flew straight to Bruce, head butting into his chest with a shriek of joy. Bruce happily gave him a lick, overriding the scent of another female dragon before passing him off to Talia who finished off the cleaning just as his other sons and daughters arrived, tumbling into the cave and shaking off their wings.

“B!” His oldest, Richard, called. “We’re back!”

Bruce was ready to greet them when he paused at the sight of them all in his lair.

Wait a minute.

Why on earth were his little hatchling's mates so big? In fact, weren't they a little too big?? Almost all of them were even larger than Bruce!

All of his hatchlings had their mate beside them, who were curiously looking around at his coveted piles of gold and splendor.

Richard had his mate, a large blood colored dragon with tattered wings and black claws, curled around him. Cassandra had somehow found herself a big white dragon with feathered wings. Stephanie was happily chewing on the fluffy tail of a tall, autumn colored dragon, and even Jason, his largest hatchling, had a mate that was larger than him, colored black and obsidian.

The only one who returned with a mate smaller than them was Timothy, who had a tiny dragon by his side who was climbing over his back in excitement, but there was also Kal-el's oldest son next to them both, dwarfing them in a sign of three-way courtship.

Bruce stared at the behemoths in his lair and almost wanted to make them turn back.

Why on earth did he have hatchlings again? Especially hatchlings who decided to flirt with such large dragons??

"Oh my," Talia said, sounding impressed. "You've all chosen well for mates."

Bruce suddenly wished Alfred would come back to knock some sense into everyone. Damian may have known moderation, but how come the rest of his nestmates didn't??

[yujinnieswifeu]

g！b wonyoung！！！😭😭😭Vampire wonyoung 🧛‍♂️

thanks😭😭😭😭

pairings: sub!fem reader x dom g!p Wonyoung

warnings: lots of smutt, p in v, Wonyoung cums inside of reader, Wonyoung is a bit of a sadist if you squint

a/n: hey anonnn, you only mentioned vampire Wony so i crafted a plot for this one, hope its to your liking :>, also didn’t expect it to turn out to be a long ass story (not rlly story but idk what to call it) but here you go, enjoy~

You have not accepted your fate yet. Not when your life was starting to have meaning, not when you finally landed a full time job, so imagine when all that was taken from you, oh were you pissed. You could not step outside this miserable house until it was night, could not meet your friends in the morning. Everything could only be done at night. And whose fault was it? By this stupid vampire that decided to show up at night when you were sleeping and kidnapped you before she turned you into one herself, so here you are, in the huge mansion with Wonyoung.

“Are you done being such a brat?” She says, her patience was wearing thin with you, her knuckles turning white from how she had her hands curled in a fist. “Or what? You gonna do something to me? Oh i’m so scared, i’m a fucking vampire for gosh sake!” You exclaim, exaggerating a little before you turn to leave. That was until you felt your wrist being pulled back, as you fell back against the cold hard floor. Wonyoung has your wrists pinned as she hovers over you. You could feel your breath hitching at how close she was, the familiar feeling coming back again, one that you have been trying to get rid of recently as you were having an internal tug of wall.

“Oh, why so quiet now? Thought you had more to say brat.” There was that nickname again. You roll your eyes, trying to grasp out of her grip as you wiggled your body helplessly. “Let me go!” Wonyoung only smirks at your attempt to fight back, you were indeed amusing. Maybe thats why she fell for you, your never backing down character, the way you would never take no for an answer. Everything about you just amused Wonyoung and she found herself wanting to know more about you. “You forgot that i’m stronger than you brat.” She hisses, using her tongue to touch her fangs, taunting you which makes you glare her way. “Don’t fucking show me that.” You say through gritted teeth, the reminder that Wonyoung sunk her teeth against your skin as she made you hers unwillingly to you made your blood boil.

“And what? You going to stop me?” Her tone was teasing, tightening her grip on your wrists as you whimper at the feeling. She watches you, the sight of you in slight pain was delicious to her, she wanted to see more, to see the way you react to her touches, to see the tears wellin- “Just wait Wonyoung, i’ll make you regret turning me into one of your kind!” You say menacingly, and Wonyoung could not take your bratty behaviour anymore. Within seconds, she has your wrists behind your back, carrying you effortlessly over to her bedroom where she spreaded you out over the bed, your hands bound to the bed. “L-let me go!” Your voice trembled a little, the fear and undeniable excitement coursing through your body was making your breathing heavier by the second.

Wonyoung only stays silent, quickly tearing your outfit up with her sharp nails. You gasped, the air against your skin makes you shiver, pulling and struggling against the bonds tied to your limbs. “Wha…what are you doing?” It comes out rushed, the panic in your voice only makes Wonyoung tilt her head, her eyes roaming over your body, she can’t help the feeling between her legs at how vulnerable you are, how vulnerable you look all tied up for her. Pushing her thoughts aside, she finally meet your fearful eyes. “Putting you back into place. You should know i’m the one in charge.” You roll your eyes, the fear replaced with annoyance and she walks over to the edge of the bed, grabbing your jaw harshly as she forces you to look back at her again. You only glare back at her this time, which she was not happy about.

“You are going to learn manners here, and if you don’t…” Wonyoung gives you a stare, slowly undoing her belt. You watch her, the feeling a sudden throb between your legs. You can’t deny how attractive Wonyoung is, as much as you hated her for what she did to you, you could not deny the attraction you had over her that has grown the past few weeks of staying together with her in the mansion. “Then what?” Wonyoung pauses her movements, her eyes locks on yours and the sudden tension in the room becomes palpable. “Then i will teach you over..and..over again.” She emphasises on the last part, finally removing her belt, you watch as she undoes her pants, pulling them down and your lips part unknowingly, the sudden dryness in your mouth now obvious to you.

Wonyoung smirks as she catches you stare, pushing her pants down as they drop to the floor, you watch how her tip was slightly standing up over her panties, the pre-cum now obvious and you realise she was getting off this as much as you were. This was the first time she ever went this far with you, but who were you to refuse when you were maybe secretly anticipating for this moment. She doesn’t need to know that of course. “Speechless?” She taunts you, making you roll your eyes in annoyance once again. “Oh, like someone didn’t get off to me all fucking tied up.” She growls, she hates it when you curse and you knew that. You just wanted to see what she would do, how will she react. You would never tell her, but you loved to make her angry, maybe because it turned you on more than you would care to admit.

“I guess i really need to put you in place brat.” She climbs on the bed, her thighs at the sides of your head as her cock slaps against your face in the process. Without any warning, she thrusts herself inside of your mouth. You immediately moan at the taste of her, unable to deny the feeling between your legs any longer as you pull at the restraints, so wanting to touch yourself as you brush your thighs together helplessly. Wonyoung watches you, how needy you have gotten, how you were actually enjoying this. She couldn’t help but moan and groan, thrusting herself deeper, her brows furrows in pleasure as she let out strings of curses. “F-fuck..yes..take it d-down...always knew you were a slut for my cock.” She tugs at your hair, pulling you impossibly closer before holding that position for a few seconds, only to pull away after as you gasp for air, tears welling down your cheeks and strings of drool hanging from your chin and connected to the tip of her cock.

You looked pretty like this. All messy for her. She wished she could take a picture of you now, all cock drunk for her, but that she would save for another day. Instead, Wonyoung pulls harshly at your hair, it makes you wince, a groan escaping your lips. “Done being such a brat?” She raises a brow, and you gave her a challenging look, one that makes her lips form a line, showing she was not happy with your behaviour, after all, she turned you into a vampire to be hers, and only hers. You could say she was possessive of you in a rather crazy way, one that she would never admit to if anyone asked her, but both of you knew the truth.

“I said what i said, and i wont take it back.” There it was once again, your never dying down attitude, except, this time, Wonyoung hated it. She only growls, positioning herself between your legs, and you knew what was to come. Without any warning, she pushes herself into your entrance, hearing you let out a scream from the stretch and slight sting. She ravels in the way your walls closes around her almost instantly, moaning with her eyes slightly rolled, she grips your thigh harshly, her sharp nail almost piercing your skin as you let out cries.

“I-i’m going to fuck you until you l-listen brat.” She was fucking into you so hard and fast that it was a little painful. But for some reason, your brain could only process her using you for your own pleasure, how she turned you into a vampire just for her own relief, and that thought just made it 10x better. You were a moaning mess beneath Wonyoung, lips parting and tongue sticking out slightly. Wonyoung loved you this way, she felt powerful, felt like she was in control of you and she would make sure to get that in your head.

She reaches over to your breasts as they jiggled with each thrust of her hips, her thumb circling your hardened nipples, hearing how you moaned louder for her. She moans as well, you were sucking her in so well, she changes her position to missionary instead, now having a clear view of the expression you were making. “Y-your pussy feels so good, so tight ahh~” You pulled at your wrists, whimpering as you weren’t able to do anything with your hands, your fists were balled into fists, your knuckles white. “P-please!” You cry out, and Wonyoung only ignores you, driving herself impossibly faster inside of you as she nears her orgasm.

“Please…p-please slow down..” You plead, the speed she was driving herself inside of you was becoming overwhelming and too much, some tears welling in your eyes. “S-say it then.” Wonyoung doesn’t slow down, she wanted to hear you take back your words from earlier, her hand lands a harsh slap on your breasts, it makes you let out a small scream, your back arching off the bed slightly from the stinging pain mixed with pleasure as she was still fucking inside of you. You start to sob, realising she wasn’t going to stop anytime soon until you took back your words.

“F-fine! I-i’m sorry, please!” You say desperately, pulling at your wrists again which were now sore from all your pulling and struggling. Wonyoung had a crazy smile over her face, it wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear, her speed still consistent as she pulls your thighs over her shoulders, pushing her front over your thighs, you cry out at the new angle, it was hitting your cervix repeatedly this time, and becoming too much. Wonyoung was really close too, but she held it back, she wanted to hear you say it before she dumps her load inside of you. “Say it.” She orders, her voice low and sultry, which makes you whimper.

“I…i..wont make y-you regret turning m-me into a…ahh..vampire.” You struggled with your words, now totally surrendering yourself to Wonyoung. “Good girl.” She slows down her movements a little, undoing the bounds on your hand with her long nail, and you instantly wrap your arms over her. She giggles at your state, going down to kiss your lips, sucking in all your moans as she pistons herself faster again. She could feel you sucking her more in, your walls closing more around her and knew you were close. She pulls away, her eyes staring into yours, watching your face contort into pleasure and she wraps her hand around your neck a little, letting you feel her dominance over you. Her action makes you cum instantly, your eyes rolling back slightly. “F-fuck, i’m cumming too!” She moans loudly, finding your lips again as she kisses you sloppily, speeding up her movement as she cums inside of you. You moan against her lips, your nails digging into her back from the feeling of being filled up. She stays in that position for a while, both of you not saying anything.

“You’re going to be a good girl from now on?” Wonyoung breaks the silence, only to hear you hum softly, too tired to reply with a proper response. She giggles at your state, pulling herself out of you which makes you whimper softly. She flips you over your front instead, and you turn your head to see her removing her top, a smirk adorning her face. She is back to bullying herself inside of you, which makes you moan and grip at the bedsheets again. “Don’t think i’m done with you yet sweetheart, i’ve only just started.”

[juice-plums]

Sweet, Little Rabbit

Sergei Kravinoff x !Busty woman! reader

Warnings: threatening, hardcore sex activity, Public sex setting, need him in my bed bad after this movie

You were working in your little cubicle, you were a small time lawyer, working for Ms. Calypso, under her influence you two became friends when you first applied, You were wearing a white, button down shirt that accentuated your ample bosom, and a short, black, pencil skirt, that accentuated your ample rump, you liked the way you had dressed at times to work, you black high heels innocently clicked against the marbled floor of the building, looking for Calypso to go over business files, and seeing her go into a conference room, You had innocently followed and stopped listening, it sounded like she was talking to someone, you nod to yourself and waited a while then knocked politely

When you heard Calypso’s polite ‘Come in’ You came in, the first thing you see was Calypso which she took a breath of relief seeing you, and seeing a strong, built man with her in, that made dead eye contact with you, the stare made you get goosebumps, you head had turned to Calypso then to the strong man that wasn’t wearing any shoes, you had gulped

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

You had sweetly asked, backing up softly with the files, you clicked your heels nervously, Calypso immediately shaking her head, while the man nodded yes to you, yet he still stared at you, in his eyes you were like a little, plump rabbit, it was kind of cute, he also found your nervousness adorable as you stumbled softly in your high heels, you backed up to leave the two alone, Calypso immediately assured you that you were not interrupting anything,

“Like I said you’re fine,….this is Sergei and this is…Reader”

Calypso had said, making you lock eyes with Sergei, his gaze cold and serious, you never had seen such eyes before, he eyes you, not in a judgmental way but in a sexy kind of way, like he was liking what he was seeing, Calypso immediately getting that tension and assured Sergei she’ll get ‘information’ and she left the two of us alone, I gulp as Calypso gave a thumbs up leaving, he looked at me and turned out to the glassy window, I gulped softly again

“are you alright?…”

“My brother is gone, taken”

he says, I gasp, my high heels softly clicked to him, and I was behind him softly now, my hand softly traced his bicep as a way to console him

“Don’t worry, we’ll get him back”

“I hope so,…Rabbit”

He says with a bit of light humor, I mock gasp, smiling, my hands on my busty hips as I do so

“Excuse me?, I’m not a rabbit”

“You’re plump, like a fuzzy rabbit”

he had said again, making me giggle softly, he light smiled enjoying the sound of my giggle, his gaze on your curvy and busty body, you felt his gaze on your body making you shy and nervous, he liked the effect he had on you, he liked making you all flustered and nervous, he stepped closer to you, making your breath softly hitched from his closeness, your sweet perfume fogged his sensed, blurring his mind in delight, he grinned, you swore you saw a fang, before you could say anything, he passionately kissed your lips, making you gasp in delight, he could taste the sweetness of your lipstick as he plunged his tongue in your mouth, you swore your pussy got wet from this single kiss

Sergei had grinned, unbuttoning her blouse, revealing her big, juicy breasts compacted in a tight lacy bra, he licked his lips appreciatively, making you all shy, feeling the cold breeze hit your chest, his hand delve into your pencil skirt, massaging your pussy through you panties, you moan, softly holding his hand warmly as he rubbed in between your pussy folds he grinned watching your face contort into bliss

“w-wait, we shouldn’t be doing this here..”

You tried to say, but just loving how his hand is playing with your sweet pussy, the slick wetness coating your pussy and his hands, he silenced you with a heated kiss, you both slurped tongues together, you moaned in bliss, his cock stirs in his dress pants you gazed at his boner, and your eyes bulged, seeing the physical outline of his dick print, made your mouth softly water, he chuckled

“I’m gonna get all nine inches of my cock into this sweet pussy, you hear that, rabbit?”

He dominantly had said, making your pussy get even more wet from the excitement, he chuckled

“oh yeah, look at that, your pussy is just so wet from excitement, gonna mark and claim this thick pussy and make it my own”

He dominantly had said, goodness he was so crude and mean, you couldn’t help but love it, he lays you down on the conference table, ripping off your panties and hiking up your skirt, he groans smelling your arousal that clogged his senses up as well, he revealed his long, uncut, and throbbing cock to me, he wasn’t lying it was 9 inches, you gasp, spreading your legs, he couldn’t help but give your pussy a few licks and slurps making you arch your back on the table, he groaned approvingly and lifted up, unsheathing his cock fully inside your pussy, making you gasp, he groans as your pussy walls clamped around his cock, he grabbed your thick hips and slammed inside you not taking any breaks

“oh-ahha!~, Sergei!!~”

You blissfully moaned, locking your legs around his waist, holding him close like you two were caterpillars hunching, he groaned again, feeling your legs lock, he bottomed in and out of you fast like his life depended on it he didn’t care who’d come in all he cared about was pleasuring sweet Reader, his sweet Rabbit, you were getting your brain fucked and he was getting his cock milked

the depraved scene still continues to unfold in the tiny conference room, anyone could come in by now, they both didn’t care they were both lost in the pleasure and how Sergei was fucking her womb into oblivion, Her screams got louder and she scratched his back up, Sergei absolutely loved that shit and rammed into her cervix every time, the poor table creaked and groan to the love making

“I’m gonna bust my load in you, you want that?, want me to cream pie your womb?”

“oh yeah!, cum in my pussy, fill me up, I wanna be filled with cum”

You shamelessly beg, you didn’t ever want to stop having sex, it felt so good with him, he was definitely hitting all your right places, he was not a stranger to making love to a woman, he groaned slamming his cock into your pussy one more time all 9 inches in your pussy and cum, his hot scalding cum flowing in your pussy, you saw stars, and let him cum inside you, blissfully dazed out, he pulled out, his cock with a wet pop, he watched as he cum leaked out of your pussy and grinned, locking your union with a searing, sweet kiss

“Now you’re mine,…my sweet, little rabbit”

[talesofesther]

wildflowers

Astarion Ancunin x Reader

Summary: Astarion has shared a lot of firsts with you already, and you just so decided to add one more to the list.

A/N: A little something special for valentine's day. <3

Masterlist

You'd grown up around flowers.

With your mother being a druid, it was only natural that wherever you went, nature followed. Even in your family's estate back in the city, the walls were adorned with all kinds of colorful plants and vines, the air feeling all the more pure inside your lungs and the green leaves being a sight for any sore eyes.

You'd spend hours in the garden, tending to the seedlings and speaking more with the flora than you did with people.

That's why, after the nautiloid's crash and as you walked through unknown lands, you found some semblance of comfort in all the wildflowers adorning your mysterious path.

You hummed a song under your breath as your boots crushed the gravel underneath, feet a little sore with all the walking you'd done today, but you needed to reach the shadow-cursed lands as soon as possible; how much time you had left remained uncertain.

Shadowheart had already started complaining about the rough terrain too, and with the sun starting to set on the mountainous horizon, you figured you could set up camp soon.

"I'm not offering any rides, if that's what you're thinking."

You caught the end of the cleric's conversation with Astarion, and at his quip, you changed a glance in his direction.

He caught your gaze, lips quirking in a small smirk as he gave you a wink that got you avoiding his stare again when you felt warmth coming to your cheeks.

You'd grown fond of the pale elf, it's true. But part of you thinks he's grown fond of you, too. At first, his smiles at you were sharp as a dagger or overly seductive, yet lately, there's been a softer edge to them.

Blinking at the golden sunlight in your eyes, you started scouting the area for a good place to rest, and that's when you caught sight of a patch of white on the ground. Leaving your companions to discuss amongst themselves whether it was late enough to camp or not, you walked up to it.

There, on the edge of a set of bushes and trees, stood a small bundle of star-shaped white flowers, their six petals delicate and thin; the bright white stood out amidst the deep browns and greens.

You reached down to run a gentle finger over one petal. And as you plucked a single flower from the bunch, you couldn't help but think of him.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

Bags were being dropped onto the ground with a few tired groans escaping your companions. You'd found a decent enough place, tucked in between old ruins and overlooking a breathtaking view of the nearly set sun.

You gave a sympathetic smile to Karlach as you passed by her tent, watching with a fond glint in your eyes as your fiery friend ruffled the fur of her teddy bear. Such a softy at heart.

Astarion had his nose buried in a book, and that's where you were headed. Whenever he concentrated on his reading, he'd furrow his brows ever so slightly; sometimes he'd play with his fangs, running his tongue over them and biting his lower lip. It was endearing, you wondered if he knew he did it.

You approached him, heart in your mouth and white flower held in between your fingers. The last of the golden rays were kissing his skin, he looked ethereal.

"Hey," you spoke lowly, the moment seemed to call for it.

The elf perked up at your voice, a smile instantly painting his face as he closed his book to settle his attention on you. "Hello darling, what can I do for you?"

You shook your head briefly, "Nothing, I just came to give you this." You raised the single flower with a timid tilt of your lips, hesitating on your next words, "It… reminded me of you."

Astarion looked at you as if you'd just asked his hand in marriage. He kept quiet, eyes way too wide and jaw way too tense for such a simple moment. You wondered if you'd somehow poked at something you weren't supposed to poke. If flowers brought him bad memories or if maybe he was allergic to them.

You watched as he gulped, avoided your eyes, and then looked at you again. He raised his hand but it was a clumsy gesture, as if he had no clue what to do.

Your heart shattered when you wondered if he had ever received any flowers in his life.

Taking half a step closer, you took the liberty of placing the flower in Astarion's hand, wrapping your fingers around his own so you could close his grip around the delicate thing. "It's for you." You reassured again.

With a gentle smile, you ran your thumb over his knuckles and turned around to check on your other companions, figuring he could use the time alone.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

Astarion never cared much for flowers.

In his 200 years of torment, trapped in an eternal night, there wasn't much room for color and delicacy.

There were rare times he saw it, when he'd stumble upon a young couple, one person bowing lightly with a smile as they gave the other a flower; both drunk in passion. He never understood the gesture. Everyone did it, but why?

Was it a silent request for something in turn? Was it a sign of commitment? Or did it happen simply to show affection?

In any case, he did not need to understand it, it's not like anyone would be handing him flowers.

Wrong. Maybe he did have to.

Because you had just given him a flower.

You had captured his attention ever since he put a dagger to your throat when you first met. His excuse for the captivation was because you'd be an easy one to seduce, nothing more. He'd charm you, gain your affection, and secure his safety in your group of misfits that you were unintentionally leading.

A simple plan, all he had to do was not have any feelings of his own. Yet it seemed like your plan, was to make his more difficult.

"It's for you." You'd told him, voice as sweet as honey and as soft as velvet as you placed the white flower in his hand.

Astarion held onto the delicate plant as if it could crumble between his fingers.

Would he care if it did? The thought certainly didn't bring him joy.

His mouth stayed agape, fangs barely poking from behind his lips. Looking between you and the pale white of the flower, he didn't know what to make of it. Did you want something from him? Was there some hidden message behind the gesture he was yet to understand?

You simply gave him a soft smile, bashful eyes avoiding his, and kept on walking. Just like that. As if you hadn't just turned his world upside down.

Was this what… affection looked like?

A small scoff escaped Astarion then. Clearly, his plan was working, you were growing fond of him. So naive, so easy.

But then… why did he feel like his dead heart was the one coming back alive only so it could beat for you?

All of a sudden he felt tainted for treating you as if you were nothing more than one of his victims. But did that mean he wanted you to be something more?

The question didn't even seem like it was his to decide anymore.

Astarion looked down at the delicate flower in his hand, twirling it around and making the petals dance.

"It reminded me of you."

His ruby eyes seemed to sting. When was the last time someone had compared him with something as delicate and precious as this?

He looked up at you again, watching as you crouched down to cup Scratch's cheeks and most likely spoke with him in that silly voice you always made.

There was a weight in Astarion's chest, heavy yet warm, scary yet pleasant. He wondered, would you catch him if he fell for you?

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

Next morning you woke up to the sight of a carefully crafted bouquet resting just beside your bedroll. Wildflowers of all colors and shapes held together by a single strip of red satin.

Astarion watched from afar, as you picked it up and buried your nose into the flowers, smiling brightly as your fingertips traced the shape of them.

When you raised your gaze to him, a dark blush dusted his cheeks and the tip of his ears. He didn't know what love looked like; but he's learning, he thinks. And if the feeling inside his chest is any indication, it looks a lot like you.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Astarion’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us @asterordinary

[silvergyus]

bitten- h.kk

pairing: mortal!hueningkai x vampire!reader

summary: a century-old vampire hunts for her latest victim, a mortal boy she may want to keep around forever

warnings: typical vampire content including killing victims (kai is referred to as your victim/prey multiple times), blood consumption (reader bites kai and drinks his blood). this fic is dark! please do not read if you are not comfortable with these descriptions!

smut warnings: handjob (kai receiving), blowjob (kai receiving), scratching (kai receiving), dubcon (reader uses vampire persuasion on him multiple times), cum eating

word count: 1,600+

song recs: death- white lies & vampires- l.i.f.t

Decades had a tendency to bleed into one another. Styles changed, slang evolved, but at their core, humans remained the same.

You stalked through the dark, crisp autumn night. Dim street lights illuminated your strides in a hazy, golden glow. You were on the hunt tonight, hunger pangs twisting your stomach, propelling you forward. An onslaught of scents flooded your heightened senses, causing you to stumble and turn towards the heady mix of prey.

After asking a drunk girl with shiny red cheeks to invite you in, you crossed the threshold of the worn-down house and into the party. The air hung heavy with a nicotine haze as you made your way through the packed bodies lounging in the narrow hall. The smell of hormonal bodies drenched in alcohol filled your head, but you wouldn’t feed on just any poor drunkard, no, you wanted to find someone worth feeding on.

You settled into an antique rocking chair, an heirloom that stood out against the cheap particle board furniture that surrounded it. From your perch you took in the bodies in the room, observing everyone in the space, taking in the sights, sounds and scents of your next potential victim. Your eyes found their way to a boy tucked into the corner, laughing awkwardly at the conversations around him.

The boy held your full attention. He was beautiful. Tall, with a broad chest and shoulders half-hidden in his oversized sweater. His black hair hung into his eyes, a shield from the prying eyes of others, but not from you. No, you were especially good at finding those perfect boys, these perfect victims.

Draining the life- or at least most of it- from a victim was always erotic. It couldn't be helped. Their body writhing under your touch, your bite, the way they always resisted at first, until your venom lulled them into a pliant state. It was always messy, no matter how delicate you were. Hot blood rushing down their exposed throats, pulsing sweetly into your mouth. Their loud groans and quiet whimpers as you fed from them.

And if every feed was going to be like this, why shouldn't you pick the prettiest meals? Pretty humans with pretty throats, pretty flesh to trace your fangs along, pretty voices to whimper at your touch. Why shouldn’t you hunt for the best? You had forever to find it after all.

And when you had the best, you liked to hold onto it. No, you didn’t always kill your victims. Sometimes you kept them around, little pets for you to revive and feed from again and again, until you got bored or over-eager. Accidents happen. You hated wasting a pretty body, but sometimes, the darkness within you was too strong to ignore, animalistic instincts taking over, draining all the life from the victim at your feet. 

This boy though, he was pretty, pretty enough to be held onto. Too pretty of a face to be discarded after one round.

The air was thick with smoke and incense as you made your way over to your prey. His eyes, though obscured by his messy locks, widened at your sudden presence beside him.

A century of life has taught you charm. You postured yourself to appeal to this boy as you took him in at close range. You could smell the cologne he wore, sweet and bright against his skin. Below that, the coppery scent of his blood was intoxicating. You could hear his heart beat faster as you spoke to him, hear it rush towards his blushing cheeks. Oh, how he flustered at your presence. He’s cute, this boy. You could wait no longer to taste him.

The night stretched on as you conversed with the boy, Kai, he divulged. His mannerisms charmed you in kind, a sense of innocence that you longed to corrupt. The hunger that turned in you drew you closer to him, to his throat, the intoxicating scent making your head spin with want.

“Kai, my dear, would you like to come home with me?” Your eyes flashed black as you spoke, supernatural abilities turning your words sweeter than honey, impossible to resist. He nodded, eyes glassy as he was persuaded into action.

The moments between then and now passed in a flash. The journey back to your lair one filled with touches and kisses. Pleasantries were entertained, but the hunger in you couldn’t be silenced, not when this beautiful boy was settling onto your settee, relaxing in your space. Your eyes flash again, persuading him out of his clothes and onto your bed.

----

Kai is laid back against you, bare skin soft against yours. He is pale, his soft flesh dotted with sweet marks and freckles, a pink flush coloring his face and chest.

Your hand snakes up from his waist, a soft caress exploring the broad expanse of his chest, trailing up his throat before grasping his angular chin. You point his face away from yours, towards the silver mirror positioned across from the foot of the bed. In its surface you can see Kai’s brows furrow as he tries to make sense of the scene presented to him. Only his naked form appears reflected back, yours nowhere to be found.

"Look how beautiful you are," you whisper, taking in his appearance in the glass. His eyes widen with horror as he realizes that even as you talk, even as you move, there remains only one reflection in the mirror. He can feel you of course, your breasts pressed into his back, your breath fanning over his ear as you hold him. Your fingertips ghost over his nipples, scratching them slightly to see how he arches into your touch. You nuzzle his throat, smelling his fear and the sweetness of his blood pumping beneath the skin. His veins, so blue, stand to attention as his adrenaline rushes. It takes everything not to sink your teeth into him right now.

"Do you want to be like me, Kai? Would you like to feel like this forever?"

He swallows, still mesmerized by the scene in the reflection. Your hands continue to explore his chest, caressing his unmarked skin as they dip down to let your nails graze his hip bone. You tease him, fingertips ghosting over his thighs, dipping into the soft curls that rest almost, but not quite where he wants your touch the most.

"Maybe not yet. Going to let you decide that in time." His hand reaches back for you, searching for something to ground himself, to prove you're real, to deny the image in the mirror.

"I'm real, Kai. You haven't imagined me."

He turns in your arms, facing you. His cheeks are flushed with adrenaline and arousal, ears stained red from bloodrush. His leaking cock is the same bright hue.

"I'll make you feel good now, hmm?" You catch the whine from the back of his throat. He nods, cautiously. "You'll make me feel good too?" He nods again, slowly, unsure of what he's agreeing to.

"Good," you caress his face, gently pushing his hair from his eyes, "because I like to bite."

With superhuman speed your hand grabs his hard cock, jerking him so suddenly he thrusts up into your touch, body reacting involuntarily. The second that you've settled him back into place, your teeth find his throat, sinking deep into his vein. The hot blood rushes over your tongue and teeth, filling your mouth with the coppery sweetness you need to survive eternity.

He whines, a high note that falls as his hips stutter into your touch. The portrait before him is one of debauchery: blood weeping from his throat as his blushing cock weeps silvery precum and his hips buck into nothing. Scratch marks bloom across his chest where your nails rake over his sensitive nipples, but he cannot see your hand. The sight is dizzying. He feels faint.

You notice his color start to pale and force yourself to pull off from his throat, though it is a challenge to. The breathy sighs he makes, the feeling of his skin against yours, the rush of blood all taking over your senses, driving you towards giving into animalistic hedonism. You pull off his throat and lick broad stripes over the puncture wounds, venom telling the veins to close, the skin to heal. He will have two faint marks and a dark bruise in the morning.

He groans when you pull away, the venom fiery and soothing all at once. You stop your movements on his cock and he whines again, desperate for release.

“Shhh,” you soothe him, still trying to orient yourself after the rush of feeding, “that’s a good boy.” You settle him onto the pillows and maneuver yourself so you are settled between his thighs. “Did so well for me. Now let me make you feel good.”

Your mouth finds him again, this time lips and tongue, not teeth. You kiss the angry tip of his cock before licking a flat stroke against the head. Your lips are stained with his crimson blood, a beautiful compliment to his flushed and needy skin. He groans and bucks into your touch.

You take him into your mouth, sucking him earnestly as your hand strokes the base you don't fit in. He is close from your previous attention and it takes almost no time for him to groan loudly as he releases into your mouth. Salt floods your tongue, a welcome chaser for the copper meal. You've fed from him twice tonight and he is hazy and weak in your bed, the picture of human fragility as his chest heaves against your sheets.

You crawl up the length of his body to kiss his full lips, stroking his face as you do.

"Thank you Kai, you did so well."

"If I become like you," he asks, voice quiet, "will every night be like this?"

You can't help the smile that blooms across your face. An eternity with this beautiful boy? It wouldn't be the worst way to spend forever.

author’s note: this is a work of fiction not meant to accurately represent the idol. please do not repost.

taglist: @lunesdesire, @dearlyjun, @moamidzyism, @miupow, @mapofthemazeinthemirror

send a message to be added or removed from my taglist!

[jadeoru]

SMUDGED LIPSTICK!

11: fresh start -> prev / mlist / next

now playing: i dont like who i was then - the wonder years 🎶

The uproar of cheering and applause thumped in your head. Your forehead was slick with sweat, and you were still catching your breath as you ran backstage. Your back pressed firmly against the wall, heart beating so loudly you could hear it; adrenaline coursed through your veins. You watched as the rest of the band flooded into the room, smiles spread widely on each of their faces - even tsukishima’s. Nishinoya was jumping so much so you worried he would take flight. Excitement surged through the room, it was moments like these in which you found yourself appreciating all of the effort you put in to reach this point. All of the shows that went wrong: when you got booed, when you got into fights, when there were tech problems that ultimately ruined the entire show, when your nervousness found a home inside of you, feeding off of your doubts; shaking your hands, and trembling your voice. All of those humiliating, daunting moments you faced together. Everything had to go wrong for the present to feel so right. You were exactly where you belonged. 

“Oh my god did you see the crowd? They went fucking insane!” Nishinoya practically yelled, arms flailing around as if they were fueled by raw excitement. Everyone nodded their heads exhilaratingly. “Holy fuck guys, we killed it!” you ran your fingers through your hair, wiping the sweat off of your forehead. All eyes turned to you as everyone smiled. With a shout of your name, your friends began to drown each other with their praise. Kiyoko’s voice boomed through your ears, “Yn, your stage presence is absolutely captivating - We’re so lucky to have you in the band! Without you the crowd would probably be asleep!” placing her bass safely against the wall, she walked up towards you and pulled you into her arms. You smiled so hard your cheeks began to ache, leaning into her warm touch. “Don’t say stuff like that. You’re gonna make me cry, Shimizu. Oh my god I love you so much. You're the best damn bass player I've ever seen.” you laughed, squeezing her tightly one last time before pulling away. She simply kept smiling, before turning back to the other members, and continuing her words of admiration towards them. You stayed with the others for a good while, spewing your affection to them insistently, before taking a deep breath in.

“Guys. I think I'm gonna go find Sakusa.” 

Despite being 6-foot-something and undeniably the sexiest man in the bar, finding him proved to be impossible. Your eyes searched the whole building. Every time you thought you were getting close, all you were met with were traces of him: a white surgical mask stuck to the sticky floor, a half empty bottle of hand sanitiser abandoned on a somehow even stickier table. All you could find was proof of your clean freak ex-best friend’s presence, but not the actual man himself. Frustrated, and growing tired, you got yourself a vodka cranberry and stood awkwardly in the corner of the room. Maybe he’d find you instead?

After a few minutes of wallowing in regret and reminiscence of your memories, your hopes of seeing him again were quickly discarded as a group of people approached you. They looked at you with metaphorical fangs bared, and eyes filled with envy. Oh fuck.

“Hey, ‘yer the girl that was singing on that stage, right?” one of them called out. He was tall and lanky, with messy hair and a drunken slur in his voice. the rest of them snickered from behind him. He must’ve been the ‘leader’ of the group. You straightened your back defensively, trying to seem taller; more intimidating. “And what if I am?” your eyes flicked to the people behind him, who laughed.

“It’d be a shame. Yer way too pretty to be singing stuff like that. Enough of that emo bullshit.” you scowled, rolling your eyes. Was this guy serious? “I’ll sing whatever the fuck I want, asshole.” your lips curved downwards, trembling slightly with brewing anger. He smiled at you sinisterly.

“You’ll never get a husband with that attitude, doll. Men aren’t into that edgy style ya know?” he spoke in a patronising tone that you couldn’t bear.

“Am I supposed to care what dickless men like you think of me?” you knew you shouldn’t be speaking to him like this, you knew that it would only make the situation worse. but, you were way too stressed out to deal with this maturely. If he wanted to start a fight, then you’d finish it.

“You should - Just look at you! You’d be so much prettier without that black shit all over yer face. And the screamo music? Are ya tryin’ to look like a weirdo?” Did he seriously come up to you just to say pointless bullshit like this? Your fists clenched with anger, jaw clenched as you looked at the group of men with all the hatred you could muster up. “Suck my dick.” you spoke through gritted teeth. His eyes widened with shock, surprise quickly being replaced by offence. “‘Scuse me?” he asked, but you both knew he heard you well. The rest of his group looked at each other with a sinister expression, as if they knew what would happen next. You took a step forward, not caring if your boot stomped on his foot in the process. “I said,” you poked a finger at his chest hardly, enunciating each word with a rough poke. “Suck. my. Dick.” you spat at him. Muttering a low ‘you bitch’, he grabbed your hand and squeezed it tightly, almost in an attempt to break the bone. “Yer gonna fuckin’ regret that - you bitch. I’m gonna fuckin ki-” His words were quickly cut off as he was pulled backwards by the back of his shirt. He turned around, eyes widening in fear as he stared at the man now in front of him.

Staring at this man with pure disdain was none other than Sakusa motherfucking Kiyoomi. And he was pissed. 

“Leave her the fuck alone.” he pulled him back harsher, causing him to stumble over, nearly falling. His words shot out like bullets, laced with venom that tasted like pure hatred. The man quickly stuttered out his apologies, aware of how much weaker he was in comparison to him. “Hey man- it was just a joke! We were just playin’ around!” you almost wanted to laugh at how pathetic the man looked now, if not for being frozen in complete shock. “Yeah? Well it’s my turn to play around then.” he spoke with the ghost of a smirk on his face. You could see the way his fist was clenched, his knuckles were white as he held onto the fabric of his shirt. Without warning, he raised his hand, and punched him in the gut. As he leaned over in pain, grunting dramatically, Sakusa took this as the perfect opportunity to push him, slamming the man down to the ground. The people around you quickly processed what was happening, and tried to avenge their fallen friend. They circled you and Sakusa with the look of pure evil displaying on their features. Before they could get their hands on him, Sakusa grabbed you by the arm, and dragged you to the back of the bar, leading you outside.

The cold night air pricked at your shoulders, as you stared at the man in front of you. “Holy shit, Sakusa..” you muttered, still in disbelief from what just unfolded in front of you. He took a step towards you, and with a fast beating heart, you took a step back. Your back pressed against the wall as you stared up at him. He scanned your face for any sign of injury, before whispering, “Are you okay?” In stark contrast to a few minutes ago, his voice was much softer now - much like his gaze. You nodded your head shyly, scared that if you spoke up now, you’d accidentally let out all of your emotions. You’d be damned if you didn’t think he was hot as fuck back then. You’d never forgive yourself if you accidentally told him that. He hummed at your response, eyes flicking to the door to make sure you were alone.

“Are you ready to listen to me now?” he asked, trying to sound calm, but there was no denying the desperation in his voice. You struggled to suppress the smile that crept onto your face. “What if I say no?” he leaned in closer to you, almost enough to feel your breath on his face.

“Then i'll keep waiting”

You smiled at him. You smiled at him for the first time in forever. He treasured the sight with every ounce of his being. You were just as beautiful as you were the day you left him. He couldn’t help but smile back, albeit significantly smaller. “Will you keep annoying me about this?” you asked, crossing your arms, your smile shifting into a playful smirk. “Of course I will.” he said, blunt as ever. You chuckled. “Then fine. Talk to me.”

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before he began speaking. “Look. About… then - I…” he paused for a moment, searching for the right words to say. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry for the things I said to you - For what I did to you. I know that saying sorry isn’t enough to repair the pain I put you through but I swear I’ll do anything to make it up to you. And I know i sound fucking pathetic right now but I just need you to know how much I regret everything that’s happened between us.” The way he spoke was the exact opposite of how he normally was: messy, frantic, unprepared and, of course, pathetic. He wasn’t sure how long he was talking for, in all honesty he wasn't sure how to stop. He explained everything to you, not leaving out even a fraction of how he had felt or what was going through his mind. You had to do a few double takes to make sure this was still the same Sakusa you had known before. For once, you thanked his blunt honesty. He rambled on and on, only stopping to catch his breath. When he finally stopped, you could see the embarrassment that shadowed his eyes. It was evident that his mind was beating him up for talking so much. A moment of silence hung around you. You struggled to fill it. 

You looked at the ground, taking in his words. “Sakusa.. I-” A few seconds passed by. “I was not expecting that.” you said with a nervous chuckle. He let out a quiet groan of shame, looking away from you. He was adorable. You took a moment to put your next sentence together, processing every word of his apology. With a shaky sigh, your eyes met his again. He prepared himself to face your anger, bracing himself to hear the insults you would inevitably sling at him. He didn’t doubt for a second that he deserved it. But they never came. “Thanks for… all of that.” you laughed awkwardly, “I mean it. You have no idea how much I needed to hear those words from you. I don’t think it’s possible for me to keep being mad at you after hearing all of that.” you smiled at him again, tongue between your teeth. You swallowed, before continuing, “I’m sorry too. I should’ve let you explain yourself sooner. I was just so angry! I mean- you left out of fucking nowhere, y’know? I was so pissed off I couldn't stand to look at you, because I knew I'd forgive you immediately. It sounds stupid now that I’m saying it out loud…” you paused, looking into his eyes. “I’m so sorr-” he cut you off,

“Don’t say that. You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” His voice was low, truthful. Another beat of silence passed, before he started talking again. “Do you want to forgive me yet?” he asked, not doing anything to mask the pleading look on his face. His heart was racing, and he wasn’t sure whether it was nervousness or anticipation. Honestly, it was both. The thought of not forgiving him hadn’t crossed your mind once. You’ve waited way too long for this moment. With a smile, you pointed your finger to him.

“I forgive you. But, we won’t go right back to being friends. You have to earn that, okay?” your harsh words contradicted the happy expression on your face. He smiled wider than you’d seen in a while.

“Understood.”

Without saying another word, you pulled him into your arms; hugging him tightly. He stood there for a second, before wrapping his arms around you, resting his head on top of yours. He relished in the warmth of your embrace. God, he missed this.

“Thanks for giving me a chance.”

extra:

i have nothing to say except for how happy i am to get this chapter out god bless 🙏🙏THEY ARENT BEEFING ANYMORE!!!! HOORAY!!

TAGLIST: @gojoed @anianurst @itsdragonius @sleepy-writer84 @yuminako @wolffmaiden @tenjikusstuff4 @juie13 @ilyless @arachnoia @choizzn @3lectraheart @sugarrhiccupp @bbybibi @diorzs @le000xxgrd @aboveasphodel @petrus1989 @aria-in-wonderland @walllflowerrrsss @wave2mia @loveelylacey @marimisses @alpha-mommy69 @thepurpleempath @theauthorunicorn @v1oletfury @iluvmang @slashkxe @theycallmenanamisgirl @dailyakira @loverlunaire @iovetooru @ryukumi @soupofmushrooms

reply to be added ^__^

[radishaur]

Second Chance (Un-Ascended Astarion x Reader)

Warnings: minor spoilers for BG3 (takes place post-game)

Genre: fluff, slight angst, suggestive

Part: 1/1

Summary: A lot has changed since the fight to save Baldur's Gate, Astarion included.

Author’s Note: This fic has minor spoilers for BG3 but I tried to keep it vague enough that you could read it without majorly spoiling it. The "reader" in this situation is Tav from the game, but Tav is practically a self-insert so you get the jist. Not a Durge fic (yet). Also, this is with un-ascended Astarion. I apologize if this is OOC, I have such a hard time pinning down his mannerisms. This has been rotting in my drafts for way too long, so I just decided to hell with it, it needs to get posted. Lastly, I took some liberties with his backstory since it's slightly vague. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. Happy reading!

The only thing lighting up the barren city roads as you made your way back to your room was the dying flicker of the sparsely placed lamp posts. Not even the moon itself was making an appearance, cloaked behind grey clouds so thick that not even a ray of her light could reach the street below. It was nothing you weren't used to as an adventurer. The job kept you out late by nature since most of the types you were after did their business well after the sun had set.

The dark of night wasn't what sent a shiver down your spine. No, rather it was the unmistakable feeling that someone was watching you. Your time adventuring had taught you to recognize that feeling quite well and there was no mistake: someone was following you. You ducked into the nearest side street to draw them out and readied yourself to attack if necessary.

The feeling of a hand on your shoulder was all you needed to react.

You shifted your weight forward and used the other person's clear surprise to throw them off balance and over your shoulder. They hit the ground with a thud and a groan and you crouched down and brought a knife to their throat before you even had time to register the set of all too familiar red eyes that were looking up at you.

When you finally looked down at who was beneath you, you felt sick. You would recognize that face anywhere, even upside down and in the dark. Hell, you think you would recognize him blind despite all the time that had passed since you'd seen him. He smirked, his fangs peeking out as he tsked.

"That's no way to greet an old friend, my sweet," he teased, still as confident as he ever was, even with a blade to his throat.

"Astarion," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't sound so shocked, darling. I told you I would come find you, didn't I?"

You didn't say anything, your thoughts racing a mile a minute. You thought about him quite often, but actually seeing him in person again was enough to send your mind spiraling down memory lane. From when you met, to your victory over the Absolute, to your bittersweet goodbye...

You were snapped back to reality by Astarion's voice once more, slightly softer as he spoke this time as if he saw the thoughts racing behind your eyes.

"Why don't you let me up," he said, despite the fact the grip on your knife had long since loosened, leaving him enough room to push his way up on his own should he have wished.

You swallowed thickly and stood up, stowing your knife back in its place before reaching a hand out for him to help himself up. He was already in the process by the time your hand was offered, but he took it anyway, using it to pull himself up to full height in front of you.

For all the time that had passed, he looked exactly the same. His skin was still milky white, his hair still curled around his pointed ears just so, and his eyes still found a way to look straight through you and into your soul. The faint light of the street lamps made him look ethereal, otherworldly even, as he stood in front of you.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, an air of disbelief in your voice as you regarded him.

"Don't tell me you forgot about our conversation," he said, a slight tease in his voice masking the very obvious concern.

And oh, what a stupid question that was, because how could you ever forget it?

"Hello darling. I was just thinking about freedom. How I'm free of the parasite - free of Cazador. How I'll never be in someone's power again And all it cost was my life in the sun. Now I belong to the shadows," he had said, gesturing his arms out to reference the dark of night around the both of you.

"What are you going to do? What's next?" you had asked.

He paused, thinking for a moment.

"I...I don't know," he admitted, taking a moment of silence to think before saying, "I've never been able to decide for myself."

"Now is as good a time as any to start," you had joked, hoping it would lighten the mood a bit before saying, "Let's celebrate our victory tonight properly. You can tell me what adventure we'll set out on then."

The night carried on, with all of your companions around the fire, telling stories and drinking together, happier than ever and without a care in the world. Later on in the night, the two of you snuck off together, just like you had in the early days of your traveling together. It had filled you with nostalgia and you told him as much as you laid next to him, staring up at the stars.

"We have come quite far together, haven't we," he said, although his voice had sounded miles away.

"What's wrong?" you had asked, shifting so your head was propped up and you were on your side to face him.

He didn't say anything for a long time, simply looking up at the stars with a frown. All you wanted to do was kiss away the wrinkles that furrowed his brows until he would smile once more, but you resisted, letting him have a moment to collect his thoughts.

"When I was Cazador's beloved spawn," he started, spitting out Cazador's name venomously like he always had, "I had no control over myself. I spent 200 years doing whatever he told me and paying the price the few times I didn't."

You nodded. This was obviously nothing new to you, but you also knew he wouldn't be saying it again if it didn't matter, so you stayed silent, encouraging him to continue.

"And then when I was finally free of him and had some level of control, I just reverted back to my instinct. I manipulated you for my own gain. Nothing had changed." he said, frustration evident in his voice as he said, "I don't even remember anything before Cazador. Not a damned thing. Only his stories of what happened."

"That must be difficult," you replied softly.

He didn't say anything to that, but he did finally turn to face you and even without the tadpole's connection you could still feel his emotions so clearly. The inner turmoil was written so plainly on him that you wondered how he had ever seemed like a mystery to you instead of an open book.

"My point is that I have no idea who I really am. I've always been following someone else's orders, someone else's plans. Even here, with all of you," he said, sighing before adding, "I don't know what kind of person I really am, without following the moral compass of everyone around me. I've only ever known orders."

You stayed silent for a few moments before deciding to ask, "Have you decided what you want to do after this? That might be a place to start."

"I want to go to the Underdark first. I can't just let my brothers and sisters wander aimlessly. Then maybe I'll come back here. Try and find clues of what my life looked like before... everything," he answered.

"Then we'll leave tomorrow. After it gets dark," you said with a smile before yawning, the adventures of the day finally catching up on you.

You missed the way his expression broke just slightly as your eyes scrunched up during your yawn. Whatever he had meant to tell you had died on his tongue and he simply kissed you, a little deeper than he ever had before, and let you fall asleep in his arms.

When you had woken up, you were in your tent instead of out in the grass. You had smiled at the image of Astarion carrying you there in the dead of night to tuck you in and made your way to his tent to thank him, only to find it missing. In its place was a small box and a sealed letter with your name scrawled out in a posh-looking cursive.

He had left in the middle of the night. Packed up his tent and left nothing behind except his last parting gift to you. You didn't open the box, still hadn't all these years later. You simply unsealed the letter with shaking hands and read the whole thing 3 times over. He apologized for leaving without saying anything to you but said he needed to learn how to be his own person before he was truly with another. He thanked you for everything you had done for him over your time together before promising to return and find you when he had figured everything out. He said that when he came back, he would be yours in every way you would take him, should you still want him.

He signed the letter with Your love, Astarion and that was the last you heard from him.

Your face soured as it all came rushing back to you in full force. You scowled at him, all your previous excitement that he had returned disappearing much like he had. Old wounds ached as if they were brand new.

"I would hardly call a letter left in the dead of night a conversation," you retorted, snatching the hand that you had forgotten was still holding his back to you.

His lips pulled into a small smile, lifting up at the corner, but his eyes saddened in contrast. You clenched your fists and looked away from him, needing a moment to collect your thoughts.

"No, I suppose you're right," he said, shuffling on his feet slightly before adding, "You have every right to be upset."

Your eyes whipped to him and the dam holding back your anger broke.

"Upset?" you asked, the venom in your voice causing him to startle slightly, "Upset doesn't even begin to cover it, Astarion."

You took a deep breath to steel yourself, to keep yourself from shouting at him in the middle of the dark alleyway.

"You left me in the middle of the night after everything we went through together. You took me to your grave and told me you didn't want to lose what we had and then you left," you said, your throat getting tighter and tighter with each word, "You let me believe I was coming with you and let me make a complete fool of myself. All I had left of you was some letter and a stupid box."

You shifted on your feet slightly as you thought about that exact box, tucked away in your dresser underneath all your clothes. It sat, unopened, atop the letter that had ripped your whole world apart. You looked back up at him, trying to gauge any kind of reaction from him as you said, your voice cracking despite it being no louder than a whisper, "It's been 3 years."

He kept quiet while you composed yourself for what was the third time that night and then took a tentative step forward. When you didn't move back, he took another and then another until he was right in front of you. His left hand went to yours and his right hand cupped your face gently, his expression suspiciously calm but his eyes were a swirling mix of different emotions.

You felt your heart rate accelerate at the proximity and you cursed yourself for still loving him after leaving so long ago without a word. With all your anger released you were left only with the profound longing to be with him, to touch him, kiss him, hold him close. Every detail you had memorized about his face was even more striking in person than you remember and hearing his voice again after so long...

"I know. There's no amount of apologies I could make that would undo that mistake, although I am deeply sorry. I was afraid to be honest with you and it made me a coward," he said, taking a deep breath as he pulled away slightly, letting his hand drop from your face, "You asked me why I'm here and I didn't answer you fully."

You didn't move even a single inch, worried that any movement would scare him away.

"I'm here....," he took another deep breath to steady his nerves before he continued, "I'm here because I love you. I thought about you every day these past 3 years and there's nothing more I want than to be with you. I want to apologize to you for how I handled things and if you do still feel the same way, I want to spend the rest of my immortal life proving that to you."

His eyes were open, bearing everything he was feeling for you to read. You saw his sincerity and his feelings plain as day. Your heart constricted as you thought about your next words.

"I...Astarion...," you stumbled over your words, trying to get your heart and your head to align as they both asked for different things.

"Give me a chance to explain and properly apologize. After that, if you never wish to see me again, then," he paused, trailing off before finishing, "I'll disappear into the night once more for good this time."

You hesitated, taking a moment to let your feelings settle. The swirling mix of anger, despair, and intense longing slowed the longer you looked at him, and left behind was only the feeling of anxious uncertainty.

You saw his eyes searching your face for a sign as the silence continued to drag out, but he didn't say anything. Didn't even make a move, once again letting you decide as he simply waited. You swallowed, thick as it stuck in your throat. This was the same man you knew from so long ago and yet he was so different. His time alone had no doubt changed him, but was that enough?

Before either of you had a chance to say anything more, footsteps echoed out in the street and you heard someone shout, "Hey! Who's there?"

Your eyes snapped from the direction of the voice back to Astarion and you knew that both of you would need to leave immediately if you didn't want to be caught. Regardless of your feelings towards him, you knew that a vampire being caught out at night would lead to nothing good and you didn't want anything bad to happen to him. He seemed to understand that as well as his face morphed into the more guarded expression you were used to seeing.

"If you decide to give me a chance, meet me at the town's overlook tomorrow night at 10 pm," he said, his voice low before he kissed your left hand and then disappeared into the shadows of the alleyway.

You weren't far behind, slipping into the shadows and making your way back to your room. You tossed and turned all night, the anxiety of tomorrow night and your impending decision looming over your conscience until you could finally get some sleep.

Despite having faced some of the worst horrors that Faerun had to offer, Astarion was pretty sure he had never been so nervous.

He exhaled to try and release some of his anxiety before stepping back to look at the setup he had laid out. He had placed a few thick, woven blankets on the ground to cushion against the hard dirt floor with a fuzzy, fur blanket on top. Off to the side, he put a magic phonograph programmed with the music he had curated for the evening, and right in the middle of the blanket was a tray filled with more fruits and cheeses than one could possibly eat.

He looked out over the cliff and down to the city, illuminated in the soft yellow light of the street lamps now that it was finally nighttime. The moon was peeking out through the clouds and a slight breeze was blowing the hair around his face and the leaves in the trees. For all intents and purposes, he had picked a perfect night.

There was still a good amount of time before you were supposed to arrive, so he simply leaned against the tree that was shading the blanket setup and waited anxiously.

He found himself watching the town below and reminiscing about his time with you. There was no guarantee that you would show up tonight, but there had never been any guarantees in your time together. With everything happening, there was never the promise of even the next day, yet you always came back. Chose him over any others and went out of your way to support him.

He spent more time than he liked to admit wondering if he had made the right decision in leaving. He knew that learning more about himself was something he needed to do, but he missed you more than he had anticipated. He knew that he loved you, but he had underestimated how that would affect him now that he wasn't around you all the time. You followed him like a ghost. He saw you in every face, heard you in every laugh, and taunted him in every kind action he witnessed.

After a while, he could admit that his fear drove him away in a harmful way. Afraid of his love for you and of what potentially dark secrets awaited him in his past, he ran. The more time he spent apart from you, the more he wondered if you had really loved him. The small part of his brain that whispered cruel nothings to him told him that you could never love him, not like he loved you at least. There was a chance that your connection to him was born purely from circumstance. Now, with no parasite connecting you and no shared goal to live, you might not feel the same.

He almost hadn't returned, but his guilt over how he left you and the regret he knew he would feel if he never tried to ask for forgiveness convinced him. Your reaction to seeing him had quelled some of his doubts. Maybe you weren't connected by the tadpole anymore, but your eyes betrayed your feelings just like they always had. There was a swirl of emotions there, battling for dominance, but he knew that somewhere in there amongst that conflict were the remnants of what he had broken. That bond built on love and sacrifice that brought him back from the dark path he was walking on before he met you.

He was brought back from his thoughts by a particularly cold gust of wind. He bit his lip slightly as he tried once more to calm his nerves. There was nothing for him to do but hope that you still loved him enough to try one last time.

The walk to the lookout was quiet. Fall had finally come after months of intense heat and the light cool breeze rustling your hair and nipping at your face was nice. Other than the sound of rustling leaves and your footsteps on the cobbled path, it was just you and your thoughts.

It would be easy to lie to yourself and insist that you had thought long and hard about whether to meet Astarion, but deep down you already had your answer from the moment he asked. So many years apart and he still had a hold on you.

Eventually, the cobble path turned to dirt and you found yourself hiking up the hill, your heart pumping from more than just the exercise. You were anxious to hear what he had to say but more than that you were worried about the next step. You loved him still, that much was undeniable, but you didn't trust him. That was something that would take a long time to build back up if it was even possible, and you wondered if things could really go back to how they were before.

Finally, you reached the top of the hill and the path flattened out. After walking further down the path, it began to open up and you found yourself breathless at the sight in front of you. Your eyes roamed over the blankets, food, and atmosphere that was laid out underneath the tree, each item placed with care. The breeze was rustling the tree leaves, causing a few leaves to fall here and there down on the blanket. Then, your eyes caught on Astarion. He wasn't facing you, his back towards you as he looked out over the town and you found that even from here he looked beautiful.

His clothes were similar to what he used to wear around camp, but they were made of much finer materials. His shirt was still frilly and the neckline still plunged down, but it seemed to be made of silk and the threads shimmered slightly in the moonlight, and his pants seemed to be a lot thicker material even though they were still black. If you didn't know better you would say that nothing about him had changed, but you knew that wasn't true. His hair which you knew from experience was always tamed was ruffling slightly in the wind.

If you were a painter, the scene in front of you would have been your masterpiece.

After a few moment, he must have felt someone staring because he turned his head slightly to face you. His lips pulled slightly at the corner into a smirk as he spoke.

"Enjoying the view?"

"Perhaps."

Your throat went dry as you looked at him more. His eyes looked you over and you were suddenly reminded that you were severely underdressed compared to him. You hadn't known what to expect, but fancy had not been on the list, so you'd simply worn some of your casual clothes and headed out. Despite that, his gaze still lingered and his smirk melted into a smile. When his eyes met yours, there was a fondness there that made your heartache.

He pushed himself off the tree and walked over to you where your feet were cemented on the dirt. When he was finally standing in front of you, you were relieved to see that he seemed just as nervous as you were. His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly and reached for your hand. You let him take it, your mind racing too fast to object even if you had wanted to.

"I'm glad you came," he said, pulling your hand up to place a small kiss onto your hand. "I... wasn't sure you would. You'd have every right not to."

"I needed to come. No matter what happens, I... we deserve the closure," you said, your voice quiet but firm.

He nodded, the gesture slightly stiff as the reminder of what tonight could possibly bring hung between the two of you. Still holding your hand, he stepped to the side and gestured with his free hand to the blankets. "Let's catch up and then we can talk."

You gave him your own nod and followed him to the blankets. The closer you got, the more you saw of the view and oh it was lovely. The flickering light of the candles Astarion had laid out around the blanket mixed with the lantern light of the city below, casting everything in a warm glow. It was high enough that you could talk uninterrupted but close enough that the faint noise of the bars and late-nighters could be heard.

Suddenly, you heard music and turned to see that Astarion had started the music machine which was playing some light romantic music. He turned it down so that it didn't overpower your soon-to-be-had conversation and motioned for you to join him on the blankets.

"So," he said as you sat down beside him, "What have you been up to since I've been gone."

Despite how you were still upset with him, your conversation flowed freely. You told him of your job as an adventurer, how you met occasionally with Shadowheart, Halsin, and some of the other members of your group who were still in Bauldur's Gate or nearby, and other stories to fill in the gaps since you had last seen him. In turn, he shared his story with you.

He'd spent the first few months away getting the spawn under control and settled in the Underdark, which had been a task in and of itself. While he was there, he began to adjust once again to life in the shadows. After a while, he set out to do what he originally wanted to do: learn about his past. He knew vaguely about his life before Cazador, just bits and pieces that Cazador had thrown his way when he was "behaving", but now he had a much larger picture.

He had hoped to find his parents alive and well, but unfortunately for him, that was not the case. Cut down not unlike him, his parents were long dead. Whether it was connected to his decision as a magistrate that got him killed was unclear, but it stung all the same. He searched record after record and finally found something that led him to a vacation house not far out of Bauldur's Gate. It was beaten and not well taken care of, but it held more than he could have imagined about his life before Cazador. Pictures, journals, notes, and records stuffed the house and he had combed through them all meticulously. That, combined with the legal records he had been able to get his hands on, painted a clearer picture of who he used to be.

He shared it all with you, promising to take you there and show you some of the pictures himself, should you let him. You talked for hours and barely noticed the hum of the city die down as the night progressed. In all honesty, it was easy to forget why you were here in the first place. The pain and betrayal faded into the background as you talked and you found yourself relaxing more and more. Eventually, he had finished sharing everything and the silence that followed was peaceful.

After hearing him talk, it was clear that he had changed a lot on his journey. The Astarion that once hid between a mask of seduction and good looks was gone, replaced by a man who was much more confident and sure of himself. He was still a flirty, cocky bastard, but he was more genuine. He wasn't afraid anymore. He had gone out into the world and figured out exactly who he used to be and was standing on the other end of it more sure of who he wanted to be in the future. As much as his departure still hurt, you couldn't help but be happy that he seemed so much happier.

The song changing broke you out of your thoughts and you saw Astarion watching you from the corner of your vision. When you turned to meet his gaze, you felt some of the air around you thicken with tension. Astarion must have noticed the shift as well because he stood up and held a hand out for you to take.

"Dance with me," he said, his voice hopeful as he added in a slightly more teasing tone, "I can show off those dance lessons my dear parents paid for."

The reference to his previous story of his upbringing made you laugh and you took his hand as he pulled you up to your feet. "Let's hope they stuck."

He led you to the side of the blankets, close enough to the outlook that you could still see the city and the ocean, but not so close that either of you would fall. He carefully positioned your hands and then his own before moving slowly into a dance. The two of you swayed to the sound of the music, making it easy for you to follow him. Aside from a few fancy moves spinning you around, he mostly just held you close to him. His grip was firm but soft, as if you were something precious to him.

"This reminds me of our first night together," you said, referring to the first night you had spent alone with him.

His mouth quirked up at the comment, clearly amused by the comparison. "I suppose it does."

"It's...," you trailed off, struggling to find the right words to explain it. You met his eyes and settled on, "It's beautiful. Who knew you were such a romantic."

"Only for you, darling."

He held your gaze, his tone devoid of any teasing and it made your heart skip a beat. His thumb rubbed a soothing pattern into your hip as you continued to sway, your eyes never leaving his. He was silent for a long time, neither one of you wanting to break the moment, but eventually, he spoke.

"As much as I'd like to just stay here and enjoy the evening, that wouldn't be fair to you. I owe you a true explanation and an apology."

You stilled slightly, his words reminding you once again why you were here tonight. You nodded at him to indicate that you were ready and continued to dance with him.

"That night, when you were asking me about the future, I began to panic. I told you that night in the graveyard that I wanted something real with you and I meant it, but... I got scared. I kept thinking about how much I never knew about my past and how little I knew about myself now that I was free and it ate away at me. It dawned on me that there was a very real possibility that you would learn the truth about what I was like before Cazador or that being free of the tadpole would change how you saw me and that you would leave. I was terrified of losing you and I let myself slip back into old habits as a result. Hurt them before they can hurt you, and all that."

As he spoke, his eyes clouded over and his grip on you tightened slightly, his stress shining clear as day on his face. You shifted your hand out of his, resting your arms around his neck. He let his other hand grab your waist to match the other and you let yourself play with the hair brushing against the nape of his neck as he continued.

"I'm glad that I left on my own because I needed to learn how to live now that I was free. I have no memories of almost anything before Cazador, so my whole life felt like it was lived being controlled, first by Cazador and then by the Absolute. I loved you and I... I still love you," he said, voice wavering slightly at the admission of his feelings, "But, I needed to learn how to just be. Being in a relationship with you, wasn't like being controlled, but I needed to learn how to be myself. It was something I needed and I'm glad that I can say I know who I am now, but I shouldn't have left the way I did. I should have come to you about it, but I let myself fall back to how I used to act instead."

He stopped dancing then, pulling you closer with one arm and letting the other come up to brush against your throat before cupping your face. The gentleness of his touch made you shiver slightly and his grip on your waist tightened once more.

"I'm sorry, for leaving you in the middle of the night without a word. It will be one of my life's biggest regrets. I thought about you every day that I was gone and I still feel the same about you as the day I left. If you let me, I want to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I'm yours in every way that you'll take me, should you still want me."

His last line quoting the letter broke the last of your resolve as you leaned into his touch, your eyes watering as you finally spoke.

"You're an asshole. I'm glad that you're happy, but I hate that you told me you loved me and then left in the middle of the night. I hate that you made me wait here for so long without another word from you. I hate that you sauntered so easily back into my life with that stupid, smug smirk. But mostly, I hate that despite all of that I still love you," you said, your voice wavering as tears finally spilled down your face, "I love you just as much as I did before and nothing can change that. Not even you."

You hadn't realized as you were talking just how close to him you had gotten, your hands fisted into his shirt and his hair, but now it was clear as day, even with your eyes clouded by tears. You didn't have time to react before you felt him lean down and slot his lips against yours. His kiss was firm and filled with so much passion and you met him with a fierce determination of your own. Your lips fell into a familiar rhythm, almost as if it hadn't been years since the two of you had done this.

He pulled away slightly, murmuring I love you's against your skin as he kissed his way from your lips to your cheeks, the gentle press of his lips kissing the tears away. It was too much and yet not enough all at once. You clung to him like a lifeline as he met your lips once more, his kiss like a breath of fresh air as you were drowning at sea. You didn't know when he had picked you up and moved you onto the blanket, but suddenly you were on his lap underneath the tree once more.

His touch was like fire, burning everything it touched and you wanted more. You wanted it all and he was more than happy to oblige. The world around the two of you faded into nothing as he gave you everything, skin to skin, heart to burning heart.

Later, as the two of you lay under the stars and blankets pressed up against each other, he pulled a box out from its hiding spot amongst the blankets. You shifted slightly, pulling the blankets with you as he sat up with the box now in hand. It only took a few moments for you to recognize what it was.

"How did you get that?" you asked, confusion evident. "That's been tucked into my dresser for years."

"You wound me, darling. A man of my talents can steal anything with enough time and resources."

You felt a lump grow in your throat as you looked at the box. You would recognize that box anywhere, its image haunting you in your nightmares about that day. You never had the courage to open it after reading the letter Astarion had left and that same trepidation came back in full as it stared back at you now.

"Admittedly, I was hopeful about how tonight would go. I knew there was a chance you hadn't opened it, so I grabbed it from your room before you came back for the day," he explained, the hand next to yours on the ground brushing against it in reassurance.

He repositioned slightly and opened the box. The inside of it was a plush red velvet and nestled right in the middle, a ring. Not a wedding ring or even anything incredibly fancy, but a ring nonetheless. It was polished steel with three small gems embedded in the middle. Their colors danced in the light and you found yourself reaching out to touch it.

"What...," you said, your voice failing you for the millionth time that night.

"Consider it a promise," he supplied, his voice quiet as he plucked the ring out of the box and guided it onto one of your fingers. "I want something real with you. I'm yours for as long as you'll have me."

You had both changed significantly in your time apart. Astarion had broken your trust and it would be a long time before it would fully come back. You knew things could never go back to how they were before, but maybe that was ok. Maybe you both weren't the same people you used to be, but you were both learning, both trying to be better, trying to navigate life after the Absolute, trying to live. Maybe that trust was broken, but that broken bond could come back stronger. There was no doubt in your mind as you kissed him once again, murmuring against his lips.

"Here's to forever, then."

ღ radishaur — i do not own any of these characters. do not plagiarize. please enjoy and remember to be respectful! 

[crypt-keepers-den]

I need more of Astarion and his little spawns- You don't understand how much I fucking loved that fic, PLEASE WE NEED MORE DADDY STARION 😭😭😭

I DIED BUT NOW IM BACK ENJOY!

𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬 (𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧)

Astarion never claimed he'd be a good father, but as soon as your little ones arrived into the world he sure was the proudest. When Lyra, your oldest had been born he fainted (can vampires faint idk), and when you announced your pregnancy with your youngest, Caspian, he was elated and told anyone who'd listen that his darling was blessing him with a second child.

when your oldest was born he was too frightened to hold her, in fear that he'd hurt her, but after a long talk from you (and a stern talking from halsin who'd offered to help you deliver naturally) he did hold her, frozen in place however as he did so. "she's perfect my darling" soft silvery tears cascading down his pale cheeks as the new-born yawns, when your youngest was born, he was prepared this time, holding your hand with confidence as you brought a new life into the world, bringing your 1yr old daughter into the bedroom to meet her baby brother, the elf had a grin etched on his face.

becoming a parent is one thing, but a parent to a dhampir baby is another, when lyra started teething you found out the harsh way. One evening you had lifted the infant to breastfeed her, settling back down on the couch with the infant nestled to your chest as she contently latched, your adoring husband sitting next to you a book in hand, his free hand stroking the top of his daughter's head. "star, read that page again i was too focused on lyra" he nods starting again until he heard a sudden yelp from you, "my love whatever's wrong?" he watches you exam the giggling baby's mouth "holy Avernus, star she's got fangs!" his eyes widened at your discovering as he leans over to see what your talking about, your holding the drooling baby's mouth open to allow him to see the two little white points that had pierced through lyra's gum. His eyes widen now understanding what had happened causing him to laugh, earning him a rough slap to the shoulder and a stern glare. safe to say you switched from breastfeeding to bottle and continued to do so with your second born (not that it helped but it saved your poor breasts from being gummed on by your children atleast).

Astarion prided himself in his inability to say 'no' to his children, "papa can i has?" caspian stares up at his father with the same puppy dog eyes you use on him, "caspian no treats before dinner!" you'd call out, the little boy would then pout before looking back up at his daddy, "papa a'peas", oh dear your son has him in the palm of his chubby little hands, astarion cant remember his childhood anymore, nothing but faint smells of what he assumes is his mother's perfume, but he does remember having nothing when he was under cazadors control. And he had made a promise at each child's birth, they'd never suffer like he had and they'd want for nothing. in this scenario its astarion sneaking your son a cookie before dinner, the pair hiding under the kitchen table laughing "our little secret little starling" , "you two know i can see you right?" "quick run!". with choas ensueing as you chastise the pair for ruining their appetite for dinner.

"lyra please stopping scaring your brother with your bat form!", the first time your daughter had found out she could shift scared you shitless, toddler lyra suddenly poofing into a bat mid hiccup causing you and astarion to jump out of your skin, not knowing how to get lyra to turn back until she hiccups again poofing back and landing in a panicked astarion's arms while giggling at her parents panicked faces. Since then astarion had taught her how to use it properly, however she had a terrible habit of scaring her little brother with it, startling the tot causing him to wail and run to the nearest parent crying "a bwat!, a mama! a papa! noo!" earning lyra a scolding, you and astarion made her promise to not use her abilities in the cottage and not infront of her brother, not until he was a little older anyway.

(hey! im back with some dadstarion stuff! how are we all liking this? i could go on forever about dadstarion scenarios, what would you like to see?)

[whatever-imagines]

Sweetheart

Rated: M, for violence, detailed-ish description of an injury, mentions of vomitting, unconsensual licking, and the allegory.

—-

The woman before was wild-looking. Her hair was long and tawny blonde, sticking up everywhere before coming down her back. Her eyes were such a dark brown, they were almost black, and you could hardly see the slit pupil. You didn’t like how familiar the brown in those eyes were. Her clothes were also strange, considering she was with a villain mutant group; black tank top and a full fur coat? What was she, a pimp?

The woman breaths in deeply, almost euphorically she smiles before her gaze settles on you again. You see her top row of fangs in her mouth.

“She smells like she’s been aaaaaalllllllllll over you…” she husky voice growls out.

“Who’s she?” You ask, voice quivering. You were not meant to be fighting, you were meant to stay on the ship but the comms went dead and you couldn’t feel Jean in your head so you left the safety of the jet in pursuit of your comrades.

In the snowy woods, you found this woman.

She laughs. Low and gruff, rumbling and gravelly. You could hear the danger in her laugh. “The pup; you’d be calling her Logan now.”

You still at the mention of your friend’s name. Logan and you had become close recently; with her constantly watching you and helping you around the mansion as you teach the various students. You do like Logan quite a bit, but that was a secret only for you to know (and possibly Jean with how snoopy she is).

“Oh?” The woman chuckles. “Struck a cord, huh? Don’t worry little thing…” the woman drawls, smiling widely, hauntingly. “She’s on her way now!”

You hear someone, impossibly distant from you, scream your name in a desperate fashion. Logan, somewhere in the woods.

“She’ll know this reminder is from me.”

“SABERTOOTH!”

And then your side erupts with pain. You didn’t even see the woman move.

Sabertooth smiles viciously down to you, eyes almost gone with how wide the slit had became. In your side, her three nails penetrate you in a white hot agony. You can’t even scream, it hurts so bad.

“Betcha she don’t finger you like this, huh?” She quips, inside your ribs she wiggles her fingers and you nearly vomit.

Logan, much closer now, roars your name.

You black out before she could reach you-

—-

“No serious damage done.” Jean had said.

You begged to fucking differ.

Sure, the razor sharp nails of Victoria Creed, aka Sabertooth, has left no infection and slipped between your muscles and tendons like a hot knife through butter; but damage was dealt.

You felt her inside you. You hear her vice, feel the heat of her breath when you least expect it. The wound heals and scars over and everyone you see the four bumpy lines on your side you grow nauseous.

Logan’s in the same train of thought as you.

Even after you had been officially discharged from the medical bay, Logan follows you like a dog. She checks up on you frequently, makes sure you eat, sleep, shower, not let yourself fall into a gut wrenching depression no matter how desperately you want to just to feel the relief of your sadness.

Sabertooth had fucked you up viscerally; she wasn’t just in your side, she was in your head.

It’s driving you crazy.

Without Logan around some nights, you just can’t sleep (you try to not think about how badly you miss the safety of Logan’s arms; how warm and heavy and comforting her scent is; how she doesn’t smell like Sabertooth, how most nights when she watches you sleep you feel her hot, heavy hand rub at your scars, how one night you feel the wet broad of her tongue lick your healed wound while she thought you slept-).

One night you managed to sleep; only to see phantom visions of Creed behind your eyelids, your brain fabricating awful memories of her finger-fucking your rib cage and you woke up screaming. Logan barrelled through your door, the sound of splintering wood and a full body impaction waking you from your fretful slumber. Logan stood at the foot of your bed, eyes wide and full of wrath, claws at the ready.

You hardly see her claws outside of battle, you thought idly as your throat was too sore to calm her down.

Again, that night, you fell asleep with Logan carefully holding you, her thumb brushing up against the raised skin on your side.

You wish it was Logan that defiled you. Logan you could forgive. Logan could gut you in a blind rage and you’d absolve her of her guilt readily. Instead you got her rival, a vindictive and frightening woman. You wish Logan could carve out whatever Victoria had left behind.

—-

And why not? You think, as you stare Logan down.

You’ve laid your case out, voice strained and heart heavy, about your idea.

And Logan had never looked more soft or vulnerable than the moment she rejected your proposal.

“I can’t.” She states softly, eyes almost wet. “I can’t hurt you, let alone on purpose, sweetheart, please-“

“She-“ you interrupt, angry at Creed for doing this to you and at Logan for denying you peace, “she, is in me, Logan. Floating around in my head, in my organs, and I can feel her.” You stress.

You see Logan flinch slightly and a sickening thought crosses your mind.

“Can you smell her on me?” You ask, voice raw, “Still? Even now?”

“You’re still you.” Logan hastily relays. “You still smell mostly like you, it’s fades every day-“

And once again, you’re violated by the villain. No wonder Logan’s been forcing her clothes on you, having you shower daily; she’s been trying to get the scent of her enemy off of you for weeks-

You gasp a sob. “Logan, please!”you beg. “I can’t keep doing this! I need her out of me, I need someone I trust inside me, I can’t keep letting invade my every waking thought! All I hear is her laughing!”

Logan looks at you, desperate, a rebuttal in her mouth.

“I am this close to carving her out myself-!”

“Okay! Fine! Jesus do not do it yourself!” She pleads, throwing her hands up. She huffs a sigh and pinches the bridge of her nose. “We’re doing it my way, okay, safely-“

“Oh god thank you!” And you rush her into a hug, crying and clutching the taller woman for support.

Logan sighs and hugs you back, a touch tighter than her careful squeezing.

—-

There’s antiseptic and cotton balls lining your side table, along with rolls of white bandages. Logan has her claws out, letting the rubbing alcohol on them dry to disinfect them. She wasn’t kidding, despite how gruesome the request you made, she was doing it safely. Logan was prepping this like a surgery.

Eventually, she sits on the edge of your bed, and eagerly you scramble into her lap.

She looks grim, determined. “Ready? This hurt.” She warns.

You scowl. “At least you warn me.” You hiss, wiggling your hips against the woman to get closer.

Just barely, a blush flushes over Logan’s cheekbones and her eyes flash with rage before cooling back down.

Her eyes were the same color as Victoria’s, but a shade lighter in tone. It was similar, almost uncomfortably so.

Claws still out, Logan assists you in shimmying your shirt off. Once bare to her, the flat underside of her claws slide against your ribs.

Your stomach turns and your force yourself not to gasp at the intimate situation you were in.

“If you wanna squirm and scream, that’s fine.” She assures. Most of the team was gone to find Creed, you’ve been actively avoiding the task. So right now there’s hardly anyone in the teachers’ quarters beside you and your companion.

You nod in understanding, mouth dry.

Logan nods as well, face set into a neutral expression. You don’t know what would be worse for you, her enjoying this or hating it.

The tips of the claws pride you gently, before slowly pushing into you.

‘Betcha she don’t finger you like this, huh?’

Fucker, you think, your fingers digging into the shoulders of the woman doing this tremendous favour for you.

Logan stops, claws shallowly resting in you. You realize with a shaken heart she’s trying to stop.

“Deeper.” You demand.

“Sweetheart-“

You wiggle uncomfortably, the claws entering you a quarter-inch more, and Logan scowls.

“Please, she’s in deep.” You beg, almost sobbing from your high emotions.

Logan’s bottom lip trembles an iota and she moves her fist closer to you, her claws going in further.

You gasp when they reach where Victoria reached. “Stop.”

Immediately, the claws are out of your side, Logan is pressing a towel to your ribs and she places you on the bed.

“You’re okay.” She assures, voice and body tense. “You’re fine, you’ll be fine-“

You smile loonily.

You can’t hear Sabertooth anymore.

Logan frets over you, bandaging your side, mumbling encouragements and words of clumsy comfort. She pets your hair and gently slaps at your face when your eye lids slip close.

“Wake up, sweetheart, look at me.” She demands. “How do you feel?”

Feel? You feel relieved, you feel free. You feel adrenaline and exhaustion and arousal, your thighs rubbing together.

Logan twitches slightly and continues to dress your wound.

“Do I smell like you now?” You ponder aloud.

Logan stills slightly to look at you, face unreadable.

She responds, monosyllabic and husky.

“Yes.”

[obsessivevoidkitten]

I have some really important information that may concern you and a blogger on Tumblr that I think you might know of, or could be mutuals with…

This was an anon send in that can be found on this blog [censored, blogger doesn’t want people to mistake them being part of the drama, and does NOT SUPPORT the following bigoted beliefs]…

“Ew, you're collaborating with a white supremacist's best friend?

Just a heads up, but @fangdokja-anon has been called out by multiple authors here for being homophobic, fatphobic, and racist, as well as making multiple problematic posts (like wanting to write about genocide and infant SA). The only person who publicly supported her was @yanderedrabbles who praised her in the comments and even made a post to defend her friendship.

It's your choice to have her as a writer for the zine, but please make it public knowledge so people can at least opt out. I myself won't sign up to share space with a bigot.”

Then there was this follow up post by the same anon, who goes into detail of the issues above…

“Sorry for the sudden accusatory ask, I'm one of the people who unfollowed @yanderedrabbles after she openly expressed her support for the homophobe and I was annoyed to see her acting so careless on another blog I follow. I guess she's hoping we'll just forget about it at some point and keeps quiet on her main.

Here's the first post where she explained in many empty words she doesn't care about the issue because the blog has been nice to her and they're friends: https://www.tumblr.com/yanderedrabbles/780435897593315328/hi-idk-if-your-mutuals-with-fangdokja-but-shes?source=share

The problematic post on @fangdokja-anon blog has since been deleted or removed, but I have a screenshot of @yanderedrabbles commenting on it with ‘THATS why your pro pic went all blurry when I logged in. Literally freaked me out so bad. I'm glad to see you reorganising fang! Gonna learn to use AO3 just for you 😘’ while the rest of us were freaking out at the atrocities mentioned.

Instead of coming out and telling us why she chose to publicly support someone who fetishizes stuff like concentration camps and pedophilia she's all giddy about writing for a yandere magazine, like we're dumbasses who'll just swallow up any content. The audacity is amazing.”

Hopefully the last follow up post by the anon that goes into some more history/evidence…

“The post that started this whole drama is from December, but it didn't gain traction until some bigger blogs like ozzgin and moyazaika talked about it, which happened recently. It's still available and you can read it for yourself, including the paragraphs where she explicitly says she doesn't support LGBTQ+ content: https://www.tumblr.com/fangdokja/770117292416712704/blog-rules-guidelines?source=share

The main conclusion from it was that she's (@fangdokja-anon) homophobic, though more people pointed out she's made questionable statements in the past, too. It should've stopped there, but then she made a post basically explaining that she's been gathering an audience so she can switch to different platforms (her website and AO3), where she can finally write without censorship. It was an extremely cringe story about her ‘shackles’ coming off, listing a bunch of offensive topics from the Trigger Warning Database and saying that nothing is sacred and she won't hold back. (Yes, it included the part about children and infants not being safe from it) Same blogs called her out again and she proceeded to block everyone who interacted with those posts. I guess a lot of people reported her blog since it's now hidden and tagged as ‘mature’, for which she had a meltdown.

Anyway, friend (@fangdokja-anon) is against queer people but you (@yanderedrabbles) argue she's actually kind because you haven't been targeted? Suspicious, but I let it sit.

Friend (@fangdokja-anon) publishes entire paragraphs about wanting to write downright atrocious content and you (@yanderedrabbles) comment how excited you are for it? Yeah, that doesn't work anymore, sorry. You're clearly ok with it and that's fucked up. Go support your cult member somewhere else, not in my gay household.”

Since this all seems to be true, please reconsider any relationship you have with @yanderedrabbles and @fangdokja-anon

That's a lot to read and I do not follow these people.

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Yandere Vampire x Princess in a tower pt.2

Pt. 1

Kofi: https://ko-fi.com/cherie47467

TW: Love-bombing, non-con, dubcon.

Ever since your transformation into a vampire at the hands of Roman, the two of you have been inseparable. Feasting on the blood of beasts and man, being the most animalistic one could be. Not only that, but the sex has been better than every other fucking before.

"My darling, how about we go home to your kingdom and get some fresh blood?" Roman proposes, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing your shoulders. "We can also get some of your things and complete your move-in."

You hold back a moan as his teeth graze your skin and rub your husband's head.

"I think that's a wonderful idea. Besides, I need to get out of this castle," You respond, getting out of the chair and walking to your closet. "Casual or noble casual?"

"Casual. I like seeing you in that white dress with all the ribbons and ruffles. It makes me feel like I'm turning you all over again," Roman answers, not bothering to hide the tent in his pants. "But must you desire to escape my castle so badly? Why can't you stay here forever with me?"

"Roman, I've been cooped up in buildings long enough. I'm a vampire and more capable of exploring the world now. Imagine, I can go to all the village festivities, go to markets, buy food and the best wines!"

Roman glares at you, his purple eyes darkening.

"Roman, why are you looking at me like that? Are you really that bothered by me having fun outside that much?" You say, tying the ribbons on your dress.

"Yes. I mean, what if your former fiance wants you back?" Roman replies, walking towards you and helping you tie the rest of the ribbons.

"My former fiance is somewhere else and married to another. He literally forgot about me in a tower. That's how you found me!"

"Ok, and what if someone else tries to steal you away?! You're a beautiful maiden, and anyone would be eager to steal you away! Why can't you understand how I feel?!"

"You know what if you want to stay inside the castle that badly, you can stay! I'm going back to my kingdom to get my stuff."

You walk away from your lover, not noticing the desperate look on his face. As you venture through the woods to your kingdom, Roman is sending his best bat servants to secretly follow you.

~~~~~~~~~~

You throw the castle doors open, expecting to be met with scrutiny. Instead, the loving arms of your mother and father embrace you.

"My dear daughter, where have you been? We've been looking for you everywhere. I'm so sorry we were deceived by that horrible man!" Your mother weeps, not caring about your fangs. "If we had known he was a crazy cult member, we would've never engaged you to him."

"I'm sorry, cult member? What are you talking about? I thought he wanted me gone so he could marry someone else?" You ask, letting go of your parents.

"No. Turns out he belonged to a cult worshipping a powerful vampire named Roman Beaudelaire, who is centuries old and amassed powers that thrive in the darkness. He left you to die so Roman could find you and make you his wife for eternity. But I see he's already completed that part," Your mother says sorrowfully. "We can go to the royal doctor and return you to normal if you want."

"No way, Roman wouldn't do that. He saved me," You reply, remembering how Roman fed and nursed you back to health.

"Sorry, sweetie," Your father says, showing you a picture of Roman talking with your former fiance, both dressed in dark cloaks.

"I need to see the royal doctors now," You stammer, feeling ill.

Unbeknownst to you, a little bat had heard your conversation and returned to its master. Only to deliver news that Roman would find most dreadful.

~~~~~~~~~~

"She'll be fine after a couple of days. Just make sure she doesn't drink any blood, and her vampirism shouldn't return," The royal doctor says, taking the needle out of your neck.

"Get some rest, sweetheart. We'll bring you dinner later," Your father says, kissing your forehead.

The pain was all you felt as your body acclimated itself to normalcy. The most painful part was feeling your teeth and nails recede back into your gums and nail bed. As you drifted off to sleep, you saw a shadowy figure watching you but thought it was your mind hallucinating due to the medicine. When you awoke, you wandered through the royal gardens, reliving your childhood. After turning a corner in the rose maze, you find the path to your favorite section, the aquatic flora area. The entire area is covered in water with flowers growing everywhere. You enjoy the feeling of water touching your feet as you walk to the giant water lilies until you see your former vampiric lover standing before you. Without a second thought, Roman walks toward you and kisses your lips like he's never touched you before.

"I knew it. You went to the doctor to turn you back into a human again. Why? Why do you believe such lies about me after we spent weeks feasting on the blood of others and each other? I love you. I was saving you from your fiance," Roman questions, holding your shoulders.

"The only thing you "saved" me from was a happy life where I would marry someone else," You reply, shattering Roman's heart.

"Please, you've got to understand. I've been so lonely for all those centuries! I can't be alone again. I need you," Roman pleads, wrapping his arms around so tightly you can't break away.

"Roman, let go!" You exclaim, feeling his fangs on your shoulder. "I don't love you anymore!"

"Please, please don't leave me!" Roman cries, hugging you tighter. "I'll let you explore every part of my castle!"

"Roman-fine! I won't leave you! If-if I have sex with you right here, tonight, will you calm down and leave?" You ask, looking at Roman as his head moves from your chest.

"Of course," Roman replies, kissing your hand.

Roman uses his claws to swipe off the ribbons on your dress, letting the garment fall to the floor and get drenched in water. His eyes scan your body and force you to the ground, kissing your neck before his teeth pierce your skin. As you feel the blood drain from your body, your legs squirm underneath Roman. You feel weak and tap Roman to let him know you've had enough.

"Ro-Roman, please. Please, stop," You whimper, feeling faint.

"A little more, my love. I'm almost done," Roman whispers, kissing your neck and biting a new spot on your neck.

"Please-"

"You will enjoy my fangs."

You feel his power wash over you just like it did the first time in the carriage, and your body relaxes, heating up as you enjoy his touch. You shake with disgust as you see your shaky hand slowly make its way to Roman's head, pushing his fangs deeper into your shoulder. You feel Roman unbuckles his pants, and you see his bloody mouth smile.

"Darling, you look absolutely divine," Roman coos, about to kiss your lips.

Just make sure she doesn't drink any blood-

"No, anywhere else," You say, putting a hand between his lips and yours.

"Darling, don't be afraid. You've already been a vampire once. You know how good it feels," Roman responds, kissing the edges of your lips. "But if you must insist, I shall follow through."

Roman kisses his way down to your thighs, licking your inner thigh. You feel lightheaded, leaning your head back into the cool water, letting Roman enter you. You feel him thrusting, him kissing your chest as he pleasures you.

"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you and only you," He chants like a spell.

Your senses overwhelm you as the pleasure builds in your body, finally, you feel some peace as your vision goes black in the cool water of the aquatic flora section.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Princess Y/N!" A guard yells, seeing your body lying in the water.

You wake up, your head hurting, and see your naked body covered by Roman's coat. The sun's light makes your skin glisten, almost annoying you as it blinds you.

"Princess Y/N, are you alright?!" The guard yells, picking up your body and wrapping it with the coat.

"I'm fine. Just drop me off in my quarters, and I shall be fine," You reply, clinging to the guard.

The guard does as he's told and places you on your bed. Once the door shuts, Roman comes out from behind it and gives you a lovesick smile.

"I'm sorry I had to end our late-night romance so early. I wanted you to be awake when you experience the ultimate release from my pleasure," Roman says, walking towards your bed. "Now then, how about we return to the gardens tonight to finish where we left off?"

You can only lay in bed as he sits next to you, stroking your body.

"I love you, Y/N. No matter how many times you try to push me away, you know you'll come back to me. You loved being a vampire and being your most authentic and animalistic self. It's just the way things are meant to be. We're destiny," Roman says, kissing your forehead and sliding beneath the bed to cuddle you. "So stop denying me."