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merakiui · 9 months

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yandere!malleus draconia x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, pregnancy, implied baby-trapping, captivity, very vague and slight implications of codependency, angst note - your mobile phone was at 100% when he took you away. with time, the percentage has diminished. so, too, does your hope for a brighter future.

The windowpane is spattered with rain.

Sitting cozy in a cushioned alcove, you watch the droplets slide down in regal rivulets, consolidating to form single streaks. The scenery beyond the window is bleak and dreary—a despondent landscape of gnarled, leafless trees and scratchy brambles stretching towards a dark, dismal sky. Sometimes you liken the rain to tears, wondering if Mother Nature weeps for all creatures or simply for you and your situation. Rare are the days in which the sun shines upon the craggy stone façade of your captor’s castle, and she is as benevolent as she is cruel.

For all of its sumptuous splendor, generational wealth filling the interior with priceless heirlooms and relics, it is an empty, cold structure. You’ve taken to enveloping yourself in thick furs, if only because these furs do not speak like the monster who so humbly offers his embrace. Though you’ve always considered yourself of strong, sturdy mind, your restraint is thinning. As the days pass and you shed clothing sizes like they’re second skins, you find yourself drawn to warmth.

Which is, ironically enough, contradictory to your current temperament. The windows, frigid like the grave, provide solace you cannot find anywhere else—for it is only tender warmth you receive from him. Had he not been so merciful, perhaps it would have been easier to shrink away and truly loathe him with every ounce of your being.

And yet, in order to escape the warmth which enshrouds, you seek the cold, bitter windows and their rain-weary countenance.

Lying beside you on the pillows, snoozing the afternoon away, a calico cat snores idly. She was a gift from him. You were neglectful of your mental health and thus, as per his guard’s suggestion, he sought to find a cat to cure your loneliness and inspire some form of happiness. You appreciate Silver—genuinely, you do—but the good luck a calico brings is not nearly enough to rescue you from captivity.

She was a stray, a scrawny thing with a limp and one bad eye. You took to her right away, scooping her up in your arms and lovingly naming her Cotton. Similarly, she returned your affections, rubbing her head against your palm and purring pleasantly.

Now she likes to nudge the dome that is your stomach, a great, round thing at only six months. Sometimes you think she’s more motherly than you are. You’ve never been able to care for much of anything. Plants wither under your touch, recipes spoil even when you follow them to the letter, and your electronics crack.

Your phone, more fractured than your very heart, is cold in your hands. The screen is blank; it’s dying. It was at 100% before. Now it’s been reduced to a sad 7%. There is no reception or connection to be had in Briar Valley. Your phone, once so powerful and all-knowing, is but a hollow shell. Useless. A digital photo album will expire at its final hour, and there’s no charger. He offered to use his magic to charge it, but he has never known his own strength and you couldn’t risk losing the treasured memories stored within.

Sometimes you’d return to old message logs and read through them. Now you can’t do that, lest you drain the battery quicker than intended.

“So this is where you’ve retreated,” Malleus notes, poking his head around the corner of a towering bookcase. Concern settles on his features. “Are you well? Sebek tells me you were absent for breakfast.” “I wasn’t hungry,” you mutter, watching his reflection through the stormy glass.

Malleus glances at Cotton and then at your phone as it rests in your clasp. “May I trouble you to eat just a little, if only some fruit?”

“I’m not hungry.” He nods, stalling. “Will you join me for lunch?”

“If I must.”

A small smile lifts his lips. “Are you cold? It can’t be very comfortable to sit there for such a long time. You’ll catch your death.”

“I hope.”

He tuts in disapproval and shrugs out of his cloak, draping it over you even though you’re already wearing a fleece robe. Malleus assesses you with a fleeting once-over.

“It doesn’t hurt to layer. You must understand where I’m coming from, dearest. Extreme temperatures serve to weaken those who are already so fragile.”

“I’m not fragile,” you snap, turning to scowl.

He doesn’t flinch at the heat smoldering in your eyes. “You’re human.”

“How many times did you have to practice that to come to terms with it?”

Malleus’s verdant stare narrows; his frown tightens. “It’s the truth.”

“I didn’t think you’d confront it.”

“I must if I’m to understand…” He exhales through his nose, deflating somewhat. “You’re in fine health. The physician tells me so. There’s no need to worry ourselves with ineffectual what-ifs.”

You turn your gaze on the sprawling forest next, unwilling to discuss the report and its subsequent conclusion: If she remains in good health and follows the recommended diet for an expecting mother, she’ll carry to term.

“My phone is dying, Malleus.”

“Is that not life? Lilia once said so.”

“My pictures… My everything is stored in this phone. It means so much to me.”

“Truly? Is there not a way to make physical copies of these photographs?”

“Unless Briar Valley has the technology to do so…”

“I’m afraid not.”

Malleus takes a daring step closer, endeavoring to comfort you. Cotton cracks her good eye open to peer at him. She hisses low in her throat, a protector standing small against something so tall. Pouting, clearly disheartened, Malleus heeds her warning and chooses to linger just within the bounds she deems acceptable.

“Yeah, that’s what I assumed.”

You heave a dejected sigh, your shoulders drooping. Seeking to cleanse your visual palate, you power the device on. 5% blinks back at you, an insignificant number sitting in a corner that you normally wouldn’t have paid much mind to. Now it weighs heavy, a reminder that the end is encroaching.

“I would’ve liked to keep these photos forever,” you whisper, mostly to yourself. Malleus hums his acknowledgement; you think he knows the feeling—or some variant of it, at least. “If I lose these pictures…”

“Do you not have memories?”

“I do, but it isn’t the same. One day I’ll grow old and my memory will be frail. I won’t remember nearly as much as I do now. Those memories will become ghosts and eventually I’ll—”

“You will not.” There’s a finality to the declaration—you won’t leave me; you won’t drain or die like this mobile device.

You rest your head against the window. The cool glass soothes your soul. I wonder what the others are up to right now… You place your hand upon your belly. I wonder if they’d have any good ideas for a name. I’m terrible at naming things. I can never pick something that feels right.

“I’d like to have a funeral for my phone.”

But maybe there is no right thing.

“Of course,” he agrees, perfectly serious. You will have that phone funeral, just as you will have every other request you make—however patently absurd it may seem. (Every other request except for freedom, of course.) “Materials may not have the same worth as a loved one, but the experiences they provide are just as valuable. Surely, no? Otherwise I would not feel so troubled when Roaring Drago…” Pausing to search for the placeholder, Malleus glances at your phone. “Perhaps there is no greater tragedy than existence itself.”

“It’s the most bittersweet burden,” you echo, scrolling through each picture with wistful remembrance. “But then I’d rather know the fleeting frivolity of life than endure hundreds of years of solitude. It makes me appreciate everything that much more.”

You stop at a picture of you and Malleus, a photo snapped by Lilia himself. Part of you often wonders why he chose you—why he adores you to such a degree when you, like everyone else, will inevitably perish. But therein lies the allure: That which is unobtainable is even more tempting. And because there is only one of you, a human destined to one day return to her home world, your very presence is more fleeting than a dream.

To Malleus, who has always dreamt, fond and fervent, of the unobtainable mundanity of normal life, you are a sweet, tangible blessing.

“Horns, do you think I’ll ever get another chance to have my phone at 100%?”

He softens under the nickname. It means more to him than his lofty station. “Would you like to know that joy?”

“It would be nice, yes, but then I’d just get sad when it reaches zero. I guess I should be grateful it’s stayed alive for this long. Sorry, it’s a stupid question. Just forget it.”

“Nonsense. There is no such thing.” He reaches to touch your cheek, but Cotton hisses again and so he refrains. She stands on unsteady legs and climbs into your lap, perching awkwardly in spite of your rounded belly. The sight draws a deep chuckle from him. “Your feline friend is quite taken with you.”

“It’s probably because I’m warm. She likes my belly a lot.”

“As do I.”

You roll your eyes.

“Your beauty is most beguiling. There’s a certain radiance to your person. It’s very charming. Do you not agree?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere—definitely not in Cotton’s good graces.”

“I’m simply voicing a fact.”

Your hand slides down from your stomach to pat Cotton. She purrs under your touch, and a weak approximation of a smile tugs at your lips. Amidst all of this sorrow, she is a glimmer of hope. In a way, she’s like you—a stray without a place in this world, snatched from the cobbles she once wandered and confined in a cage of royal opulence. Your similarities are striking, if not immensely devastating.

“Fact or not, I don’t care if I look pretty. It means nothing to me.”

“To be impartial towards appearances… Quite a noble mindset.”

I never once thought you were scary or strange, Horns. Even now.

You look at your phone once more. 3% flickers back.

You’re just lost, and in being lost you found me. But I was also lost. I never even belonged in this world to begin with…

“I’m not going to be a good mother.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I can’t even take care of myself.”

“I shall care for you when you find yourself unable to.”

“I’d rather you not.”

With Cotton having curled on your lap, slumbering peacefully, Malleus chances to close the gap. His broad frame leans to make up for the difference in height, and he runs cold fingers along your cheek. He brushes away the tears you weren’t even aware you were shedding.

You grip your phone in shaky hands, your shoulders hunched. There’s a piercing ache in your chest, pain stabbing all the way through to your heart. It persists when you power it off, unable to delight in pictorial reminiscence for a moment longer. Silent like death, you sob; seismic dismay shudders through you in waves. Distantly, in a forgotten corner of your brain, you suspect this may be the last time you’ll ever use your phone. The last time you’ll ever look upon the photos you’ve amassed. Photos of friends, class notes, food. Photos snapped by mistake, blurry and unfocused. Photos taken when Ace and Grim stole your phone. Precious memories are preserved within the permanence of a photo album—an album that only remains everlasting so long as you keep your phone charged.

Your final shred of the world beyond Briar Valley vanishes in a blip, leaving you with the dark void that is an empty screen. Brutal is the agony, contorting your face, and you bawl like you’ve just witnessed the end of a life.

In a way, you have. You held it in the palm of your hands, and you watched it wither. Watched the percentages drop through numbers, double digits easing into singles. Watched every week and tried to spare your beloved phone of its fate. Watched and attempted to stall the impossible—a foolish undertaking. This was inevitable; you knew this, and yet you’re still mourning.

Perhaps that is the most tragic facet of existence. From the moment one is born, they are mourning. Humans mourn losing time—of allowing it to slip through their fingers when they should have put it to better use. Humans mourn aging even though it is celebrated yearly. Humans mourn for things that are inhuman—for robots stuck in an endless cycle of some menial task while gears grow rusted and systems shut down or trapped on a distant planet, never to return home. For the fruit that falls from trees and rots, trampled and forgotten. For the endings, good and bad, of novels. For art that will never see the light of day because it has been destroyed or stolen or silenced. For the friends they meet, have met, and will meet.

You mourn because you know it’s impending, and you spend all of your life coming to terms with it, only to break down when it finally happens because the truth of the matter is that you will never be prepared no matter how much you prepare yourself. You mourn because you’re a complex human with complex emotions, surviving in a complex world with millions of intricacies, and the only way to weather misery is to mourn.

To the little life cradled in your womb, who knows not of these difficulties yet, they cannot fathom the anguish that accompanies loss. And right now that is all you can hope for—a life without loss.

But that is impossible because loss is true to everyone’s experience. It is part of existence, and existence is inescapable.

Malleus does not gather you in his arms. He will do so if you ask, and he knows you want to ask, which is precisely why he waits. But you’re stubborn and you refuse to give in to the temptation, let alone grant him the satisfaction. It doesn’t offend him.

The windowpane is spattered with rain. So, too, is your phone, spotted with tears and snot.

Briefly, you wonder if you still look beautiful to Malleus.

Even at your ugliest, he would still cherish you. Desperately, as if he might lose you.

Knowing this does not soften the gutting grief.

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus x reader #yandere malleus draconia x reader #yandere malleus

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firewasabeast · 26 days

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i know you didn't ask for prompts but if you get a chance could you write something where tommy is in trouble (maybe during the bees chaos) and kinda has to rescue himself? like his helicopter crashes or something idk! sorry if this is a bother!

well this became a whole thing, so thanks for that! Also, you can send prompts anytime. I can't promise when I'll get to them, but I always try.

ao3 link

He was used to waking up to the sound of birds. He had a tree right by his window and, while none of them ever made a nest, there were plenty of birds that liked to stop by for a visit.

He'd worried about it when Evan first started staying over. Some people hated the sound of the chirps first thing in the morning, often starting before the sun was up.

But the first time Tommy woke up with Evan in his house, expecting him to be beside him in bed, he was surprised to find him squatted down and staring out the window.

“Morning.” Tommy's voice was husky of the morning. He blinked a few times to adjust to the sunlight shining in from the open window.

Evan turned to him with a smile. “You have blue birds. I think I saw a cardinal too, earlier. It was quick though. A finch got a worm in the dirt by the roots.” He looked back, nearly pressing his forehead to the glass, “This is so cool.”

Tommy was pretty sure he felt his heart swell twice it's size that day. He's also pretty sure that was the moment he fell in love. He didn't say it then, waited a couple more months for that. They'd only really been going out for a few weeks at that point, but he still felt it.

And it was a damn good feeling.

Everyday with Evan was a good feeling. He loved going out with him, or staying home. Loved to hear him go on rants about whatever research he'd been doing lately. He loved coming home to Evan cooking in his kitchen, or napping on his couch. He loved the texts they'd send each other during shifts. Tommy would often get ragged on about how often his phone would ding. “Are y'all sexting again?” his co-worker would ask with a snort. Tommy never told them that, most of the time, Evan was actually sending him the most G-rated photos of all time, and it was absolutely adorable. Like the one where he was holding a baby duck that they'd saved. Or the one where he was frying pork chops and had to take a selfie with them because they turned out so good. Or the one where Christopher dropped by the station for a visit and Evan snapped a picture with him while Chris was mid eye-roll. Those were his favorites.

He loved the phone calls with Evan too. It didn't matter if they'd been with each other all night, and left for work at the same time, and would be seeing one another right after their shift was over. When it was a quiet day at work, they were always reaching into their pockets to call one another. Sometimes at the same time.

Tommy loved the parts of Evan that Evan didn't love about himself. He loved that Evan was clingy, love that he talked a lot, loved that when he got something on his mind he had to do it and it had to be done right.

Tommy loved how aggressively he loved his family and friends.

He loved the grumpy side of Evan, and loved that Evan seemed to love Tommy's grumpy side too.

He also loved the look on Evan's face when he was about to come. Loved how their bodies fit together so perfectly, like they were made for each other.

Loved how easily he blushed. Loved falling asleep next to him, their bodies tangled together in one way or another. He loved waking up beside Evan. Getting to see his hair all tousled and the little drips of drool that would escape down the side of his mouth.

“That's a lot of things to love about a person,” Evan whispered into the darkness of the room. “Although I will forever deny the fact that I drool, thank you very much.”

Which, maybe the room wasn't actually dark, because Tommy still had his eyes closed.

He scrunched his face up, confused. “Was I talking out loud?” he asked.

“Mhm.” He could feel Evan's breath on his face. “Do you really love all that about me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then you should open your eyes.”

That was an odd request. It all felt odd, actually. Because when he and Evan woke up together, Evan always had a hand on him somewhere. His chest, his arm, his back, running up and down his side. Somewhere. But this time Tommy felt nothing.

Well, not nothing, exactly. He felt damp, actually. He felt damp and sticky and hot. Hotter than usual, but cold at the same time?

“What?” He mumbled out, confused.

“I said you should open your eyes.”

“Wh- Why?”

“Tommy!” Evan's voice was louder now, like he had a megaphone to Tommy's ear. “Open your eyes!”

Tommy's head jerked up in surprise, wincing from the sound. “Mmm,” he groaned. His body hurt all over. He didn't remember feeling sick before he went to bed.

But the more he thought about it, he didn't really remember going to bed.

He blinked his eyes open slowly. They felt so dry and scratchy, almost like they had sand in them. When they finally focused he expected to see his clock to his left, the time shining back at him. Expected to have Evan beside him, or cooking some elaborate breakfast in the kitchen.

Expected to see sunlight shining from between his curtains.

Instead all he saw was rocks, mud, and leaves.

Did they go camping? He definitely didn't remember that. And why the hell wouldn't they at least have a tent?

“Ev- Evan?” God, talking hurt. Felt like his throat was on fire.

He was lying on his stomach, but there was no pillow under his head. There was something there though. Something shielding his head from the mud and rocks and twigs below it.

He reached up with the hand closest to his head, the one that didn't feel like it had its own pulse, and felt his head.

A helmet.

That's when it came rushing back to him.

Emergency.

All hands on deck.

Transport aircraft to nearby facility.

Bees?

Bees.

He'd been flying a helicopter to a nearby rendezvous point. Every fire department in the district would be there.

All to fight the bees.

Sounded downright insane to him at the time. I mean, they were bees. Weren't we supposed to be saving those?

It wasn't until his bird made direct contact with the swarm that he realized the severity of the problem.

Tommy carefully unbuckled his helmet, letting it drop off his head.

He tried to focus on all the things that hurt, although it probably would have been easier to take count of the places on his body that didn't hurt.

There was a cold, sticky substance on the back of his neck. Blood, he was sure. His right arm had to be broken. He couldn't seem to move it, but the thump thump thump feeling that came from it was impossible not to notice.

His back was jammed, but nothing felt broken there. He could wiggle his toes a little, but his left ankle was definitely sprained.

Something... something was poking his side.

It was hard to get in a good breath, hard to keep his eyes open, but he forced himself to roll over so he could check his side.

“God!” He exclaimed through panted breaths as he turned, eyes squeezed shut against the pain. He looked down at his side to see a branch, about as round as a nickel, maybe five or six inches long, sticking out. “Damn it,” he gasped out. His good hand shakily reached out to touch around the wound, where blood was seeping out in a slow but steady stream.

He didn't try to pull it out. He knew better than that. He had no idea how deep the branch was pierced inside him, and no clue what it might have punctured.

All he knew was that it hurt like hell.

And the whole situation was almost too much for his brain to take.

He had so many questions.

Most importantly, where the hell was the helicopter?

He must've fallen out of it before it crashed to the ground, wherever it crashed.

His energy was draining quickly. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and wait for sleep to take over. Wait for rescue, whenever it may come.

So, he let his eyes close. Let the pain begin to wash away. Let himself float until-

“I said open your damn eyes, Tommy!”

There was Evan's voice again, shouting at him so loudly.

Tommy's eyes jerked back open and the pain returned full force.

He couldn't stay here.

Couldn't let those damn, stupid ass bees win.

Couldn't imagine the embarrassment of people asking, “What happened? How'd he die?” and someone having to explain that it was bees! Sure, he survived war, but it was the bees that got him.

Hell no.

Plus, dying in general might not have meant much a few months ago.

But it meant a lot now.

Because now he had a boyfriend with abandonment issues, and he needed to get back to him.

So he pushed himself up to his knees, let a groan escape between his gritted teeth, and stood on his feet.

If he let out a yell or two, who needed to know?

And maybe this would be the point in therapy where his therapist would tell him you're worth surviving because you're a human being who deserves to live, not just because you're with someone. But screw that, because if Evan was the only thing that made him get out of this with his life, than that would have to be enough.

He was dizzy, it hurt to put pressure on his leg, there was more blood on his clothes than he cared to see, and he was pretty sure he'd also lost some hearing in his right ear.

He pressed his hand against the wound on his side the best he could without disturbing the branch. A whine escaped him and tears welled in his eyes. He'd been hurt before, been in pain before, but never like this. This was another level.

“Move,” he told himself, voice barely above a whisper. “Just move.”

So that's what he did. He began to walk, or limp, through the trees of wherever the hell he was in the hopes he was going in the right direction.

His body was cold, shivering even as sweat dripped down his face.

His teeth chattered and it felt like his insides were vibrating.

At one point he practically fell against a tree, barely kept upright by his legs that were getting weaker by the second.

He took a minute to breathe, nearly closed his eyes. But Evan's voice stopped him again.

So, he walked. He walked and he walked and then... and then he could smell something.

Not just something.

Fire.

And the world around him was fuzzier.

But it wasn't his eyes playing tricks. It was smoke.

The helicopter.

It had to be.

He picked up the pace. They might not have been able to find him, but maybe they had found-

“He's not here, Buckley.” God, Tommy hated that voice. “We'll put out a search for him but it's unlikely he survived this. Gotta face the facts, we lose people sometimes.”

“Whoa!” Another voice cut in. Sounded like Chimney. He liked that voice. “He's not worth it, Buck. We'll keep looking, okay? We'll keep looking.”

A few more steps and he could see them. Blurry, but there. He cleared his throat. “Look f- for who?”

At least thirty heads whipped in his direction.

“Oh my God, Tommy!” Now, that was a voice he loved.

He was surrounded in seconds, but Evan was first one there. The one to bring a hand to his back and cradle him as his body gave out. He was the one to help him to the ground while Chimney and Hen worked on his body, shouting things back and forth at one another.

A part of him wanted to close his eyes then, let them do their thing, but he didn't. He kept them open, and right on Evan, because that's what he'd want him to do.

*****

When Tommy woke up hours, or maybe days, later, it was in a hospital room. He wasn't exactly sure when he'd fallen asleep, or passed out, but it was clear that surgery had happened at some point. He'd blame the anesthesia, not all the trauma, for his loss of time.

Evan was in a chair beside him, holding onto his good hand, head resting by Tommy's thigh on the bed. Even in his sleep, he must've noticed something change with Tommy because he popped up quickly.

“Tommy,” he breathed out, and it looked like a year's worth of anxiety released in that breath. “H- Hi.”

Tommy managed a smile. “Hi.” His throat felt like sandpaper.

“Let me get you some ice.”

Tommy nearly pouted at the loss of Evan's touch, but he was back by Tommy's side in an instant, slipping a couple of ice chips into his mouth.

And oh my God did that ever feel good.

Evan's hand returned to Tommy's, and all felt right in the world again. He'd hear what all happened to him later. Didn't seem to care right now. He was alive, and he was with Evan, and he needed to tell him some things before he forgot them.

“You saved my life.”

Evan's eyebrows furrowed. “No, that was all you. We wouldn't have found you if you didn't find us first.”

Tommy pursed his lips together, shaking his head. “No,” he replied simply. “You.”

Evan smiled, held onto his hand a little tighter. Tommy knew what Evan was thinking. You're high as a kite right now and don't really know what you're talking about.

But that was the thing. His voice might be a little gravely, and his speech a bit slower than normal, but he never felt more clear-headed.

He needed Evan to know.

“Have I ever told you all the reasons I love you?”

Evan tilted his head, his smile growing even more. “No, I- I... I don't think you have.” There was that blush Tommy loved so much.

He took a deep breath. “Number one...”

#bucktommy #911 #tommy kinard #evan buckley #i didn't really read over this so there's probably some spelling/grammar errors oops

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spacebarbarianweird · 7 months

Note

Hi! I absolutely love your headcannons!! Would it be possible for me to request sick Astarion? Or Astarion with a sick Tav? :)

Hi! Thank you for your request! I think I can do both!

Masterlist

Headcanons

Caring for their sick partner

Astarion takes care of you

He isn't a nurturing type.

He doesn't really care about himself let alone someone else!

Besides, it's not like he used to hang out with mortals a lot.

During your post-game adventures, you end in the far north in the middle of winter.

Astarion doesn't feel cold, but he notices you feel uncomfortable near him - his body is cold, and he steals the heat you need so much.

It causes tension between you two - one of the first challenges for you as a couple.

During a fight, you fall through the ice and almost die in the dark cold waters.

Astarion saves you but the damage is done.

You are severely sick.

Astarion freaks out.

You are dying in his arms.

He has to save you. He won't lose you.

Astarion manages to dress you in dry and warm clothes. He leaves you by the fire for a bit to hunt - you need food, and Astarion needs blood to warm you.

Then, when you stabilize, he carries you to the closest village and gives you all the money you've earned in your travels for a room in the inn.

He spoon-feeds you and wraps you in the warmest blankets.

Sometimes you pout, refusing to take one more bitter medicine, but he can't take this nonsense - you are going to get better. Period.

When you wake up, still in fever, Astarion is always near. Either wrapping you with his blood-warm body or with his ear on your chest as if he was afraid your heart was going to stop at any given moment.

As the spring comes, you finally get better. Astarion gives you a bath, and you realize how itchy and sweaty your body is.

Then he lashes at you, of course.

You were reckless, you were risking yourself. How could you?

But you know he speaks out of fear, and you comfort him, promising to never put yourself in danger without a need.

You take care of Astarion

If you weren't a nurturing type, you wouldn't end up with Astarion.

The man needs help and care, something he never had.

You comfort him after the nightmares and kiss away his tears.

He doesn't need to be cared for physically - once the tadpole is removed, he regenerates, and it's impossible to wound him.

But he is a mental wreck who can have a meltdown over a trigger word or a cruel flashback after an innocent action.

But he is far from invincible.

He is being reckless and ends up surrounded by monster hunters.

They chain him in silver and leave him helpless on the ground to see the sun.

You manage to come to the rescue - and murder all three of them.

But as you fight, the sun rises, and it burns Astarion.

It's almost too late for him when you set him free and drag him to the shadows.

The regeneration is slowed down - the burns are as bad as if he survived a fire.

You give him blood. All you can do without killing yourself.

The assault causes one of the worst setbacks in his healing process.

Astarion is almost catatonic - curling in the darkest corner of the room in the fetal position.

You can only guess what prison his tortured mind is locked in.

You talk to him. Hug him. Takes care of his hair. Caress his back.

Days become weeks, weeks become months - and one evening Astarion is finally back.

He wraps his hand around you and nuzzles your collarbone.

By the end of the night, Astarion is his true self again, ready for everything freedom has to offer.

"I was there, in the tomb," he confesses. "I was locked there, in the dark, and all my life looked like a feverish dream."

"I am here, love," you say. "I will always be here for you."

You pretend you don't see his tears as you say it.

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riaki · 10 months

Text

guys pls consider… lifeguard!gojo bit inspired by a post i saw a long time ago from @/shotorus, thank u sel + inez !

lifeguard!gojo, who signs you in for a pool session and gives you the wrong time-slot wristband because he’s too busy gawking at you with hearts in his blue eyes to notice he registered you to swim for 12pm-2pm. when, in reality, it’s 4pm in the afternoon and the hot sun is slowly sinking in the sky.

lifeguard!gojo, who mistakes your polite attempts to correct him as signs of disinterest; he sees things through romance-tinted glasses. of course he can't keep a wounded pride, and so he makes it his saturday afternoon goal to win your heart. after all, who in their right mind would reject him in all his dashing chlorine scented glory?

lifeguard!gojo, who reintroduces himself all suave and cool and he thinks it's working mid-hair slick-back— until he gets smacked in the face by a stray rubber ball, and his sunglasses go flying. it leaves a red spot of hashmarks on his nose, like the ball was a cookie cutter and he was the dough. but he doesn't mind, because he got to hear your pretty laugh as you pick up his shades and hand them back to him, albeit at his own expense. you even say a cute thing or two about the chipped popsicle sticker on the frame.

lifeguard!gojo, who's unreasonably (and immaturely) upset over the fact he can't seductively rub sunscreen into your back because you already have beforehand. but he's not complaining; it smells good when he's forced a little closer to you to avoid a rampaging train of kids running across the pool deck. he should yell at them, but the smell of summery citrus and sea salt wafting on the humid breeze distracts him.

lifeguard!gojo, who pours every ounce of his remaining energy into gettin your attention the entire time you're there— with loud whistle blows from the scribble-adorned plastic whistle hanging from his neck, grabbing your attention, only to just offer a charming wink in your direction. or, squeezing idle small talk between every lap you swim, teasing you with a lazy grin on his lips from under his shaded lifeguard stand when you complain about the heat of the blazing sun.

lifeguard!gojo, who ropes his poor, exhausted snack stand friend with the blonde hair and dark shadows beneath his eyes into helping him— when you give up on swimming laps and begrudgingly let him convince you into going down the waterslides as if you’re a nine year old with neon pink inflatable buoy rings around your arms.

lifeguard!gojo, who forces nanami (snack stand man) to ‘accidentally’ send you down the slide early— you’re caught up in the surprise, the sound of rushing water and kids shouting and a cicada’s buzz filling your ears— and before you know it you’re tossed into the bottom of the pool by the stream of water, disoriented and panicking until two steady arms fish you out of the pool.

lifeguard!gojo, who ‘rescues you from drowning’ holding you bridal style to his chest with his sunglasses balanced on the edge of his nose, letting you catch a glimpse of his uncanny blue eyes hidden beneath his dripping white hair. his whistle lanyard hangs loosely around his neck, drawing a line down the center of his toned chest.

lifeguard!gojo, who can’t help but double over as he laughs obnoxiously— boyishly when he gets to watch your face flush cherry as you scramble to get out of his arms and fall straight back into the refreshing water with a splash.

lifeguard!gojo, who’s forced to reconcile with what he thinks is defeat when he gets you kicked out of the pool early because of his earnest registering mistake— and in doing so, you forget your ring on the pool deck. it's just your luck— you don't even realize it until the sun's almost set and you’re halfway home.

lifeguard!gojo, who’s cleaning up and getting ready to close for the night when he spots a gleam of silver reflecting the hazy purple sunset, and he recognizes it as your jewelry (even though that was the first time he ever met you). of course he'd remember it— he'd been absentmindedly staring at your fingers, burning them into his mind; imagining how they'd feel in his damp hair.

lifeguard!gojo, who slips your ring into his pocket after trying it on and marveling at how small your hands must be in comparison to his.

lifeguard!gojo, who’s cleaning out the gutters, waist deep in the pool, when he hears your voice again— pretty like birdsong in the spring, dew gathering on the fragile petals of blooming petals.

lifeguard!gojo, who waits for you to come in— the gate was unlocked— and watches as you kneel on the concrete deck, elbows on your knees as you smile down at him. you look really cute, with your hair falling over your face like that, framed by the dying sunlight.

lifeguard!gojo, who’s a little disheartened when you tell him all you came back for was your ring, and not him. or his phone number.

lifeguard!gojo, who disappears beneath the water for a moment— then resurfaces from the pool dripping wet, hair clinging to his face while he acts as though he'd found your ring at the bottom of the pool. "it's stainless steel, yeah? don't worry about rust." he reassures you with a chuckle when you panic; he thinks it's cute.

lifeguard!gojo, who holds the ring just out of your grasp when you make a grab for it, laughing as you almost fall right into the pool.

lifeguard!gojo, who tells you he'll only give it back if you give him your phone number in exchange as he climbs out of the pool and sits next to you, on the gutters, the sound of rushing water filling his ear.

lifeguard!gojo, who, sitting by your side, focuses on the way the pool looks with the lights turned on, an ethereal underwater dreamscape distorted by the incessant moving water. a way of distracting himself from how beautiful you look in the painted sunset.

lifeguard!gojo, who gets his first taste of you when you ask him to face you; you muffle his yelp of surprise, but it doesn’t matter because you taste even better than you smell, a sweetness like crystal rock candy and blueberries on his tongue when his lips meet yours.

lifeguard!gojo, who takes the opportunity to catch your wrist and slide your ring back onto your finger with a quick lingering kiss to your cheek; his lips are a little wet from his earlier pool dip, but the dreamy look in your eyes tells him you don’t mind.

lifeguard!gojo, who sees you out, still riding on the thrill of your lips; the pride in his chest now that he's got your contact saved on his phone with an excessive amount of heart emojis and a (˘ڡ˘ς) next to your name.

lifeguard!gojo, who can't wait for the next time you come back to the pool, and who ignores the angry slew of texts from his boss scolding him for leaving the gate unlocked in favor of the selfie you send him.

you: [ one image attached ]

lifeguard boy 🛟🤍 : GAYATTTTT LET ME HIT PLSPLSPLSS 🙈🙈😝😝😝😋😋🤞🔥🔥🔥⁉️‼️🔞💯💯😼😻💺💺🗽

bonus: nanami gets u two popsicles to share tagging @sugumimi NAOMI I HOPE THIS IS WHAT U WERE TALKING AB my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

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naffeclipse · 1 month

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Dance, Detective, Dance

Detective!Reader x Police Chief!Eclipse

Commission Info

Who's ready for some dancing with Police Chief!Eclipse? I had a delightful time writing this darling little fic which was requested by Anonymous. The detective reader must navigate a situation they truly do not want to be in and are ultimately rescued by a very dashing Eclipse. Now, time to hit the dance floor.

———

This is not where you’re meant to be.

The candlelight twinkle of the capitol building’s chandeliers cast the ballroom floor in gentle, romantic lightning. The marble columns of the great architecture build a grandness to the politics and party tonight. Men, women, human and animatronic alike, flutter around the space in bird-like trillings of socialization. The suits are finely pressed and the gowns are exuberant and shimmering. The large, photo-ready smiles mean nothing to you. Though fellow officers mingle among public workers and rich city members, you stand deliberately away from the conversations in a shady nook against the wall.

You must remind yourself to unfurrow your brow lest you stand with a perpetual scowl on your face for the rest of the night. This should not be mandated as part of your job—a charity ball, put on by your police precinct no less. Your time is better spent pooling over castfiles and running down streets to locate criminals.

You tug at the collar of your formal attire, dark and fitted for a black-tie event. The weight of your gun rests heavily on your hip, hidden beneath your clothes. You wish you could stroke it, hold it in your hands, and count the rounds. The number of bullets inside the clip is branded in your mind, but the routine is grounding. But, your hands lie empty and repeatedly clench.

The night has worn on. This has been your service for the evening. You can excuse yourself on the basis that you’re needed back at your desk to study the recent string of crimes the Celestial Gang conducted. Surely that’s better spent time than standing here, stuck in fancy clothes that do little to make you more approachable.

The door. Your eyes have been returning to it constantly in the last hour. You could piece together what’s been eating away at you about the last rival gang slaying. What are the Celestial Gang building up to? Why suddenly strike so hard and fast at enemies? Do they simply have more confidence or is there something moving in the underground, dark and silent as a reaper?

This is enough. You’re going back to work. You step out of the shadow alcove you’ve lurked in all evening. Shoulders hunched as you begin to slip between oblivious attendees of the charity ball, you keep your eyes on the door. Single-mindedly, you weave towards the exit without seeing one face or hearing a voice in the crowd’s babble.

Someone emerges at the top of the grand staircase to the left of the doors. A familiar figure, tall and lithe and adorned in sun rays, descends the steps.

You stop in a crowd. Eyes drawn up, you stare at the police chief.

Eclipse. You’ve never seen him so sleek and sharp in a tuxedo of deep crimson. He fixes his bow tie with deft fingers, his eyes lifting to the crowd as if he’s lost something. His expression is intent, unsatisfied as he searches for the brief moment it takes for his gaze to swiftly land upon you.

Your lips part for an inexplicable reason. To call out to him. To explain why you’re making a beeline for the door. Say hello before you tell him goodbye. You have no answer. No words slip from your lips as he holds your stare as if you were the only person standing in the room.

His canary yellow optics brighten. His hands fall, softly opening in a gesture that seems to invite you closer. The police chief tilts his head. He finishes descending the steps as you push through the crowd—not to escape the ball but to meet him at the foot of the staircase.

He says your name softly in a manner you consider dangerous.

“Eclipse,” you greet, though it’s unnatural to say his name while the two of you are very much not alone. Yet, the crowd leaves you two in a pocket of privacy, unaware and unconcerned with a commanding officer and his subordinate.

Music pulls on strings, echoing in the air. Dancers begin to meet and pair behind you on the polished dance floor. Eclipse’s eyes briefly stray to the live music conducting the beginning of a couple’s dance, but his black pupils return to you.

“Where are you going?” He reaches out and touches the sleeve of your clothes, smoothing down a non-existent wrinkle.

“Out,” you answer, almost shoving it between your teeth. “I have work to do.”

His grin tightens like glass crunching in on itself. His fingertips slip further down your arm, trailing carefully over the sleeve that’s far too stiff for your liking to loosely encircle your wrist. He keeps you in place.

“You are expected to remain for the entirety of the charity ball; the same as every officer in attendance.” He speaks with the firmness of authority.

You narrow your eyes. He meets you unyieldingly. Your fist clenches just underneath his large, dark hand.

“I need to go over the case files from last week. I can’t stand here all night.” You look out over the band playing, accompanying dancers as they step and twirl. The bodies are organized yet chaotic in their colors and energies. A few people are laughing and others are stone-cold serious, focused on the rhythm while others kiss their partner.

“Detective, you can last one night at a social event.” His voice gravels low, almost touching a note of mirth.

His thumb slides down the bones of your hand, caressing your skin softly. A shiver subtly works its way up your spine. You turn back to face him. A stubborn argument crawls upon your lips but you stop short.

The police chief is strangely quiet. No, distracted. His eyes roam up and down your person. You stand frozen under his inspection. You dressed appropriately. He can’t fault you for improper attire but you can’t unravel the motive for his silence. His expression deepens into something soft. His optic lights dust you gently with his attention.

The strange exchange prompts your study of the police chief. He’s never been one to slack in his appearance nor fail to dress for the occasion. There is an undeniable charm to how the tuxedo looks on him. His fingertips are soft against the pulse on the inside of your wrist. The deep crimson color compliments his maroon and indigo sun rays.

A beat passes. Eclipse finds your eyes again.

“You look exquisite, sweetheart.” The note of affection in his tone sends a weakness into your knees.

“I’m not staying,” you say. Eclipse knows better than to charm you—though you must breathe to regain the feeling in your legs. “Even if I will miss seeing you look so sharp and spiffy.”

“Thank you,” his voice is low and gravelly. It echoes him finding you late at night, working at your desk, and walking you halfway to your home. A voice greeting you first thing in the morning with a cup of coffee. A question of concern, wondering if you’ve had enough sleep lately.

He holds out his other hand. The hold he has on your wrist is loose, soft and so unlike the coldness of handcuffs you’ve experienced before. You’re reminded again of his relation to the Celestial Gang mob bosses. Though what happened to separate Eclipse from his brothers and lead them down such different paths eludes you. You don’t pry. You won’t ask him to give it all up.

He is not his brothers.

“Since you must stay here, we can make use of your presence.” His fingers unfurl. His dark digits and silicon palm wait before you. Like an offer of hope. Like an invitation to sneak away, just the two of you. His optics are lower in light. “Won’t you dance with me, Detective?”

You stare at the offering. A weak stirring begins within you. You tilt your head back to hold his gaze.

“I can’t dance.” You have the bluntness of a hammer. He knows this. He has always known this.

Eclipse’s grin remains unwavering.

“I’ll lead.”

The music swells to a final jazzed ending. Couples drift apart and shuffle, and others stay perfectly together, waiting for the next song.

This is dangerous. Your hand falls into his. Him leading you deeper onto the dance floor to lose yourselves in the crowd and yet, find all the privacy.

“Stand on my feet,” he says.

“You’ll regret this,” you warn him gently for his own sake. You fix your shoes upon him, scuffing up the shiny black polish but Eclipse doesn’t even glance down. His optics are firmly fastened on your gaze.

He chuckles low within his metaphorical throat. The first twirl begins, and you are perfectly safe upon his footwork. If anyone notices that you’re not truly putting in effort, allowing Eclipse to lead and put in all the moves, no one says anything. No one truly looks at you. All the politicians officers and city workers are engrossed in their dramas. You almost feel as if you were alone with Eclipse.

The music slips over you. The string cords and the waltz rhythm of the instruments tug you both along. Eclipse effortlessly weaves and carries you through the people, his attention tilted down to hold you in his vision while the room spins at the edges. You stare into his optics. Yellow with pinpricks of black. His smile is softening at the edges, his sharp teeth less visible in his focus.

“How do you know how to dance?” you ask, your interrogation voice coming through full force.

Eclipse tilts his head. A glint in his gaze gives way to something you can’t help but find unusual for the police chief.

“Personal interest and a need to fulfill certain duties a police chief must uphold such as appearing at public events. Especially for an animatronic,” his voice is gravelly.

To be charming and capable in every manner, to have to give even more than a human would in his position. Your hands clench his as he cuts through the space, leading your clasped hands like a wedge through the masses. Your grip tightens upon him. A burn sets in your chest, hot and spitting.

“You don’t have to dance,” you say, “Not with me.”

“I know,” he says softly. His voice lowers. “It’s a shame I don’t see you like this more often.”

You grimace as you glance down at yourself. “These clothes are too stuffy. Who could chase a criminal down in this?”

Eclipse’s smile is poignant as he remarks, “It’s a very good thing you’re not on active duty tonight then.”

A sound between a huff and a growl escapes your mouth. Eclipse twirls you in a motion that leaves your head spinning slowly until you remember to focus on his eyes. His light is constant through the movement of his practiced swaying.

You fight the urge to close your eyes and rest your head on his chest. His height gives you the perfect advantage to rest against him. You might be tired. The entire social event has sucked you dry and now you’re stuck in a slow whirl with the police chief. It’s difficult to remember that you wanted to leave only a few moments ago.

“Eclipse, I have to go,” you say over the ringing of the music. You’re getting distracted. You feel weak, held up by him so tenderly. His hand presses into the small of your back as he shifts you in his arms.

“Would it kill you to spend an evening with me, looking so fine, and dancing?” His eyes burn low. You can’t look away.

“Maybe.” He doesn’t let you loose, so you must grit your teeth and admit, “I dance and wear nice clothes only for you.”

Eclipse grins.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says, and his movements grow stronger.

You cling tighter to him. Held flush against his chassis and fine suit, you watch the room twist upon itself. Eclipse draws you in and out, and he carefully stops to gently set you back on your feet. You immediately freeze like a wild animal set in a civilized place. Before you can succumb to your failure of not knowing a single dance, Eclipse takes your hand and lifts your arm above your head. Pressing your shoulder softly, he guides you into a soft spin upon your toes. You almost stumble. He holds you steady.

Then he takes you by the waist, holding you tight as he dips you low. You’re parallel to the floor, parallel to the police chief's smile as he hovers above you. You both hide below the crowd. The music swells.

His mouth has never been closer. You don’t realize how much your chest heaves, your heart alive in your ribcage as if amid a shoot-out, but it’s him. It’s only him. A smokey-amber scent fills your senses. He’s so close, and you drown in him.

Eclipse gently lowers himself closer. His optics flash between your eyes and your lips. You breathe out. Your eyelids flutter close—

And gunshots ring out.

Your eyes fly open and Eclipse’s optics flare. People scream. The stringed instruments cut off with abrupt notes souring the air. In a blur of a second, Eclipse pulls you back onto your feet. You whirl around, your hand upon your gun and freeing it from its concealed holster.

The doors are wide open, held by men in dark attire as more shots ring out, thrumming out of Thompson machine guns. Gleeful criminals stare down at the panicking charity ball. You step forward. Eclipse's hand falls on your shoulder, pulling you back just as a politician in a suit dashes right in front of you. Eclipse’s grip tightens on your collarbone.

The gangsters glance around, lowering their weapons. Screams of panic ring out again but the gunfire stops—they have everyone’s attention.

“Eclipse,” you utter. Your finger is careful on the trigger. There are too many civilians. The boldness of crashing a party in the heart of the capital building leaves you seething.

“The Celestial Gang,” his voice lowers. He knows. You both know.

Henchmen step aside and hold open the doors to the dark, cool night. Dressed in fine suits, sharp and oily as finger-rubbed gold, the mob bosses of the most feared gang in the city step into the ballroom. They hold guns in their hands, gleaming cold and dark. Their eyes, gray and pale, and red and black, cut through the panicking people.

Eclipse is half-frozen beside you. He steps forward, placing himself between you and the mob bosses. His brothers.

Your eyes dart around the room. The people have crowded against the far wall. Other officers have drawn their weapons. You glare down the animatronics bearing the themes not unlike the police chief, one of a pale yellow sun, and the other of a dark and silvery moon.

“Oh, Moon, I hope we’re not too late to the party,” Sun announces. His fingers stroke the trigger of his gun. His mouth curls sinisterly. “It’s so nice to see all the elites of this rotten city celebrating their charity.”

“Look, brother,” Moon tips his dark hat at you. “We’re just in time.”

You grit your teeth where you stand, and glare back.

“I think you’re right.” Sun laughs, cold and chilling against the marbled columns. His attention rests on you, hungry with avarice.

Moon lifts his gun into the air and smiles with sharp teeth. He announces, “We will be stealing the detective for a dance.”

#naff's writing commissions #syzygy in dedication #police chief!eclipse #detective!reader #mob boss!sun #mob boss!moon #enjoy a little dance with your police chief hehe #naff writing

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powdermelonkeg · 9 days

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You know what? I'm gonna make a Minecraft movie

This is a plot I banged out over the course of like three hours at work so bear with me.

Movie starts. Main Guy just got fired from his job or something. He goes home to his house, greets his dog, agonizes over how he's going to pay for said dog with this development. Dog comes up wanting to play fetch, has a mcguffin in its mouth. Main Guy takes it and fiddles with it that night.

Mcguffin activates.

Guy winds up in Minecraft world. Spends a day freaking out about everything. Finds a dirt house someone else made and spends the night there to escape the monsters.

There's a map there. Takes that to a village

Meets Alex. She doesn't speak.

Alex is in the middle of saving a village from an Illager raid. Main Guy helps.

It takes a turn into a rescue mission for captured Villagers. The Illagers are hunting for a Trial Chamber with a legendary weapon (the mace).

After that arc is complete, Main Guy has an Allay as a pet and a new friend in a Villager he saved. Gang's all there, all adventures from here on out will be with MG, Alex, Villager, and Allay.

They go to Alex's home base. It's neat, but it's very clear she's not the only one that's lived there.

MG manages to convey to Alex that he needs a way home. And she's got the Ender Dragon egg, but doesn't have the rest of the equipment to get to the End and make the portal home.

Trip into the Deep Dark, ancient city, Warden fight while getting diamonds.

Villager takes the diamonds and makes a pickaxe for them.

They get obsidian and make a Nether Portal. Trip to the Nether to find a fortress and get blaze rods and ender pearls.

While they're in the Nether, they come across the Wither Briar. It's a new biome that's spreading, wither roses everywhere, with a Wither at the center.

They get the supplies they need, but the Wither catches them and attacks. They barely make it out alive; Villager gets zombified.

Rush to a witch to get Villager healed.

It gets revealed that Alex and her friends once took on the Wither, but it turned out too destructive and they lost the battle and several friends. They split up then. The Wither's been terrorizing the local Piglins and spreading the zombie infection ever since.

MG gets up, determined, gearing up and reentering the Nether. Epic battle against the Wither. The Wither Briar dies, the Piglins rejoice.

MG, Alex, and Villager start gearing up to find the Stronghold, with help from the village, Piglins, witch, etc. MG gets a unique armor trim that's not in the game.

Melancholy travel. Alex and Villager are gonna miss MG a LOT, and he's considering whether or not he wants to leave.

Stronghold leads to the End, End City fight for an Elytra.

Final fight with the Ender Dragon, hesitation, then final goodbyes. The group all jumps into the portal together.

MG winds up back home in his bed, in the real world, but he still has his gear and the sword he used to slay the Ender Dragon with.

He gets the mcguffin that sent him to Minecraft in the first place and is about to destroy it. He second-guesses it. Epic montage of him grabbing the things he needs to go.

He puts on a blue shirt and dark jeans. He packs his bag with apples, a slice of cake, and a map. He grabs his dog, a fluffy gray one with a red collar, then he activates the mcguffin again.

End poem plays, followed by the credits rolling.

Post-credits at the end with Minecraft music playing, Steve rolls up to Alex's house as she and Villager are building a beacon out of the Nether Star the Wither dropped. He helps them finish it, the beacon shoots into the sky, then they go into her house.

Alex looks at the map hopefully, waiting for her friends as the sun goes down, but all it shows is hers and Steve's icons on it…then someone else's shows up, just barely at the border. It's one of the other "default" players.

End of movie.

#minecraft #minecraft movie #concept #guys can mojang hire me pls #long post

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leaawrites · 7 months

Text

It's nice to have a friend

Percy Jackson x mortal fem!reader

Warnings: use of Y/n, mentions of almost dying, Percy's stupid at some points, friends to lovers

Summary: Percy can't let your hands freeze to death, only because he had to make you lose yours in the first place.

Masterlist

Looking out the window Y/n saw the frozen water falling down from above. Their heritage, the clouds, were a dark color of white, however the snow didn’t make the scene dark, it made it comfortable. It gave her a type of warm hug, a feeling she couldn’t forget. A feeling she wanted to save for the warm summer days, the same as she saves the sun for rainy days, and the rain for when the flowers bloom.

The bell rang, signaling that the lesson, and the school day therefor, was over. Y/n sighned, she did want to walk through the streets covered in snow, but her hands would freeze to death in the meantime, since she lost her gloves a year before.

With her hands in the pockets of her coat and her gaze on the floor, watching the snow squish under her boots, while new one fell onto them, she concentrated on the music in her ears. Only looking up when she heard child’s laughter. On the other side of the sidewalk, 4 kids were having a snowball fight, laughing together when one gets hit by the snow. Y/n stopped, admiring the fun in their eyes.

“You wanna join them?” A voice beside her asked.Turning around, she saw her best friend, Percy.

She would still concider him her best friend, even when he started to ditch her every summer for some summer camp he couldn't tell her too much about. She liked the boy, she really did. But something about his behavior when she asked him about it didn't sit right with her. It was like he didn’t want her to know. Before this, Percy would've told her everything. No matter what, she used to always be the first to know. Whether it be about a new school he was sent to or someone that bullied him on that day. It was always her. Now it were his new friends.

She tried to tell herself that it was because Percy wanted to leave some of his old life behind whenever he went to summer camp. Like it were two seperate worlds. But she knew that Grover, another friend of Percy's, was also there.

"I can’t," she answered. "I lost my gloves last year, after you had to take me to one of those." She pointed to the kids, smilling at the memory of back then.

“Oh, yeah.” He remembered, laughing at the memory as well.

Both of them were prepared to make the other go down and suffer in the snow that day a year ago. It was a simple and nice idea, until Percy decided he had to help a duck on the lake. At that time he hadn’t had snow gloves himself, so he borrowed Y/n’s.

Long story short, the duck ended up almost drowning, together with Percy, but could rescue itself, while the gloves were sliding from Percy’s hands and fell into the freezing water. He hadn’t bought her new one’s, he insisted on doing so, but she refused to accept them when he got them for her. She didn’t want him to spent his money on her, so she said she would buy new one’s herself. Since it was technically her own fault for giving them to him, when she knew they wouldn’t end up on her own pair of hands anyway. However, she forgot until it was too late.

"You almost died that day, how can you laugh about it?" She asked the pale boy. With the white snow surrounding him he fit right into it.

"t was a fun day, you can’t deny it, can you?" He asked her, searching for the comformation he always craved from her. He wanted her to agree with him in everything, so that he knew that they were still balancing on the same thin line like before all the sudden changes in his life.

Spending time with her always kind of made him feel more at ease. She was his home. She was who he was so used to, he could tell her everything. Besides about camp and his now second life. It was too dangerous. So, he keot it to himself. Rather have her angry than dead, right?

"It was a fun day," she agreed, stuffing her hands further into her pockets from the cold temperatures.

"Have mine," Percy said, holding his gloves into her direction, after seeing her shaking body.

"No, thanks,” she said, continuing walking home. "I’m not even that cold."

But the chattering of her teeth betrayed her and Percy looked at her with a dumbfounded expression.

"Then have one at least," he tried to compromise, looking into her eyes with that certain look. Raising his eyebrows, Percy moved the glove more to her body, until she couldn’t refuse to take it anymore. Rolling her eyes in annoyance, she put the black glove over her freezing hand. Feeling the warm of his hand from before, made an slight blush creep up on her face. Which she played off from the cold.

"What is with the other, genuis?" she asked. She didn’t want a second glove but a conversation.

He only took her hand into his, beginning to walk again, not looking at her once. Her face grew even hotter and her body was filling with warmth as their bare freezing skin touched and exchanged body heat. Both were burning from the desire of this being more than a friendly encounter.

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson imagine #percy pjo #percy series #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x you #pjo imagine #pjo fanfic #pjo fandom #pjo series #pjo #pjo tv show #Spotify

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 6 months

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I Am Here Now

And we are back with more hurt/comfort!

Thank you to all those posts about this particularly heartbreaking scene from The Last Unicorn and that one post about how it would fit Astarion and that one comic that made it come to life with pictures. Here's my contribution to it with words.

Summary: Even though the two of you push each other away, you always find a way to come back to one another.

He’d thought you had left him alone to die. Even after all the sweet things he’s said, about how he trusts you, how he knows you will be there for him, he still doubted you when it counted. Captured by vampire hunters, he’d been held in a cage for so long that he’d lost count, or perhaps it was the torture his captors had decided to inflict upon him that had made him lose count. At some point, he had lost all hope of you coming to rescue him, believing himself to be unworthy of the effort needed.

And then you had shown up in all your bloody glory, howling with rage and cutting down any hunter who had stood in your way. He had never been happier to see you again, and never been angrier.

“Where have you been?” He chokes, collapsing into your arms the moment he is free of the accursed cage. You silently hold him tight, gaze downcast. Rage rekindles within you when you see how broken the hunters have made the one you love, and you wish you could bring the hunters back just to make them suffer over and over again.

“I am here now,” you whisper, hoping to comfort him. You should have searched harder, hunted fiercer, found him faster, prevented the whole kidnapping in the first place. It was your naivety that had landed him in this situation, it was all your fault.

“And what good is it to me that you’re here now?” Astarion hates that you’re seeing him with his walls shattered, his broken heart laid bare before you. Self-hatred overtakes him, spewing venom meant for himself at you. The words tear him apart and pierce your heart, shattering it but you still hold onto him. You’ve finally found him after such a long and anxious search, you’re not letting him go any time soon.

“Where were you twenty years ago? Ten years ago? Hells, a hundred years ago?” He cries, clawed fingertips digging into your skin. The fabric of your top crumples beneath his fingers, tears dampening the cloth. His voice breaks, words dissolving into sobs as he buries his face into your chest, wanting nothing more than to disappear, dissolve, be anywhere but here. Yet you hold him close, wrapping him in your warm embrace despite the daggers that have embedded themselves in your heart courtesy of him. You let him vent it all out, giving him the space he never had even though each sob rips at your heart further.

“How dare you,” he whimpers once his tears have sapped him of all his energy, “how dare you come to me now, when I am this?” He hadn’t been the best person back when he was alive, corruption ran deep in the city he was magistrate of perpetuated by his truly, but at least he had been as normal as any elf could be. Now he was a vampire spawn, weaker than true vampires but with the same weaknesses. He had fallen so far down, a slave to both sanguine hunger and Cazador, a creature sealed in darkness lest he be dissolved by the sun, a monster despised by all.

All but you.

You let him weakly hit you, the punches lacking malice as they lightly connect with your skin and sobs continue to wrack his body. Running your fingers through his hair, you pull him as close as you possibly can and rest his head on your shoulder.

“I wish you had never come.” The words leave his lips in a whisper. The words he never meant, the words he wished he could take back the moment he spoke them, the words that hurt the most. You flinch at the words but tell yourself that he doesn’t mean it, that the words just slipped out on accident, that it was the self-loathing and trauma that spun these words, right?

“Why did you come now?”

You feel him go limp in your arms, slipping into unconciousness as exhaustion takes hold of him. As Halsin moves to carry him back to camp, you reach up and touch something wet on your face. Tears. Something catches in your throat and you tell your companions to head back to camp first, you’ll catch up with them later. Despite the looks of concern, they do as you say at Jaheira’s behest, the older woman knowing that you needed some space.

You mindlessly walk in the opposite direction of the camp, the warmth of the sun a distant feeling despite it blazing high in the sky. Numbness envelopes your body, sending chills down your spine but nothing can overpower the pain in your heart. His words have cut deep, even if you try to convince yourself otherwise and the freshness of the air that you usually enjoy does nothing to alleviate the hurt.

With a sigh, you collapse against a tree trunk, sucking in a deep breath at the twinge of pain that shoots up your side. Shit. Blood has soaked through your tunic on your left side and lifting up the cloth reveals a nasty gash courtesy of a rogue’s dagger. You let out a ragged breath, chest heaving as you rip your tunic off and press the cloth against the wound, hoping to staunch the bleeding before you die of blood loss. White hot pain shoots through you the moment the cloth makes contact and you bite your lip to suppress the yelp, willing yourself to remain strong until you can stagger back to camp and get the wound healed. Knocking back the last healing potion in your pack, you force yourself to stand once more, limping in the direction of camp and past the concerned stares of your companions straight into your tent where you collapse once more, this time unable to bite back a cry of pain when the action tears at your wound. You down more healing potions, a groan of relief escaping your lips as you feel the wound stitching itself together, your body feeling lighter with each mouthful.

Shadowheart peers into your tent but you wave her away, muttering something about wanting some space and she obliges, but leaves a few more healing potions behind just in case. You tuck yourself into your bed roll, something you haven’t done in quite a while now ever since Astarion took it upon himself to be the one to make you comfortable, and the thought sends another twang of sadness through your heart.

Did he want you back? You wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t, it was your fault after all that he got kidnapped. You had been the childish one, yelling at him to get out of your sight after he had been trying to get you to take a break, going as far as to push him out of your tent physically and slamming the tent flap shut, completely missing the flash of hurt in his eyes. The next time you had left your tent, wanting to apologise, Wyll informed you that Astarion left the camp some time ago and had yet to return, panic setting in when Gale pointed out Astarion had disappeared for half a day. You were the one who had driven him away first, it was only fair that he returned the favour.

Pulling the blanket over your head, you bury yourself in the darkness, tears pricking the edges of your eyes again. You had hurt him, perhaps more than he had hurt you, made worse by your prior promise to never hurt him. He didn’t deserve you, he deserved someone who could perfectly love him, cherish him, give him everything he needed and more.

“Y/N?” A quiet voice calls out but you remain still. You recognise the voice, why was he here?

“I know you’re there, darling. You can’t hide from me that easily.” His voice is louder now, coming from next to your bedroll but you stubbornly remain where you are. You hear a shuffling sound and something impacts the ground — he probably seated himself on the ground.

“I…I wanted to say that I’m…I’m sorry.” The words feel like thorns in his throat but he forces them out anyways. He knows he has to, Karlach had encouraged him to in all her usual enthusiasm and had filled him in on what he had missed while unconscious. His immediate reaction was to check up on you from a distance, but Karlach had pushed him towards your tent, giving him a thumbs up which pressured him into going in.

You keep silent, mind struggling to form a sentence as he pours everything out to you once more, carefully lowering his walls to let you in again.

“I know I said things that hurt you, and I should not have said any of it. You rescued me, even though I thought you would never come for me and I pushed you away instead of thanking you.” He pauses, taking a deep breath he doesn’t need. “You deserve better.”

“You’re the one who deserves better.”

Astarion blinks, sitting up straight as you shift, getting out of the bed roll.

“You’re the one who deserves better,” you repeat, unable to meet his ruby gaze. “I was the reason you were kidnapped in the first place, if I hadn’t snapped at you, shouted at you, driven you away, you would never have left the camp, the hunters would never have found you and —”

“It’s not your fault.” He places a finger on your lips, eyebrows furrowed.

“But it is!” You push his finger away. “I hurt you just as much, no, more than you words ever hurt me because I promised to never hurt you! Yet I did!”

“You didn’t mean to.”

“It doesn’t excuse anything! Stop taking everything just because you don’t want to lose this relationship!”

“But I don’t!” He yells back. “I don’t want to lose this! I don’t want to lose whatever we have!”

“I don’t want to lose you.” His voice cracks as he stumbles over the words that shut you up. “If…if you don’t want me anymore I will —”

“When did I ever say that. You’re my entire world, why would I not want you?” You cut him off. He raises an eyebrow at you, searching for hints of deception but all he sees is genuineness, a fierce love for him burning within you and above all, a deep yearning for him and nothing else.

You move closer to him, cautiously reaching out with a hand that he clasps in his cold undead ones and you can’t help but smile. This brought back memories — the first time you ever hugged him, the first time he ever felt a physical touch that wasn’t sex or abuse. He puts an uncertain arm around your waist, waiting for you to do something and you lean into his touch, putting your own arms around his waist, hand holding long forgotten in place of hugging him. He pulls you in, nuzzling you and lets out a small sigh of relief.

He didn’t lose you. You’re still here. You still want him.

As much as you are his light in the darkness, he is your guiding beacon. He is the reason you continue pushing on each and every day, and you want him to know that. Tilting your head up, you meet his lips with your own, a sweet gesture that never grows old and conveys everything in your heart. He kisses back, fingers tangling in your hair and revels in the moment, wishing it would never end but alas, you need to breathe.

“I love you.” It’s the first time you’ve said those words to him.

“I love you too.” It’s not the last time he’ll say those words back.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #astarion romance #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion ancunin #astarion #bg3 angst #bg3 x reader

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pursuitseternal · 4 months

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“Release Me:” ⛓️ Chains and feral smut ⛓️ for “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader |E| 2K

“Chains” prompt for Ascended Astarion Week

Summary: After weeks of captivity and starvation, you finally rescue your love from his enemies. But the beast chained in the cell barely knows himself or you… until you’ve satisfied all his hungers.

CW: Blood kink (I just wanted a reason to have them fuck covered in blood), Feral/primal play, desperate sex, long nailed AA, prison sex, bondage/mild BDSM

Ao3 link | Astarion Fic Masterlist

⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥

Musty, dark, dead. The bowels of the Red Wizard’s tower are worse than a dungeon. Not a speck of light, no slight hint of breeze. It is a tomb. A coffin. And inside somewhere is your love.

You can feel him, his blood calling to you, even as his mind has unraveled these long weeks of capture. You get fleeting images of his senses: the wide-eyed fear in his chest to be imprisoned in the dark. Away from his beloved sun. The racing pant of his breath to be so enclosed, not unlike that year he never speaks of under Cazador’s torment. Locked away. You feel the stinging of silver chains gnawing at his flesh, burning just enough to sap his strength, but not so strong as to kill him.

This was meant for pain, constructed for punishment, to hold him until his enemies would kill him. Your beloved. Your lord and king and master, overthrown by his foolish need for more power. You told him not to go alone to seek the remnants of the Red Wizards of Thay… you warned him they would want their tome returned and would punish him for knowledge of it.

Even the decrepit remnants of a failed cult can win from time to time.

Your chest burns as you try to catch your breath, your skin and armor slick with the blood of your enemies. But your feet propel forward regardless, pulled by the tether of your bond to Astarion.

You heave a sigh of relief to finally find the cells, thick black doors almost indecipherable in the darkness. A little daylight spell, and your eyes adjust to find a dozen doors carved from the bedrock of this damnable tower. The rattling of metal links, the rough snarls of breath grows louder as you close your eyes and follow the ragged beat of his ascended heart.

Hand shaking, you pull out a Knock spell scroll, a sigh of relief that your own Wizard companion of old had prepared you to take on these foes. Even as your fingers stick to the parchment, hands soaked in blood, you recite the word, and the edge of the cell door glows bright white for a moment.

Resonant, it creaks open on its ancient hinges, revealing a pair of glowing red eyes and the crescendo of dry-throated breath. His body drags across the floor towards your daylight, and your heart bursts with ache to finally see him again. Tears sting your eyes.

Paperwhite and beyond deathly pale, his gaunt face leers at you from the darkness. Lines of red, of raw flesh cross his neck and bare arms and legs where he has been chained.

Chained naked.

Your bile rises in your stomach as you curse his captors souls, glad you have already put those Wizards to a bloody, eviscerating death. You’d do it all again, just to punish them for how they’ve tortured your love. Breathing his name, you enter his cell, the walls of black stone absorbing the light of your spell, it seems. But it gives off enough for you to see every line of his hollowed face, every crest of his bony frame.

Astarion twists against his chains, his mind a pulsing mess of feelings and words, too feral to even speak yet. But one word comes across clearly.

Blood.

His nostrils flare, his tongue dangling over his fangs as he scans your spattered armor. A predator with the scent of prey in his nose.

There’s blood in the air…

He’s too hungry, too starved for blood and for you to be safe. Not with they way his eyes are wild and his tongue laps at his jaw. “Astarion,” you speak, making his black-blown eyes focus on you. “I’m here my love,” you reach a hand out to caress his silver hair, but he just snaps his fangs at you once you're in reach. Those silver chains holding him just shy of disaster.

“Naughty,” you try to chide him, but the humor is lost on his hungry body and soul. Mind racing, your feet race faster, hands finding the closest fallen enemy to drag it back after you down the hall. Then you leave it, ignoring the muffled grunts and growls and slurps he makes as he drains the corpse completely.

When you glance back inside, he looks at you, steadier, calmer, and covered in blood. He still crouches on the ground, hands and feet and neck bound, but now he croaks your name. “Darling,” his voice pains you with recognition, “I knew you’d come.”

You hurry to his side, kicking that light, bloodless corpse to the side. The silver chains at his ankles sting you, but it’s nothing compared to the pain of separation you have endured for weeks. You pull the silver apart in your hands, freeing his legs so he can stretch them out at long last.

A deep grunt of relief sounds from his chest. Your hands work up and down one leg, then the other, trying to soothe the tension and numbness and blood flow.

As you reach the top of his thighs, you withdraw in surprise. His cock achingly hard, juts against his belly, twitching and pink and… happy to see you too.

“I have missed you,” his voice caresses your ear and rushes down your spine, the chains at his neck clinking their high-pitched music as he leans against you. Nose buried in your hair, he inhales your scent like a drowning man gasps for air. “I can’t wait another moment, my love.” His voice unearthly, barely more than a growl, his hands chained near his belly reach into your armor.

You notice his nails, literally clawing for you, seeking your flesh. Nails, so long unkempt, have taken on their wild form, the razor sharp talons of a vampire lord. “I was so worried…. I missed you, my love,” you sigh, an edge of fear in your belly as you long to kiss those bloodstained lips with your own. Ignoring the sting, you grab the silver chain, a little yank to tug at him, making a playful, aroused smirk turn his dripping, scarlet lips as his body draws closer.

“I am master of myself once more,” his brows cant rakishly, even in the dark. “I won’t bite unless you ask very… very… nicely,” he croons straining against your leash.

“Oh, I think you're asking for more than a nibble,” you tease to release some of the fear that still lingers in your veins. Never have you been separated from him since you turned, and never, not even during the Rite of Ascension and your fight against his old master have you feared his death more than these past weeks. Floodgates break, your need to touch him and taste him overpowering all logic and fear.

Your fingers work quickly, unlatching your breastplate and cuisses, eyes locked into his as he watches your every move, tongue licking the blood from the corner of his mouth absentmindedly. You let the metal clang to the floor. Those two restrained hands extend for you, making the chains around his arms hiss as the magic sears more into his flesh anew.

“Hold still,” you order, crouching to grab the chains and tug them free from his flesh, his wounds instantly closing up now that he is well-fed once more.

For all the pain that must be lancing through his body, he just holds your stare with his own, sultry and feral and commanding. “Now, where were we?” he purrs, hands trembling to finally touch your body. Even with sapped strength, he pulls you flush against him, bringing you close. Slotting you in your place against his body. Those blood-caked claws dig into the supple cover of your leathers, tearing through it at your hips and down the seams as though they are paper. You’ll worry about decency later, for now you’re of one mind, unable to think until you’ve joined again.

You sink your body onto his cock, and he sinks his fangs into your blood-spattered neck. Your groans bounce off the pitch black walls, a roar of bliss and relief and release. No more fear or danger, aside from the fear of coming too quickly and the danger of spending hours fucking once more, covered in the drying gore of your foes.

The thought tickles from your mind to his, and he laughs as he thrusts up into you. “Just like old times,” he rasps between swallows from your neck.

Like old times, like every time, your body follows its instincts, finally filled with what you have most craved. His cock stretches you, a nearly unfamiliar pressure once more, but you hardly notice, not with how dripping wet you’ve become just to feel his breath on your neck and savor his muscled frame thrusting into you.

Tears prick at your eyes but you won’t let them wash that blood from your cheeks. No, you just grip into his hair, pulling his mouth from the puncture wounds in your neck to your own waiting lips. The copper tang of your blood floods your mouth as his tongue sweeps inside, the familiar taste of your own blood mixing with the nasty pollution of your enemies’ he drained earlier.

It sours your stomach, the taste, but you’re too lost in the way his breath warms you, inside and out. Those long, feral nails score into your back, wandering quickly between your writhing bodies. With low, rumbling growls into your mouth, he grips your waist, moving you and holding you in place as he fucks harder. More erratic. More hellsbent on that release he needs.

His voice fills your ear, “My Consort, my love, my pet, my saviour,” he pours your beloved epithets over you, breath ragged and out of synch with his roughly snapping hips. One hand lies splayed on the stone behind him, that extra leverage driving him deeper with abandon. He’s thickening inside you, so hot and too quickly.

“Don’t get carried away,” you chide, yanking at the chain around his neck, making his crimson eyes stare at you with lust-blown pupils. “You haven’t even given me a reward yet for my daring bravery, my love.” You make him hiss, his slack mouth baring his fangs in pleasure-ridden pain. “And you haven’t even granted me an apology for running headlong into this… foolishness,” you cock your chin and tug his chain-leash again. “Promise me, no more ludicrous missions without me.”

He growls but nods, hands digging at your ass, not one hint of resistance.

“Then I’m satisfied, well…” you wriggle, clenching your walls on his throbbing cock inside you, “soon to be satisfied.” A laugh shared on both your panting lips, you ride his lap, bringing him back under a steady rhythm, drawing out his pleasure until you’ve had yours as well. He pulls against his last remaining chain, and you tut your tongue. One of your hands brings his fingers into the apex of your thighs, coaxing his finger to circle your clit with every buck. Your other hand releases that leash, freeing it from his flesh at last so you can grab his chin. Then you lick… long and cleansing, tasting the remnants of your blood, and your enemies’, and faint traces of his own.

That warm tip of his tongue laps at the corner of his lips, his breath heavy as he feels your walls fluttering around his cock. Spine arching, hips canting fervently, you scream for him, tears in your throat and down your face at last, as if you didn’t believe you’d ever be brought to orgasm by him again. Sharp nails score into the sensitive flesh of your folds, hips slamming into your last waves of pleasure as he spills inside you, spurt after spurt of his seed filling you and leaking to the prison floor beneath you both.

Crimson eyes glance up at you, wild and sated, hungry and happy all at once. “Get me home, my Consort,” he whispers. “You’ll be coming on my cock in our bed next.”

You smirk, breathless, pulling out a scroll to open a portal to your palace. As you stand, you kick the chains at your feet with your boot, thankful he’s released into your care once more.

⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️

💞 to @marimosalad and @nyx-knox

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we-stan-cale · 6 months

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Since I've talked about almost all the other important parts during my reread, I didn't want to forget the sealed god's test.

It's just... So good I'm not even sure where to start. Like, this is a moment where Cale really shines.

Cale. Rok Soo, which we're told means 'to always grow green, even in winter'.

And we see that in this test.

The sealed god throws him into one of the worst moments of his life, expressly to make him despair.

Instead, Cale takes that moment and uses it to rewrite the past, and erase all his regrets.

This is where we really get to see what post-apocalyptic Korea was like. And over and over again we learn how badly things went then, even as Cale makes sure it doesn't happen like that again.

We also see some of his years of experience, and maturity. Especially with how he handles Park Jin Tae, who was a bully and a tyrant - and also died in Cale's first life, fighting to save everyone in the shelter.

You can see what we've seen all along. Cale doesn't judge leaders by the petty stuff. He judges them on how well they take care of their people.

This is also where Cale, Choi Han, and Alberu really become an amazing trio.

Choi Han, who bargains a large chunk of his life away (just the time he'd be alone, as he ties the length of his life to Raons) in order to join Cale in his test.

And Alberu, who the Sun God helps possess a monster called the Dark Tiger when his real body is sleeping.

Those three are so tight knit now, it's beautiful. Real ride or die friends.

Especially when you remember where they all started.

It's also, as always, a time where you have to pay attention to the subtleties. This is Cale's past, and he's focused on making sure everyone survives... But Choi Han and especially Alberu can see the desperation, the struggle, and the near starvation of all the survivors. Alberu has a couple of moments when he's out of the test and giving updates to their friends, and you see him struggling. Because Cale asked him not to overly stress them (the kids especially) and basically say it's fine... And Alberu's like 'how can I tell them that?!?'

And then, naturally, there's Choi Jung Soo and Lee Soo Hyuk.

Younger versions, and not the ones Cale knew. But still, we get to learn more about his earlier found family.

We also see things going on back at home. Since his physical body is still there, his friends have to rescue him.

And we see how they're able to perform, even without Cale to call the shots.

We especially see how well Raon has grown, as he makes important decisions on how to find the monster statues.

Even more importantly, we have this at the end.

– Do you really think that this moment is the end of despair? Cale looked down at the rose gold lights burning in his hands. He opened his mouth to speak. ‘Is this moment the end of despair? No. Absolutely not.’ “This is just the beginning of the despair in this world.” It was just the beginning. Despair would reveal itself in many different forms in this world from now on. “But people have hope now.” After about a year since the world had turned into a mess… The people who had always lost, struggled, and barely managed to survive will be victorious for the first time. They would destroy this despair known as an unranked monster. The sealed god who had been silent for a moment asked as if he was sneering at Cale. – Do you have hope as well? It seemed to be implying that Cale was someone who could not have hope. That was how it sounded to Cale. Cale slowly shook his head. “No.” He did not have hope. However… “I have certainty.” Cale needed something more certain than hope. Finally, he had gotten it. “This place will draw a different future than my past. I’m certain of it.” He was certain that more people would survive than in his past. He was certain that they would have better lives. That was not speculation. Although it was a future that was yet to come, Cale believed it to be the truth. In fact, Cale wanted to be the one to finish the first step toward that certainty. The burning rose gold thunderbolts moved away from Cale’s hands. He started to speak again. “This is the first time I’m saying this to a god.” Toward the silent sealed god… To the god who had tried to give him despair… Cale said the following. “Thanks.” He really meant it. “My memories didn’t end in despair thanks to you.”

It's not that he defeated despair. That despair will no longer exist.

But there's hope, and he is certain that the future will be better.

And even more so - he is grateful that he had this chance to change his memories.

He took this thing that was supposed to break him, and used it to fix himself instead.

#tcf #lcf #cale henituse #trash of the count's family #lout of the count’s family #sealed god's test #totcf

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disasterofastory · 11 months

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Behind the walls (Brahms Heelshire x Reader)

Behind the walls // Brahms Heelshire Masterlist Brahms Heelshire x Reader Kinktober 2023 - 11/14 Warnings: a bit of angst, bath sex

Summary: After an argument, you go and search for Brahms.

A/N: I'm sorry, I'm late again with this part, but I will post the next chapter too in a minute. Enjoy!

The house is quiet and still. Everything you do sounds louder than it should. Even your thoughts. Guilt and worry still eat at your mind, mixing with the remaining anger bubbling in your chest. You can hear your heated conversation with Brahms again and again until you start to go insane. Your eyes scan the walls of your room, finding every hole and crack on the wooden surface. He is not here. You know it.

Arguing with Brahms Heelshire is unavoidable since you spend more time with him than without him. And he is stubborn, demanding, and clingy. And he loves you in his own way; you are sure of that, but his love can be suffocating when you barely have access to the real world outside of the manor. You need to breathe. And he needs to understand that.

The sun is already setting when you have enough of the silence. You haven't seen Brahms since breakfast. You wandered around the house all day like a damn ghost, listening and trying to find that manchild who decides to hide every time he doesn't get what he wants. New-found anger awakes in your chest, but you decide to push it down. Another fight will lead you nowhere with him.

"Brahms?" You break the silence. Your voice is hoarse from being quiet all day. "Brahms? Can you come out? Are you here?"

When you don't get an answer even after half an hour, you decide to take the next step. And you hate yourself for it. Even though Brahms is still prone to spend a lot of his time behind the walls, you never thought about following him and exploring what the manor still has to offer. On one hand, you thought of it as Brahms's safe place, and on the other, you were terrified of it. "Please, Brahms," you speak up again with a slight begging in your tone. The mirror on the wall slowly creaks as you open the secret door behind it. "I really don't want to go and search for you in there." For a few seconds, you stay still and try to listen, hoping you will hear his steps approaching, but your ears meet with silence. "Fuck," you grunt, grimacing.

Being behind the walls of the manor is just as horrible as you imagined but not as dark because of the dim light filtering through the holes and gaps. The ground creaks under your steps, and everything is dusty and old. And not even a few turns later, you aren't even sure where you are anymore. "Brahms?" You call him again. "Please, come here." The tight place makes you sick and dizzy. You don't like it. Your heart thuds in your chest, wanting to jump out of your body and leave this place. "Please," you try again. "Brahms, I really need you now." Tears gather in your eyes as you fight with the tightness of your throat. Your legs shake under your weight, and your nails dig into the wood here and there as you try to make yourself move forward.

It was a bad idea. A horrible idea. And still, your heart breaks even more each second you spend behind the walls, and Brahms doesn't come to your rescue. Maybe he doesn't care for you that much after all.

A loud and sharp shriek bursts out of your lips when someone grabs your arms from behind. Your heart jumps up into your throat, and you are sure you will faint any second now. Tears escape from the corners of your eyes, running down your heated cheeks.

"Please!" You beg even though you don't know why. "Please!" Strong, muscular arms curl around your body from behind, keeping you together when you are afraid you will wall apart. "Shh," the man hums into your ears. His breath is warm. "Sh." "Brahms," you choke. "It's me, Y/N," Brahms replies, holding you close against his chest. "You are safe, Y/N. I'm here. I will protect you." You can do anything but sob in his arms as you try to calm yourself. Your hands hold onto his arms in front of your chest. His hug grounds you until you can breathe again. "Do you want to go out?" He asks quietly, kissing the curve of your neck every now and again. First, you want to scream yes, but deep down, you know if you leave now, you will be always afraid of what lurks behind the walls beside Brahms. "No," you shake your head. "Just don't leave me." "Never," he says. His chest is filled with satisfaction at your request. You need him. You want him to never leave you. He can do that. "I can show you my room," he says. "If you want." Your stomach twists at the thought of him having a room here. "Okay," you nod. "Show me."

Brahms leads you through the house, holding you close the whole time, and you cling to him without a second thought. He can't help but feel pride as you grip his hand and arm. It's a change in your relationship, and both of you notice it even though none of you say it out loud. Usually, you are the more dominant one who always knows what to do or say, while he just enjoys being under your care.

"If you look out here," Brahms points at a small hole. "You can see the kitchen."

He wants you to get more familiar with this place. With his place. He thinks if you know your way around better, you will be less afraid even if you never come back here.

"I can't believe you lived here almost your whole life," you tell him, shuddering. Brahms isn't hurt by your words. He can hear the heartache in your words, even though he doesn't entirely understand why. These narrow corridors, dim lights, and the darkness that follows them mean safety and comfort to him. "It's not so bad," he says awkwardly, but when he sees your expression as you look around his room, well, what he calls his room, he knows in your eyes, it's much worse. "Oh, Brahms." You don't want to show pity, but his name falls out of your name before you can stop it. You know he doesn't need you to feel sorry or sad for him. This small space with old furniture and even older dust is his home. It's everything he knows.

Tearing your eyes away from the small bed, you look at him. "Promise me." Brahms frowns. "Promise what?" "Promise me that one day, when you feel ready, you will come with me and see the world." You know it's not so easy, but you have to hope and plan that it will happen someday. You know Brahms is not like other men. He has his demons, fears, and the way he sees the world. He can be dangerous, bratty, and demanding. You are not even sure how he would react outside of the manor. But seeing that you are still with him and never plan to leave him, you are not normal either, and maybe you can help him with his fights. "I promise," he says after a few tense seconds. Maybe it's a promise he can't keep, but he can try. For you.

He holds you in his arms tightly, inhaling your scent as he pushes his face to the crook of your neck. Even though he doesn't entirely understand your pity or sadness, he knows it comes from care and love, and this is what Brahms wanted all his life. "Do you want to go out?" He asks. "You don't have to stay here." "Please." Your reply is muffled by his shirt. You cling to him tighter, and he picks you up in his arms easily.

He can feel your body relaxing against his when the secret door closes behind you. Your arms are still around his neck while he holds you up by your bottom. "I love you," he hums, sitting down on the edge of the bed with you in his lap. "I love you so much." Leaning back a bit, you cradle his face in your hands. "I love you too, baby." He only notices how pale you were the whole time when the color starts to come back to your face. And still, despite everything, you came after him behind the walls to get to know him better. "Do you want to take a bath?" He asks, squeezing your hips. You are dusty and dirty. "With you," you tell him, and his heart flutters. "Whatever you want."

You work together as you get ready for the bath. None of you remember your argument anymore. You take care of the water while Brahms fetches your pajamas and clean towels. "Climb in first," you tell him as you get rid of your clothes. After he adjusts himself, you climb in after him. Your legs are pressed between the wall of the bathtub and his thick thighs. "Are you okay?" You ask him. "I can move away." You would hate to do it, though. "No," he grunts, already feeling himself getting hard under you. Your soft flesh is above his length, and your tits are in front of his face. Your nipples are already hard peaks, begging for his mouth.

To distract himself, Brahms grabs the soap and starts to wash you. He cups the water in his hands, pouring it on your body to soak and warm you up while you sit limp on his lap. Your arms stay around his neck while your head rests on his broad shoulder. Your fingers play with his hair at the nape of his neck. He rubs and massages your back as much as he can from this position. His thumb glides over the line of your spine before moving back to draw circles on your shoulder blades.

"Y/N?" Brahms asks after a while. His sudden voice sounds too loud in the quiet room. "Hm?" "Oh, I thought you fell asleep," he says, moving his large hands up and down on your back. "No," you murmur "I'm just enjoying the moment." "Does it feel good?" He asks. "Yeah," you sigh, pushing yourself away from the man between your thighs before you really fall asleep on him. "Thank you." He forces a soft smile onto his face before his lips open with a sharp exhale. Your fingers rake through the hair on his upper body. His stomach clenches under your soft touch. "Y/N," Brahms says. "We don't have to…" He knows you feel his length pressing against your folds. "I know," you tell him, brushing one of his nipples with your thumb. "But I want you, Brahms. I want you as close as possible." He grunts through his closed lips. His eyes are wide and interested as he watches you caressing his chest. He has to force himself to stay still and not to buck up against your pussy.

Suddenly, the air gets steamy and heavy around you. Your hands slip up to his hair, caressing and washing the wet, dark curls sticking to his temple.

He lets you play and explore him for a while, even though he knows you know him well enough by now. Your hands smooth up on his arms, slipping over his shoulders until you cradle his face. Your thumb traces the thickest line left by the fire years ago. Brahms still barely believes that you not only want to see him but also want to touch, caress, and kiss him too. His heart flutters every time you do it.

His eyes stray down from your relaxed expression to your chest. The soft skin of your breasts shines under the light of the bathroom, and they are slippery as he lets his hands wander away from your hips. He let his fingers smooth over the underside of your tits, following their soft curve before opening his palms to knead your flesh. His thumbs tease and rub over your nipples. "Brahms," you mewl his name, grabbing onto his neck to pull him down to your chest. Your back arches to give him more space as his lips latch onto your nipple. His tongue flicks over the sensitive bud repeatedly. He can feel the bitter taste of the soap on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't care about it. He sucks even more of your breast into his mouth, letting his teeth graze over your skin. You gasp when he tugs on your nipple, soothing it with his tongue afterward.

One of your hands is under the water between your bodies. The surface of the water ripples with every move you make between your legs. Your fingers slide through your folds to your entrance, brushing over his length in the process. The water and your juices help you finger yourself effortlessly.

"I can't wait any longer," you break the silence with an impatient edge in your voice. Your insides quiver with anticipation, and your pussy flutters around nothing when you pull out your fingers in favor of grabbing Brahms's erection. You stroke up and down on his shaft a few times before adjusting the tip of his cock to your entrance.

Your mouth falls open with a silent cry when you start to skin down on his cock. His girth stretches you out, filling your hole inch by inch. "Fuck," you groan when Brahms pinches your nipple again. You envelop him in your tight warmth to the point he can't even think. White, hot pleasure flares through his body while you sink lower and lower on him. You whimper and moan, wanting more and more of him even after you accept him fully, and he can't go any deeper. Your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders, and he can't help but hiss with your nipple still between his teeth. "Brahms." You barely sound like a human anymore. Tears gather in your eyes from the desperation thudding in your ribcage. "I got you," he whispers, sliding his hand to your hips. "Do not worry, love. I'm here." Adjusting his legs against the bottom of the bathtub, he starts to rock his hips upward, grinding his cock in your pussy. He rubs against every sweet spot and sensitive nerve you have, keeping you steady above him as you still hold onto him until his skin is red because of your nails. He hisses and grunts at the pain but pushes into you deeper. Your walls flutter around his shaft, trying to accept everything he can give you. His movements are barely noticeable because of the small space of the bathtub, but none of you care about it. You wheeze and moan in his old, pressing your chest against his as he bounces you on his lap in sync with his thrusts. "Fuck, Brahms," you gasp. "I'm- I'm gonna-" "It's okay," he grunts. His warm breath fans over the side of your face. The line of his jaw is hard as he clenches his teeth together to keep himself from cumming. He wants to feel your sweet cunt pulsing and cumming around him first. He wants your pussy to milk his cock, begging for his release.

The water splashes all over the room, soaking the small carpet in front of the bathtub. The air is steamy and smells like honey and something else, mixing with Brahms's own spicy soaps and shampoo. Your skin is soft, warm, and slippery under the man's hands as he still uses your body to grind you on his erection. He jerks and twitches inside you. His balls are heavy with the need to shoot inside you, plastering your walls.

"Cum for me, Y/N," he hisses, reaching down between your bodies to find your clit with his thumb. "Cream my cock, love, let me have it all." He is surprised he can from words with the mush in his head that was his brain once.

Your mouth drops open, and your whole body rocks above him as you chase your climax. Wails and cries escape your throat at the familiar feeling in your lower stomach. The burning coil bursts and surges through your veins. Your pussy tightens around his cock like a vice, making Brahms growl as he cums into you. Your walls squeeze on his shaft, and your nails dig even deeper into his flesh. None of you can breathe for long seconds as waves and waves of pleasure wash over you both. His arms are tight around your middle, keeping your limp, exhausted body against his chest while his cock still jerks and shoots in your pussy.

"We should take a shower," you hum with a weak laugh when you feel his seed leaking out of your hole. "I can't feel my legs," he replies, making you chuckle again as you snuggle deeper in his arms.

#brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire smut #brahms heelshire imagine #the boy x reader #the boy imagine #kinktober 2023 #slasher fucker

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hungermakesmonsters · 1 month

Text

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Nineteen

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Violence. A lot more violence than usual. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : 5.6k

A/N : I'm not crying, you're crying 😭

MASTER LIST

Chapter Nineteen

There was a light at the end of the nothingness that you were fighting so desperately to get to. It got brighter and brighter the closer you got, causing your head to hurt and your eyes to strain. Turning away from the light, you felt something soft against your face, something that smelled like... laundry detergent?

The realisation that you were still alive came slowly, scratching away in the back of your mind as you struggled to open your eyes and force yourself awake. The dream wanted to hold you a little longer and almost managed to pull you back under, but the light was so bright.

A pained murmur escaped you as your eyes finally opened, straining against the midday sun pouring through the windows. You squinted, struggling to focus tired eyes on anything. Your head was pounding but, soon enough, familiarity started to stir inside you.

You knew where you were.

You were in your room. In your bed.

In Billy’s penthouse.

(You were home.)

You tried to sit up, but you were too tired, too weak to do anything more than lift your head. That’s when you realised he was right there at your side, his head buried in his folded arms at the edge of your bed, Bill the Beagle beside him. You tried to think back, tried to remember what had happened, but everything felt like a blur, like it had all just been some horrible nightmare.

All you could really remember was wanting to be with Billy.

“Billy?” Your voice was a hoarse whisper, your throat aching and straining.

Your neck - you’d been hurt, hadn’t you? You reached for your throat and felt the edge of your bandages, but you didn’t have time to think more about it, not when Billy finally lifted his head and looked at you.

For a few seconds, he just stared, the dark circles under his eyes betraying the fact that he’d been at your side for a long time.

How long had he been there?

How long had you been there?

“You’re awake,” he muttered in disbelief as he took your hand in his, gripping tight. “I thought - I thought I’d lost you...”

All you could think to do was squeeze his hand, not sure what you could say to make him feel better because you couldn’t remember. You had no idea what he’d been through.

“Wh-what happened?” You managed to ask, and watched, again, as he fell silent and stared at you uncomfortably.

“Drake, he -” he started and stopped, his gaze dropping, “- we came to save you.”

He’d rescued you.

Despite everything you’d done and the pain you must have caused him, Billy had risked his life to come save you. He hadn’t given up on you.

“How long have I been back?” You asked. “How long was I sleeping?”

“Three days.”

There was something else, something he wasn’t telling you, something that had shame etched across his features, but it was hard to focus, hard to think about anything beyond the fact that you were safe and you were with him again.

“I don’t feel right...” you muttered, closing your eyes again for a few long seconds.

“I know, hummingbird,” he said tenderly, brushing his thumb across the back of your hand. “I know, but it’ll get better, I promise. You just need to rest.”

You didn’t know what any of that meant. You didn’t know what it was but, again, you were too exhausted to think straight, too out of it to fully grasp the situation. Billy reached for you with his free hand, softly stroking your hair, trying to lull you back to sleep before you could even think to ask any questions.

But you felt cold and uncomfortable despite the thick blanket on top of you. More than that, you felt starved for comfort.

You felt awful and all you wanted was a hug.

“Billy?” You asked, fighting against sleep.

“Yes?” He answered, his hand slipping from your hair to your cheek.

“Can you hold me? Just for a little while?”

“Of course,” he said, his voice breaking just a little, “I’ll hold you as long as you want me to.”

You managed a weak smile as Billy pulled back the covers and climbed into bed. He laid beside you and let you snuggle closer, getting yourself comfortable before wrapping his arms around you. Resting your head on his chest, you let out a contented sigh as he started to stroke your hair again.

For a few moments you were silent, thinking back to the last time he’d held you; how you’d both been so happy, so content. And you’d ruined it.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, burying your face against his sweater.

“Oh, hummingbird, whatever for?” He asked, sounding like his heart was breaking.

“For always causing you so many problems,” you answered with a sniffle, pressing closer to him, suddenly worried he might pull away.

His arms tightened around you and you felt his lips press against the top of your head.

“You never cause me problems, hummingbird,” he told you firmly, though his voice still sounded broken and strained. “I’d go to hell and back for you, to keep you safe, and it’d never be a problem for me because I - I love you. I love you so much.”

A tear rolled down your cheek and you felt so overwhelmed that you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You felt safe, loved, but more exhausted than you’d ever been. It felt like all of this was just some wonderful dream that would be snatched away from you the moment you dared to look away, and you just couldn’t stop crying.

“I’m so tired, Billy,” you told him, tears falling more freely, soaking into the fabric of his red sweater.

“I know. I’m so sorry about that but I promise you’ll feel better soon. You just need to rest, okay?” He told you gently, pressing another kiss to the top of your head.

“Will you stay with me?”

“Always,” he answered and you had no idea just how much he meant it.

Despite your tears, it wasn’t long before your exhaustion won out and you drifted off but, true to his word, Billy stayed with you, holding you tight as you slept.

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

As he laid with you, Billy couldn’t help but think back to that night, to the hotel, to the moment leading up to finding you on the floor with your throat torn.

The elevator ride felt like it took a lifetime, like every second was time you didn’t have, and the longer it took, the more afraid he felt. He couldn’t stay still, he was practically vibrating with rage, eager to get to the prick that had tried to take you from him, eager to snuff out his miserable existence. He could see Madani out of the corner of his eye, watching him as he tried not to crawl out of his own skin.

Frank stood on his other side, completely stoic and prepared for what was to come, but Billy knew better than to think his friend was unaware what was going on. He’d seen Billy like this before, he knew just how tenuous his self-control really was.

Madani checked her gun and Frank did likewise. Billy left his holstered, instead gripping a knife. That was all he needed; this was personal and he wanted it to hurt.

The elevator let out a ding before the doors slid open.

The first goon didn’t even have a chance to unholster his sidearm before Frank dropped him.

Billy looked at Madani; “go find her, we’ll deal with Drake.”

She paused but only for a split-second before nodding and starting to move into the penthouse suite, disappearing into one of the bedrooms, while Frank and Billy pressed on to the living area.

Another goon popped out and met a quick end with Billy’s knife in his throat. There was no telling how many of them were squirrelled away in the suite, but Billy was going to relish finding out.

Everything became a blur the moment he first set eyes on Justin Drake. He looked at Billy with a hint of familiarity, like he’d done his research, and grinned. His face was painted dark red with blood, and Billy knew immediately that he’d hurt you, though he wouldn’t allow himself to even contemplate that you might be dead.

“What a pleasant surprise,” Drake remarked. “But I’m afraid you’re late to the party.”

At Billy’s side, Frank had another goon by the neck, pummelling him with the butt of his gun. Billy’s fingers tightened their grip on the knife and things started to get hazy.

He cleared the distance, trading blows with Drake. At some point they’d ended up on the floor, ripping and tearing at each other, both trying to gain the upper hand. His knife ended up in Drake’s thigh, while Drake’s fangs tore into Billy’s shoulder.

Billy felt himself slipping, giving in to the rage that was so desperate to escape, the anger inside of him that wanted nothing more than to punish the piece of shit that had hurt you.

As they rolled and tussled, Drake pressed a thumb against Billy’s eye, his other hand at Billy’s throat.Billy lashed out, swinging punches and tearing his fangs through Drake’s arm until he managed to retrieve the knife from Drake’s thigh.

Before he had time to register what had happened and what he’d done, Billy was on top of Drake’s lifeless body, his throat cut in a way that even a vampire couldn’t recover from. His hands and clothes were slick with blood and viscera. But there was no time to think about what he’d done, not once he heard Madani’s shouts and felt Frank’s hand on his shoulder, pulling him back to the moment.

He needed to get to you.

Scrambling to his feet, he almost fell as he made his way to the source of the shouting; to you and Madani on the floor in a puddle of your blood.

Despite Madani’s reassurances that help was on the way, he knew it was already too late.

His breath caught as you looked up at him, his hand quickly grasping yours.

“B-Billy,” you choked out, “you’re h-here...”

He squeezed your hand, already knowing that he couldn’t let go, that he’d never let go. He didn’t even try to hold back the tears that were starting to well in the corners of his eyes.

“I told you,” he muttered, feeling like his heart was breaking in two, “I’ll never let you go.”

And he wouldn’t. Not now, not ever.

You tried to mutter an apology, but your voice came out so weak and small, your life slowly slipping away from you.

Panic and dread started to fill his chest, knowing that the end was getting closer.

“Dont. Don’t try to talk. Just - just stay still, stay with me, it’s going to be alright.” His eyes never left yours as he spoke, wanting so desperately for you to know that he was there and that nothing bad was going to happen to you. He wasn’t going to lose you.

“I l-love -”

“Hey - hey, hummingbird, keep your eyes on me. It’s going to be okay,” but he could see you slipping, he could see that last spark of life in your eyes dimming.

He knew he needed to do something, that he couldn’t just let you die, but there was only one option and Billy knew it was the one thing you didn’t want. Billy only had a second to think about it, he couldn’t waste any more time than that - he’d rather you hate him forever than lose you completely.

“I’m sorry,” he told you, voice fraught and broken. “I love you and - and I’m sorry. I know you’re going to hate me but...” he fell silent for a moment but there was no response. You were still breathing but only just. There wasn’t much time left.

He shouted for Frank.

“You gotta turn her,” he begged, pleading with his friend.

“Bill she don’t want -”

“You think she wants to die?” He snapped. There was another beat of silence and it looked like Frank wasn’t going to back down. His stomach threatened to turn itself inside out. He couldn’t take no for an answer. “If you don’t do it, I will.”

“You’d infect her?” Frank asked angrily. “Make her like you?”

“If it means keeping her alive,” Billy answered back.

“She wouldn’t be alive, not like she knows it. I -”

“What would you do if it was Karen?” He asked, watching as anger flashed across Frank’s face just at the mere thought of anyone hurting Karen this way.

“You love her that much?”

“I can’t live without her,” he answered, tears still rolling down his cheeks. “I won’t live without her.”

You were barely even there anymore when Frank moved to your side and looked down at you, a silent apology in his eyes as he leaned down and sunk his teeth into you.

Then, they’d brought you home and tended to your wounds, hoping that the bite would take and that you’d turn.

Billy had sat by yours side the whole time, barely moving, only daring to close his eyes for an hour or so at a time. And, since that moment, he’d felt like there was an invisible countdown, a clock slowly ticking down to the moment when you realised what had been done to you.

The moment you would start to hate him.

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

It was dark when your eyes opened again. A whole day and a half had slipped by unnoticed but to you it felt like only a few hours had passed. You felt sharper - still tired and cold, but you finally felt like you could think straight. You finally felt like you could fill in some of the blanks and figure out what was going on.

Billy was still with you, still holding you. When you slowly lifted your head from his chest, you realised he was asleep and, while you had so many questions, the last thing you wanted to do was wake him. He’d been so tired earlier, he’d looked as bad as you’d felt and just as overwhelmed. He needed rest.

Lifting a hand to your neck, you realised that not only were the bandages gone, but so was the cast from your arm. Your throat felt normal, not even tender where you’d been bitten. It was almost like it had never even happened.

But how could that be?

How long had you been recovering?

More to the point, was it even possible to recover from a wound like the one Drake had inflicted?

You tried to remember that night, tried to think back, but all that remained were a collection of fuzzy memories; Drake trying to get you to leave, Madani appearing at your side, Billy holding your hand, and Frank -

Moving suddenly, you pulled away from Billy’s arms and scrambled out of bed. Your legs felt weak and unstable, like you hadn’t used them in days (because you hadn’t).

The more questions you had, the more the pieces started to fall into place. You’d been hurt, badly, so badly that there shouldn’t have been any coming back from it. And, now, Billy was in your room - how was he in your room?

You wanted so desperately to find another conclusion, something better than the one you were stuck with, but the more you thought about it, the more you came to realise that there was only one thing that made a damned bit of sense.

He’d turned you.

You were a vampire.

“Hummingbird?” Your eyes snapped to him as he spoke, seeing the worry etched on his face despite the darkness. “Are you -”

“Tell me you didn’t...” you pleaded in a low but desperate whisper, torn between anger and sorrow.

His expression became one of shame as he slowly got out of bed and took a step towards you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking, “I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” You demanded. “Why would you -”

“Because I couldn’t lose you,” he answered, daring to take another step towards you. “Because I love you and I could bear to lose you like that.”

As he reached for you, you took a step back, his fingers ghosting your hand as you pulled out of reach, and you could see the hurt in his eyes as you did. But, regardless of whatever was going on in his head, Billy gave you the space you so obviously needed and fell silent, letting you process what was going on.

“Tell me what happened,” you finally asked, trying so hard to hold back tears.

Billy let out a slow exhale and let his gaze drift towards the window. It took him a moment to start but, once he did, he didn’t stop until he’d told the whole story, leaving out no detail. It didn’t help. Not one bit. In fact, knowing what he’d been through to rescue you only seemed to make it worse.

“Please say something,” he gently prompted after a minute passed in silence. “Even if it’s just to tell me that you hate me...”

The problem was that you didn’t know what you wanted to say because you didn’t understand how you really felt. You were angry - so fucking angry - that he’d turned you, despite know it was something you never wanted, but you could also remember how scared you’d been, how you’d wanted nothing more than to just be able to be with him again.

Now Drake was gone and you didn’t have to worry about Billy losing you to age or illness; every obstacle that had been in your way was gone now and, if you wanted to, you could be with Billy.

But there was something else, a thought you couldn’t escape.

“You turned me into something you hate,” you finally said.

He’d been clear from the start, hadn’t he? Billy didn’t like vampires.

“No, that’s not -” he shook his head as he struggled to find the right words, “- could never hate you.”

“You hate vampires, you hate being a vampire.”

“No, I - maybe I did, but I don’t anymore. What was it you said to me?” You trailed off, trying to remember the exact words. “You were glad that Frank turned me, you were happy that I’m a vampire because, if I wasn’t, we never would have met And that - that made me glad to be a vampire.”

You stayed silent, only shaking your head in response.

“My sickness, the way I was infected, and the way it’s led to me hurting so many people - that’s what I hate,” he tried again, “but you don’t have to deal with that.”

“I can’t give you blood. You don’t need me anymore.”

“Hummingbird -”

You reached for him suddenly, taking his hand and pressing it to your chest, above your heart; a heart that no longer raced for him.

“I can’t even be that anymore,” you told him, unable to stop a tear from rolling down your cheek. “I’m nothing... I’m worthless to you.”

“No, you’re wrong. You could never be nothing to me. You are my little hummingbird. And I love you; I loved you as a human and I’ll love you as a vampire,” Billy told you, his voice turning firmer, more certain, almost like he was angry that you didn’t believe him. “I know you didn’t want this, but I couldn’t live in a world that doesn’t have you in it.”

He kept his hand on your chest until you turned away from him.

“Can you leave me alone?” You asked softly, needing some time to unpack everything that had happened.

“Please, don’t shut me out, humming -”

“Please, Billy?” You begged, still trying to hold back your tears until he was gone. “I just need to be on my own for a little while.”

There was silence, for a few seconds before he finally relented. “Okay, but I’ll be out in the penthouse, in our spot, waiting until you’re ready to talk. However long it takes...”

And, then, he was gone.

Hours passed as you tried to wrap your head around it and tried to understand how you really felt and, eventually, you realised what it was; you’d never wanted to be a vampire because the prospect of living forever terrified you, the idea of spending an eternity feeling like you didn’t belong, feeling unloved...

But that wasn’t how things were now. That wasn’t your life anymore. You weren’t just living how your parents wanted you to live, you weren’t just following rules and only ever doing what you were told. You did belong here and if you were certain of anything it was that Billy did love you.

(Still, what was to say he’d still feel the same about you in fifty years time?)

Eventually there was a light knock on the door and, before you could think to say anything, it opened.

Karen looked at you with what could only be described as absolute relief on her face and you quickly moved across the room to greet her, throwing your arms around her. She held you tight, muttering about how glad she was that you were alright, that you were safe.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said, “we’ve all been so worried.”

“I’m sorry, I never meant to -”

“You don’t have anything to apologise for. We’re all just glad you’re safe,” Karen told you firmly. “After the first couple of days we started to worry you might never wake up, but Billy stayed by your side the whole time.”

“The whole time?”

“For days - we couldn’t even get him to leave to sleep,” she explained and the thought alone caused your chest to ache.

He’d been with you the whole time, watching over you for days, not sure if you’d ever wake up. And the moment you had woken up, you’d sent him away. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how it must have felt to him, how much it must have hurt him.

You held her for a few moments more until you realised that, under the sound of her voice, you could hear the steady thrum of her heart. Pulling away, you took a step back, making some space between you as a pang of hunger caused your stomach to cramp.

“I brought you somethin’ for that,” Frank said, as if he’d read your mind.

You hadn’t even realised he was there, you’d been so focused on Karen.

He held out a glass to you and you immediately felt sick. Blood. He’d brought you blood. You didn’t dare ask where from, though you quickly found yourself wondering if it was Karen’s. When you didn’t take it, Frank turned his attention to Karen, asking for a moment alone with you. And, when she left, the sound of her heartbeat went with her, allowing you to focus on Frank.

“Look, I -” he sighed, “- I know you didn’t want this life an’ I’m sorry that this is what it took to save you.”

“Why did you do it?”

“‘cause I’ve never seen Bill care about somethin’ the way he cares about you,” Frank answered. “losin’ you would’ve destroyed him. He told me that he wouldn’t live without you.”

Wouldn’t. Not couldn’t.

“He said that?”

The thought alone was enough to turn your stomach, that he’d do something so extreme, that he thought his life wouldn’t be worth living without you. And,deep down, you started to realise that you felt the same, that a life without Billy wouldn’t be worth living.

Frank nodded. “I know it ain’t my business, but he did what he thought was right. He didn’t think you deserved to die on some hotel room floor, bleedin’ out and terrified. An’ I know all this is gonna be a big adjustment for you, but we’re all here for you an’ we’re gonna help you through it.”

You offered up a slight nod of your own before reaching out to finally take the glass from him. Lifting it to your nose, you took a sniff, shocked to find that beneath the expected coppery tang, there was a hint of sweetness.

Turning away from Frank, you dared to take your first sip, your body instinctively reacting and gagging.

“‘s okay, that happens the first time,” he offered more gently than you’d ever heard him speak.

You took a breath before trying again, taking another slow sip. It went down easier and, almost instantly, you started to feel a little bit better. The hunger pains started to lessen and subside the more you drank and the ache in the back of your head seemed less intense.

When you’d drained the glass, you wiped your lips on the back of your hand before turning to face Frank again.

“Where is he?” You asked, even though you were certain you knew the answer already. He’d be exactly where he said he would be.

“He’s out there, talkin’ to Madani,” he answered but didn’t offer any more than that before reaching into his pocket and pulling out your phone. You watched as he placed it down on your desk. “You’ve got friends here, whenever you need us.”

Frank left it at that, leaving the room. Karen poked her head around the door and said her goodbyes, telling you that she’d take you out to Josie’s with Matt and Foggy as soon as you were feeling up to it. Then you were left alone again.

You let a few minutes pass before deciding to go find Billy, but the moment you reached the adjoining door between your rooms and the penthouse, you froze.

Billy and Madani’s voices were easy to make out and you couldn’t help but listen in.

“Given the amount of evidence that was found in the hotel room and on Drake’s phone, connecting him and his associates to several high-ranking members of congress and the State Department, Homeland are less concerned about how he died and more bothered about cleaning up the massive mess that’s just landed on their laps,” Madani was explaining.

“So, they don’t care that me and Frank were there?” Billy asked.

“They’re not happy about it and, from now on, I think they’ll be paying close attention to you and Castle but, for now, they’re not interested in pursuing charges,” she explained, and you let out a soft sigh of relief.

There was a moment of silence before Madani spoke again.

“I should also tell you that we recovered the body of Mary Poots. Krista Dumont offered up a full confession after speaking to Layla El-Faouly -”

“You found Layla?” Billy asked.

“She found us when she heard we’d taken Dumont into custody,” Krista explained, “she wanted to make sure we understood that neither you nor she had anything to do with Dumont’s crimes. She also made it very clear that she had asked you to turn her.”

“So...” he started, letting that one little word hang in the air for a few seconds, “that answers all of your questions, doesn’t it? All the women you think I murdered have been accounted for.”

“That’s right,” Madani answered, “but I’m going to have to ask that you don’t leave town, we might have more questions as the case progresses.”

At that moment, you decided that you’d eavesdropped enough and quietly slipped through the door. Billy noticed you as Madani got to her feet, and her gaze soon followed his. Before Billy could say or do anything to stop her, Madani was making her way towards you, eyeing you in a way that made you feel like a monster. Like a vampire.

“I know you didn’t want this,” she said, not bothering to lower her voice so Billy couldn’t hear. “I can keep you safe if you want to press charges, if you want to go on record about everything that’s happened here. You don’t have to -”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you told her, earning a look of annoyance from Madani.

“I was there, I saw -”

“You saw Billy and Frank saving my life.”

“If that’s the story you want to stick with, fine, but I can’t protect you anymore after I leave here.”

“I don’t need protection,” you said, your eyes flashing to Billy for a moment, “I’m perfectly safe here, but there is someone who does need your protection.”

“Who?”

“My sister, Irene. Drake found her, he had pictures of her and her kids, he threatened them and I don’t know if anyone else in the Maggia knows about them,” you explained. “I don’t know if they’re going to go after her as revenge for Drake.”

“Okay, I can look into that for you,” Madani told you. “Now, are you sure that this is where you want to stay.”

“Yes.”

All Madani gave in response was a shake of her head and the slightest of shrugs before heading to the elevator. You watched as she left, keeping your eyes on her, even though you could almost feel Billy’s gaze burning into the back of your head. Even when she was gone and the elevator doors were shut behind her, you kept your back to him, still feeling a mess of emotions that you didn’t know how to untangle.

“Hummingbird?” He said softly.

Finally, you took a breath and turned to face him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, “you didn’t have to protect us...”

“Yes I did.”

He didn’t move, though you could tell that the distance was killing him. He was giving you space, he was respecting your wishes. He was reminding you that you always had a choice when you were with him.

Slowly you made your way towards him, watching as he stayed perfectly still, letting you decide how close you wanted to be. You stopped in front of your usual spot on the sofa, letting your gaze shift towards the window, noticing the colour of the sky; sunrise.

“Will you sit and watch the sunrise with me?” You asked, keeping your eyes on the window as you sat.

“Of course,” Billy uttered softly, taking a seat beside you, but still giving you some space.

The view wasn’t as spectacular as sunset, the window was facing the wrong direction to really appreciate it, but it was still something new, something you hadn’t shared with him before. The sky seemed to glow with pinks and oranges that slowly gave way to blues over the New York skyline. It was beautiful.

You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his, but you didn’t dare look away from the window.

“I’m sorry I stole this from you,” he whispered after minutes had passed in silence. “I’m sorry that you’ll never get to experience this for real again.”

It took a few seconds for you to find your voice, for you to decide how you wanted to respond.

“I wouldn’t be experiencing this at all if it wasn’t for you,” you answered, squeezing his hand. “Missing out on sunrises and sunsets isn’t why I didn’t want to be a vampire.” You paused, letting out a sigh, still watching the sky. “My whole life, I just felt like I was existing, that everything I did was to make other people happy. I didn’t want to live forever because I didn’t want to do that forever...”

“And now?” He dared to ask.

“I want to be happy, here with you. I want to stay with you.”

“Why does it sound like there’s a but coming?”

“But I need more than this,” you explained. “I need a life of my own. I need to be able to make my own choices; go out when I want, find a job, do something that’s just for me. I think after everything, I deserve to be able to live on my own terms.”

His hand found your cheek, urging you to look at him, to see the conflicting emotions on his face.

“I want that for you too, hummingbird,” he told you. “I want you to have the life that you want, a life that makes you happy, even if... even if you don’t want me in it.”

His gaze dropped and your heart ached, untangling your hand from his, you reached for him, taking his face in your hands and forcing him to look at you, just as he’d done to you a moment earlier.

“Of course I want you in my life, Billy,” you told him. “It just can’t be like it has been. If I’m staying here, it needs to be as your equal; no more games, no more arguments, no more pushing me away to protect me. I love you Billy, but I can’t go back to that.”

“I promise,” he told you. “Whatever you need. I’ll do anything just - please give me one more chance. It’ll be different now. I’ll be different.”

You blinked back tears as you closed the distance and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

“I love you,” he whispered as his arms wrapped around you. “Always.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” he muttered against your lips, his thumbs tenderly wiping away the tears that had managed to escape you. “For as long as you want me, I’ll love you.”

“I’ll always want you, Billy,” you told him, smiling softly before kissing him again. “I’ll always love you.”

End Note : 😭😭😭 I am going to do an epilogue because this chapter felt a little bittersweet, but at the same time I wanted to end it that way because if felt like an appropriately gothic inspired romance ending. But, I've left a few loose ends so that I can always return to do a second series with Billy and this reader character. Whether you've followed this from the start or only just found it, thank you so much for taking the time to read it, I really enjoyed writing this fic and I hope you enjoyed reading it.

As ever, thank you so much for your support/reading/liking/reblogging/screaming at me in the comments, it's always appreciated! Have a great weekend!!

ALSO as I mentioned in one of my previous posts, I have an omegaverse Bucky Barnes fic in the works, the first chapter will be posted on Sunday. Otherwise, I'm going to post the epilogue to this next Friday then take a week or two off before I start posting my new Stalker!Billy fic.

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt.

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