#framing it as unnatural yet again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yammpi3 · 4 months ago

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𝑰 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖. // 𝑾𝑪: 2.2𝑲

— feat. disassembly drone N x worker drone reader

synopsis. Since disassembly drones need oil to keep from overheating they kill other drones to consume it. But.. ever since the alliance between Disassembly and Worker Drones its been a bit difficult to acquire..It’s not a problem for V to randomly kill someone off but it’s a different situation for N now that his views have changed. AKA…reader supplies him with oil :DD

— content warning. Nothing 18+ just a few kisses, neck biting and N being in pain.. gulp?

— authors note. I fear this x reader is a bit..cringe then again that might just be me overthinking it..ANYWAYS tried my best for this, and still have no idea how to write for a robot. (N might be a little mischaracterized I’m not ENTIRELY sure)

At the end of science class, just when everyone was packing up to leave, you noticed N fidgeting more than normal at his desk.

"Is everything okay, N?" you asked.

He laughed nervously. "Who, me? Pshaw, never better!" But when he spoke, he looked anywhere but at you and the others.

Thad snickered. "Maybe his circuits are loose again." Lizzy giggled. "Lmao, he probably fried something.” Just as V was about to comment on his behavior..

N got up from his chair abruptly; he swayed unsteadily before catching himself upon another classroom desk.

By the time you registered what was going on, N had already ducked out of the classroom door, stumbling down the hall. "N, wait!" you called after him, hurrying to catch up. N was unsteady on his feet, swerving from side to side as he tried to put distance between the both of you.

His limbs shook with every step he took.

"G-Gotta...g-get a-away..." he muttered, though you weren't sure if he was even aware you could hear him. His eyes flickered erratically, barely being able to focus straight ahead as he tried to get away.

You picked up your pace, power walking down the corridor after him. "Slow down!!" you yelled out, but N was quicker, and before you knew it, when you reached the next corner, you lost him completely.

Your concern for N grew by the minute, so you started tracking him down since something was clearly wrong, beyond a normal glitch.

An hour had already passed since you last saw N, yet here he was in the maintenance unit stumbling blindly, crashing into something every few steps.

"S-sorry!" he slurred after bumping into a support beam for the third time. An unnatural static fuzzed the edges of his voice. Stubbornly, he scrambled back on his feet and lurched forward without seeing where he went.

Was he malfunctioning? But his murder drone programming should have kept him sharp, no?? Seeing him this disoriented was alarming.

You trailed him at a distance, hiding behind a variety of things as he walked on ahead. Where was he heading in such a panic? His vents were roaring torrents by now, and visible condensation soaked his frame.

Finally, he collapsed behind a supply crate, crawling the last few feet. Had he sensed you following? No, his optics were unfocused, so he couldn't have had.

Gingerly, you peeked around the crate to see N weakly clawing at his chest clearly in pain.

If you didn't act fast, he would shut down permanently. Steeling your nerves, you crawled to his side.

"N? Hey..hey! It's me, Y/N. Are you okay??”

When you gently called his name, N got startled so badly that his claws scraped sparks from the metal flooring he sat upon. His optics flashed wildly before settling on your face with a look of panic. "Y-Y-Y/N! S-sorry, but I don’t think you should be near me right now…”

N let out an alarmed wheeze that trailed off into a pained whine. It took visible effort for his optics to focus on you. You could tell he was losing some sort of control over his strength, but why??

"You don’t look so good..”

N broke into a hacking series of rushed laughter that ended in a groan. "Me? Pssh, n-no way! I'm t-totally fine, like I said earlier. Now please just leave me, yeah?” He waved dismissively, or at least tried to, but his attempt ended up flailing limply.

He knew he wasn't doing a great job at reassuring you when you glared at him.

"N-nothing to worry that pretty l-little processor of yours over, really.”

N's dismissive act was crumbling faster than his resolve. Another hacking laugh turned into a groan as his eyes started to flicker erratically once again.

"N, please. You're clearly not alright." You took his flailing claw gently in your hands. His plating was so hot it almost burned to the touch.

A whine slipped, “Crap..crap. It h-hurts,

Y/N. M-My core, it h-hurts so F̵̬̏́̏͆̀͝ų̸͙͋̿̃̌͋́̈́̆͑̕͠c̶̜̜̼̥͓̚k̷̫̺̝̈́̀̿̇͐̐͑ḭ̸̧̻̞̻͚̳̘̩̣͋̀̃́̔̊̋̚ň̵̞̪̯̼̟̗̩͈̖́g̸̩̤̩̼̘̪̀́͊͗̋͐́̇ much."

You've never seen N this vulnerable before…

"What can I do to help? There must be something." N trembled, fighting some inner battle. Finally, he met your gaze, his optics showing an agony of want behind the discomfort.

"T-there is s-something, b-but I shouldn't..." Strangely, another sound intermingled with the strain in his voice now.

Was that...hunger?

Stroking his plating gently, hoping to soothe, you pressed, "Please, tell me what you need." His vents hitched wildly. Then, in a strained whisper, he cracked.

"Y-your oil...I ne-need…it."

A shiver visibly ran through his frame. His optics darkened as they focused intently on your physic, more so your neck and wrist.

"I..." he began weakly, then stopped to swallow. His claws clenched tightly as if fighting the urge. You waited patiently for him to continue, showing concern but no sense of alarm.

After a long pause, N dragged his gaze with an effort to meet your face once more.

“T-tell me to stop," he whispered, his fangs peeking out as he talked.

"I so badly n-need it, but I don't w-want to hurt you.” His claws lifted toward your face but stopped only by his wavering will. You knew this would be the only way for him to cool down.

You looked deeply into N's eyes, past the haze of glitches that overtook his screen.

"I trust you," you said calmly without fear. His breathing became more ragged at your words.

In a flash, his restraint broke—but instead of lunging at your throat as you'd expected, his claws tangled in the fabric of your shirt, yanking you flush against his overheated frame. You gasped at the contact, feeling the waves of heat pouring off of him.

N buried his face in the crook of your neck, fangs tantalizingly. "P-please..." he stammered once more, sounding close to genuine tears. Raising a hand, you gently clasped the back of his head, threading your fingers through his silver hair.

"Take what you need," you told him firmly yet tenderly..After yet another hesitant pause, his screen displayed an X. Then, with a grunt of gratification, his fangs smoothly penetrated the sensitive wiring of your neck.

Your breath became unsteady as N's fangs pierced you. It didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would—just a little bit of a pinch. His hands gripped your shoulders for support as he drank deeply, allowing the oily fluid to course through his system.

For several moments the only sounds were his gulping intakes and your own measured breaths; you kept still so as not to disturb him. You watched as the pained lines on his face slowly eased, his eyes returning to normal. His plating, which was boiling hot only moments ago, cooled down to a much safer temperature against you.

N withdrew his fangs from your neck, making a small trickle of oil leak from your wound.

He leaned back in hastily, swiping his tongue along the twin marks. You shuddered at the foreign yet not unpleasant sensation. But N paused, a flushed look appearing on his screen. “Ah g-geez, is this w-weird?”

He glanced away, clearly embarrassed "What I mean to say is, um, my saliva can help the wounds close up faster? If, uh, you're okay with my germy mouth touching the injury I c-caused? No funny business, I swear! J-just bros being bros, p-patching each other…um up.”

N winced, realizing how that sounded. "N-not that we're actually b-bros, unless you want to be? Biscuits. Just—just let me do this, kay?”

With your consenting nod, N gave a short awkward chuckle and leaned back in. His tongue swiping over the wound. It began to tingle as the mark he had left slowly began to close up.

"It's strange to think your spit has healing properties," you remarked softly, not wanting to break the intimacy of the moment. N hummed in agreement, laving one last swipe across the bite mark before drawing back to assess his handiwork. His optics flicked up to meet yours, searching for any sign of discomfort.

"How does it feel? Are you in any pain?" he asked, his tone laced with concern despite his own drained state. You shifted experimentally. "Stop worrying. Just a slight tingling.“

N searched your face anxiously. "Are you sure? Nothing else? No dizziness or discomfort?" His optics roved your features, taking in every subtle reaction. When you reassured him again that all was well, the tension melted from his shoulders—only to be replaced with guilt.

"Y/N, I could have seriously hurt you," he said quietly, horror creeping into his tone. "My systems went haywire; I had no control. If I had bitten down any harder..." He shuddered, unable to complete the thought.

"But you didn't," you said firmly. "You fought off the urge just enough to get the help you needed. I trusted you, N." He shook his head sadly. "Your trust may be misplaced in me. The overheating....what if next time I can't—can’t stop.”

N shuddered again at the dark thought. Seeking to ease his distress, you shot him a playful smile. "Well, if it happens again, we're in this together. At least now I have a cool vampire drone friend!! The whole sucking my oil thing was pretty vampirish.”

He cracked a hesitant chuckle. "Yeah, maybe I'll sparkle in the sun too." Feeling bold, you leaned in with a faux-dramatic voice, "I vant to suck your coolant..."

N actually snickered at that. You beamed, glad to lift his spirit, even if it was only for a brief moment. His smile faded as reality set back in.

"But seriously, what if next time I really hurt someone?” On impulse, you threw your arms around him in a hug.

N's eyes widened as you suddenly hugged him close. For a moment he sat stiffly, caught off guard. Then slowly, oh so carefully, his arms came up to return the embrace.

"Y/N...if anything happened to you because of me, I don't know what I'd do," he said quietly against your shoulder. You squeezed him tighter for reassurance. "Hey, it'll take a lot more than some murder instinct to take me out. Have a little more faith in me, will you? Stop being so edgy.”

“Edgy?" N scoffed, "Sorry, nearly ripping your throat out put me in a gloomy mood."

"Ripping my throat out?” You echoed with a wry grin. "Well, luckily that didn’t happen, did it?”

N huffed, “Maybe. But what if next time I lose it?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but he quickly shushed you.

“You just leaped right in like it was nothing. Do you have any idea how badly this could've ended?" He gestured vaguely to the drying wound on your neck.

"You drones are so..so fragile. One wrong move and I could've—" He cut off, unable to say the word. His arms flexed unconsciously, as if longing to wrap around something and squeeze. To protect, or destroy? Even he wasn't sure.

"You'd never hurt me, N. I believe in-"

Your words halted as he glanced up, his eyes searching yours with raw, wavering emotion. An urge welled within you, sprung from compassion more than reason. You leaned in to press your lips to his in a soft kiss.

"Mmmph?!" N made a muffled sound of surprise, his body locking up stiffly. Your tongue briefly caught the tang of the lingering oil before you pulled back with a slight grimace.

His faceplate shone a distressed yellow blush. "I-I'm so sorry, I should have wiped my mouth better!“ he stammered.

But you simply smiled and leaned in again, pressing your lips gently to his once more. Then, slowly, he began to relax into the kiss.

His screen switched to a loading screen. In that moment, all his train of thought derailed off a cliff. N's screen flickered back online, and one of his hands floated up to gently touch his mouth, eyes wide and staring blankly.

"Bwuh-wha...you...kissem—I mean, I kissem-no, we...kissed?" he sputtered

"We k-kissed. You k-kissed me," he whispered, his optics shrinking to pinpoints before dilating wide again. A nervous giggling burst out of him.

"Oh biscuits, what d-does this mean? Are we like..” his tone lowered to a soft whisper.

“Dating n-now?”

"Well, uh, I guess you could say we're kind of sort of datingish now," you replied bashfully. "If-if you want to be my boyfriend, that is."

N's entire face lit up. "Boyfriend..Awhh Y/N!! Id love that." He hugged you tightly, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around in excitement.

"N set you down gently, his optics still shining with unbridled joy. However, a hint of seriousness crept into his expression as he looked at you intently.

"This doesn't mean I'm not mad at you for what you did," he said, his voice low and eyes narrowed slightly. "You could have been seriously hurt, or worse. You really scared me back there."

You sighed and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Next time, I'll call V or someone else—I won't try to handle things on my own and potentially get myself killed." You paused, then added with a wry smile, "I promise."

N's stern look softened, and he hummed contentedly. "Good!" Reaching out, he took your hand in his larger one and gave it a gentle squeeze.

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netscapenavigator-official · 6 days ago

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Sometimes I think about what it’s like from the bug’s POV when I get up to stop my cat from eating it.

Like, imagine: You’ve somehow entered a new planet. You don’t know how or why, but you have. This planet is completely foreign to you. Unlike your home planet which is lush with communities, friends, family, and flora and fauna to keep you alive, this place is desolate. It’s filled with a plethora of artificial suns that only disrupt your sense of navigation. Suddenly, a massive apex predator-looking creature notices you. You understand your fate is grim. You fight, and it doesn’t work. You try to flee, and it doesn’t work. This seemingly wild creature is taunting you. It isn’t even interested in eating you. It just wants to tantalize you and play with you until you die, so it can get bored and move on. You fear this is the end. This strange planet and its strange wild animals. You couldn’t have prepared for their size and agility. All you can do is hope.

Then suddenly the ground shakes. The wild animal looks on in fear. You don’t know why they fear, but you assume you should too. You look on, and a being the size of a skyscraper turns the corner. This being does not resemble any wild creature on this planet or your own. Its appearance is completely foreign and… unnatural. Its agility and intelligence far outpaces the wild animal and your own. You see that even its mere presence is something to behold. The way it exists, and the way its mind works is unfathomable to you. It exists with a poise and calculation that is completely foreign to you.

Suddenly the wild animal snatches you up and attempts to flee. This only angers the skyscraper giant, and they begin pursuit. Eventually the wild animal gets bored with you. More concerned about their own self preservation than the little game they had in mind for you. The skyscraper giant angrily attempts to communicate with the wild animal to no avail. Alas, your freedom is short lived. Suddenly the skyscraper giant turns its attention to you. You couldn’t have even imagined a being like this, and now you’re face to face with one. It leaves, and you attempt to flee, but the giant’s actions far outpace your own. They bend down, encasing you in a mysterious clear fortress that prevents you from going anywhere else. You fear this is actually it. You don’t know why the giant wants to trap you in this clear, air-tight fortress, but they have.

Suddenly they slide this mysterious white sheet under the fortress. Oddly, it smells like the trees back home, but it looks nothing like them. In an instant, the giant stands up, bringing you with it. You climb to heights that make your head spin in a time frame that leaves little to be perceived. The giant begins moving, taking you with them. Now you’re really terrified. What type of sick game is this?

Suddenly, however, the giant peels the barriers of their own planet aside. They rip a hole in the fabric of reality, and on the other side is your home planet with all its beautiful green-ness. You tear up at the sight, yearning for home, but unsure if you’ll ever see it again. The giant steps through the portal, and into your world. For a moment you fear he’s come to kidnap your people as well, but these fears are quickly extinguished. The giant puts you on the ground, removes the flat white tree, causing you to fall on your ass. In the confusion and anger you almost miss that they’ve removed the invisible fortress. If you weren’t confused, you are now. You watch in awe as the giant pays you no more mind and returns to their planet through the portal. Just as easily as they opened it, they close it, sealing the two worlds back into their separate universes.

And there you are: alive. Tomorrow is another day, and you’ll be there to see it. Why this diety of another world felt compassion for you (an intruder) is beyond your own comprehension… and yet they did. They saved you. They returned you to your world. They ended your agony. Then, they left peacefully. And now you’re left with a lifetime of unimaginable experiences, and nobody will believe you.

#rambles #cat #cats #bug #bugs #life #existence

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anantaru · 1 year ago

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DAY 14 —YANDERE CORRUPTION

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — dan heng, jing yuan

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, yan! hsr characters, possessive & jealous, hints of voyeurism in jing yuan's part, cowgirl, jing yuan and dan heng kinda crazy in this one idk

𖧡 — DAN HENG

dan heng simply cannot get one minute without worrying himself sick about you— not when he was utterly frightened due to a possibility, which he was certain would happen one day, of you getting hurt in one way or the other— but you cannot blame him then, right? when your boyfriend does what he believes was the best outcome for the both of you, meaning to protect you at all times.

now, be it with him remaining next to you whenever you're tackling an appointment or idly go somewhere, whilst he will make sure to shower you with enough love and pleasure as well, which would slowly reveal his second concern and reason for his uneasiness— the thought that you'd leave him one day.

like a virus in disguise, the bothersome thought was pestering him from the cold mornings up to the silent nights— even when he's got you bouncing on his lap with practiced ease, with his rough palms scattered across your jiggling flesh to rub you over his shaft and thrust his raw cock against the spongy parts.

one might assume that the last thing someone would dwell on in a setting such as this one, was an engraved panic hidden beneath ones heart— but again, sadly, dan heng cannot help himself but continuously pester his psyche of an imagination in his mind, which was driving him into madness and guided him to a path full of unhealthy behaviors.

he presses his fingers against you harder now, the bristling tension that intertwined your moving frames rose rapidly as you whine out before sinking down on him once more, his deep thrusts in tune with your hips rolling over his shaft, the lust evident in your gaze as you look down on his flexed stomach, each rill and curve of his muscles embedded with sweat and glowing hotly as you swallow down the budding saliva in your mouth at the sight.

his arms curl tightly around your waist as you gasp at how impossibly close he had gotten to you suddenly, making it a whole lot more difficult to move yourself on him in facileness, your head clouded in a euphoric paradise that had you short of breath, especially the feeling of your walls squishing around his shaft so tight was overwhelming but didn't stop you from recognizing that something has been wrong.

"..dan heng?" your words slip out as a soft whine against his cheek as you find him in a trance, glazed eyes half-lidded with his forehead resting on your shoulder, "y-yeah?" he removes his palms from your waist to raise your hips up, only leaving the tip in and beckoning you to lean a bit forward, so it wouldn't be uncomfortable to neither of you— and he even smiles, hazily and a little frozen, giving the impression away that it was unnatural.

before you were able to respond though, he had already thrown another question at you, "you wouldn't leave me, right?" he says with a hum of your name reaching you next, his hands squeezing the flesh of your ass and making it bounce under his touch. "w-what? never!" you hold yourself on his broad shoulders as his tip brushes delicately over the beginning of your insides, only teasing for now, and you knew that dan heng wouldn't move, not before you'd answer him.

his crystalline eyes serve more as a warning, his dark hair strands framing his face so heavenly that you'd never assume that dan heng would have any problems regarding being too jealous or possessive of you— yet, the moment you respond, he glazes his warm tongue over the pulsing marks on your throat, together with slamming you back on his cock and making you take him all at once.

ugh, can you be any more perfect? you just know exactly how to make him unravel and break him free from any doubt playing on repeat in his mind— with those smooth, wet movements of your hands gyrating over his hips, his breathing becoming ragged, needy, and a familiar rush of warmth touches the depths of your stomach as an orgasm finally washes over the both of you.

it's certain, dan heng was just imagining things again, and there really was no one left walking on this planet who would threaten his relationship in any shape or form— bluntly put, at least not anymore, because your boyfriend dan heng made sure to place early preparations on such things, always one step at a time, getting rid of any threats he might encounter in his life.

𖧡 — JING YUAN

without a single shred of doubt, you can easily discern that you were one of jing yuan's priorities, if not the most important one— you can tell by the lingering touch of gratifying proximity along your entire body when he lies himself back on top of you, sinking his hips between your thighs as they tremble around him.

he tends to observe your beauty from afar as well, coos to himself when he calls you lovely the second he catches a smile linger over your lips, or when you come home after a long day and immediately jump into the hot bathtub to take a shower— ugh, you're so delicious when you're all bare and exposed, without realizing he was there to watch it all happen in real time, taking relish by how easy you were to adore.

between seas, galaxies and the moon, the general was truly lucky, and he wouldn't want to live a day without you, nor would he let you live your life without him being in the picture— because without adornment, he was obsessed with you and if you were to see into his thoughts, you'd see nothing but your face.

now, he's easing your hips forward to make you bounce back and forth the mattress before returning to shift his weight onto one his forearms so he can press himself real snug and tight inside— your pulsing walls loading with vibrations as he grunts strongly, his dripping dick thickening and throbbing at every thrust before he adds a couple shallow hits into you, smirking ever so handsomely against your parted lips.

you felt pliant under him, fucked-out and shaky as his broad body covers and blankets you— and he kisses you then, eagerly swallows up the intoxicating, little mewls that fell from the tip of your tongue as he carries on to greedily stuff you full, his cock dripping with pre and touching up your intimate skin, his length stroking against your velvety walls in a way that constricts your stomach and has you wincing from the pressure of both his cock fully sheated in you and his large body practically luring the breath from your lungs.

it’s filthy, this entire situation was, but you find utter bliss in his cock rolling into your flexing walls— and for some reason, it felt like the general knew your body better than you did, knew you for much longer, even though you had personally just met him only tonight.

yet, with how he was fucking you, leisurely rotating his hips just the right way so he nudges against those twitching pleasure spots to leave you hanging on a rope— almost like he studied you for months on end but oh, this cannot be true!

and you quickly remove yourself from such pestering thoughts that only served as a troublesome emotion, you certainly do not require this right now— rather do you lastly come to a conclusion you believe was right, being that the ever so well respected general just had to be perfect for you.

#hsr smut #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #dan heng x reader #dan heng smut #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan smut #kinktober #hsr jing yuan x reader #hsr dan heng x reader #hsr dan heng smut #hsr jing yuan smut #honkai star rail x you #hsr x you #dan heng x you #jing yuan x you

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anyca786 · 9 months ago

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The Bite That Bound Us

Soulmate!Mikealson brothers x reader (poly)

Summary: One wrong turn into a dark valley and you find yourself turned into a vampire, but wait there's more...

I was barely five feet tall with my fiery red hair that never behaved, a whirlwind of sunshine and curiosity in a world far too big for me, was lost again. A shortcut, you'd called it. One wrong turn down a dark alley which was reeked of damp garbage and worse.

Now, a pair of glowing amber eyes locked onto mine. Panic clawed at my throat, but before I could even scream, a blur of elegant violence filled the air and then darkness, cold, an agonizing thirst that gnawed at my very core.

I awoke to a gasp of a different nature. A handsome man with chiseled features and an air of nobility stared at me, his expression a mix of shock and something deeper, something I couldn't decipher.

"What...happened?" My voice was a mere rasp.

"Forgive me," the man said, his voice a smooth baritone. "I lost control. You're..." He trailed off, examining my small frame with a frown.

Panic surged through me. "Am I dead?"

He hesitated. "Not exactly." His eyes met mine again, the amber depths swirling with guilt. "I turned you."

I stared, processing. Vampire. I was a vampire. A sob escaped through my lips before I could stop it. Then, his eyes pierced the void, followed by a face both beautiful and terrifying.

"I'm Elijah Mikaelson, the original vampire", he knelt beside me, a flicker of regret in his ancient gaze. "Forgive me, little one," he murmured, his voice a velvet caress.

Suddenly I felt the thirst again that I didn't understand, just felt the warmth returning, an unnatural hunger replacing the cold. I lunged, fangs ripping through his pristine white sleeve. He didn't flinch, only closed his eyes as I fed from him, a small, desperate creature clinging to his arm.

When I pulled back, sated and confused, his expression was unreadable. "You're different," he stated, his voice tinged with wonder. He took me to the sprawling compound, a haven shrouded in mystery. I was greeted by three pairs of eyes, each holding a universe of emotions. There was Klaus, the hybrid, Kol, the mischievous brother and Finn, the stoic one.

"Elijah," Klaus snarled, a dangerous glint in his eyes, "what is this?" Elijah ignored him, his gaze fixed on me. "She's a… anomaly. A human turned, yet… different."

Suddenly, Finn stepped forward, his voice trembling. He reached out, a single finger brushing my cheek. A gasp escaped his lips. "The prophecy," he whispered, eyes wide.

Kol scoffed. "Finn, don't be ridiculous."

But Finn shook his head, his gaze locked on me. "The soulmate. The one spoken of in mother's grimoire. The one who can break the curse."

A bewildered silence descended. Then, Elijah spoke, his voice soft but firm. "Tell me, little one, what is your name?". I blinked, my newfound senses overwhelming. "(Y/N)," I managed, voice barely a whisper.

Klaus snorted. "Soulmate? Don't be absurd. She's just a runt of a human he sired."

But Elijah knelt before me, his eyes searching mine. "Are you truly our soulmate, (Y/N)?"

I tilted my head, unsure. "Soulmate? What's that?"

Kol, the mischievous one, stepped forward. "Don't you remember, love? The whole of New Orleans knows. The prophecy? The Originals destined to find their mate, a petite firecracker they called her."

My eyes widened. I vaguely remembered my grandmother's stories, whispered tales of an ancient prophecy about a human who would complete the Original vampires. Could it be true?

A flicker of a smile touched Elijah's lips as he knelt before me, his eyes searching mine again. "This wasn't supposed to happen like this," he admitted. "I never meant to hurt you."

Taking a deep breath, I met his gaze. The fear was still there, but a spark of something else flickered within me too. "What happens now?"

A tense silence hung in the air as Elijah and his brothers exchanged looks. The prophecy. The guilt. And a flicker of a new beginning, all tied to the fate of a tiny human turned vampire.

Few months later....

The morning sun filtered through the thick drapes, casting a warm glow across the antique four-poster bed. I stirred, snuggling into the embrace behind me. Blinking bright sunshine away, I snuggled deeper into the warmth beside me. A strong arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer.

"Morning, love," rumbled a sleepy voice right by my ear. It was Klaus, still half-asleep, his hair a mess against the white silk sheets.

I smiled, turning in his arms to face his handsome face. “Morning, Nik.” My nickname for him was a constant battle between affection and pushing boundaries. He hated it, but it always made him smirk. Living with the Mikaelsons was an exercise in perpetual chaos – a chaos I wouldn't trade for anything.

Most mornings started like this – either tangled in Klaus's possessive embrace or waking up tucked against Elijah's comforting chest. Today, however, the familiar warmth was missing. I sat up, stretching my arms, and a wave of loneliness washed over me.

"Elijah?" I called out, my voice echoing slightly in the vast bedroom. A chuckle drifted in from the balcony. "Always so perceptive, love. Come join me."

I slipped on a silk robe and pushed open the French doors, a cool breeze ruffling my hair. Elijah stood leaning against the railing, a steaming cup of tea in his hand. He smiled as I approached.

"Lost sleep?" I asked, taking a sip of his proffered cup.

"Just thinking," he said vaguely, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "About yesterday."

Yesterday was a typical Mikaelson night. A masquerade ball Kol had dragged us all to, filled with pretentious socialites and enough bloodlust in the air to rival a slaughterhouse. It wasn't exactly my cup of tea, but with Kol by my side, whispering witty remarks and occasionally stealing kisses in dark corners, even masquerades could be fun.

"Was it Marcel again?" I sighed, setting the cup down.

Elijah didn't answer. Marcel Gerard, a vampire they'd turned centuries ago, had become a thorn in our side. He was building power, challenging dominion over New Orleans.

"Don't worry, love," he said, finally looking at me. "We'll handle him." He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His touch was always so gentle, a stark contrast to the fierceness he displayed when protecting his family.

Before we could discuss Marcel further, footsteps approached. Kol sauntered in, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Ah, Elijah, here you are. And my darling! Ready for breakfast?"

Our mornings usually included a leisurely breakfast with Kol, filled with gossip about the latest society scandals (courtesy of Kol's impeccable ear for eavesdropping), lighthearted teasing, and plenty of laughter.

We’d sit at the grand dining table, me perched on a booster seat (thanks to my perpetually human height), devouring pancakes while he regaled me with stories of his mischievous exploits throughout the centuries. Sometimes, Elijah would join us, his stoic demeanor masking the fondness in his eyes as he listened to Kol’s ramblings.

After breakfast, I spent the day indulging in my favorite pastime – reading. Finn, the quietest among the brothers, shared my love for literature. We curled up on the plush couches in the library, lost in different worlds, surrounded by towering shelves of leather-bound books. He’d read aloud in his soothing voice, his passion for history igniting a similar spark within me. Occasionally, Elijah would join us, his commentary adding another layer to the stories. Their perspectives, spanning centuries, were a treasure trove of knowledge.

Klaus, possessive and protective (sometimes to a suffocating degree), would spend nights dragging me to dimly lit clubs or lavish parties. He’d scowl at anyone who dared glance my way for too long, his hand possessively wrapped around my waist. It was annoying at times, this need to control everything around me, but there was a tenderness in his possessiveness that I couldn't ignore. Sometimes, he’d surprise me with a stolen moment in the garden, capturing my likeness on canvas with surprising skill.

Despite their differences, they all had one thing in common: their fierce protectiveness of me.

Whenever a dark cloud hung over me, Elijah, with his calming presence, would scoop me into his lap, whispering reassurances and pressing gentle kisses to my forehead. He understood my anxieties as a human turned supernatural, my loneliness in a world they’d inhabited for so long.

One afternoon, while browsing a quaint bookstore with Rebecca, I felt a prickling on the back of my neck – a feeling I’d come to associate with danger. Looking back, I saw Marcel, a former protégé turned enemy of the Mikaelsons, flanked by his vampires, his eyes glinting with malice. My blood ran cold. He was here, inside the French Quarter, the supposed haven.

Fear momentarily forgotten, I lunged towards him, a primal urge to protect my family surging through me. Of course, my vampire powers were a mere blip compared to Marcel’s ancient strength. He caught me effortlessly, his grip tightening around my throat. Panic rose, a cold sweat breaking out on my skin.

“Leaving the Mikaelsons pet unattended?” he sneered, his voice dripping with venom.

Before I could respond, a blur of white and blue swept past me. Elijah’s hand clamped around Marcel’s wrist, his face a mask of fury. “Leave her be, Marcel,” he growled.

“Now, Elijah,” Marcel mocked, his hold on me tightening. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown attached to the little rabbit.”

I struggled, kicking my legs and lashing out with my hands, a pathetic display against his superior strength. A surge of pride washed over me when I saw Kol and Finn materialize at Elijah’s side, their faces reflecting a similar fury.

A tense silence stretched between them. Just as Marcel opened his mouth to speak again, Klaus materialized behind him, his eyes blazing with an unholy fire. “You dare touch what’s mine?”

Marcel seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second, a flicker of fear crossing his face. It was enough. With a coordinated attack, the Mikaelsons overpowered Marcel and his goons. It was a brutal ballet of fangs, claws, and super speed. I watched it all unfold from the safe.

You'll can send requests and suggestions-

#tumblr #klaus mikealson x reader #klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikealson x reader #tvdu #kol mikealson x reader #kol mikaelson #finn mikaelson #the originals #y/n

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apomaro-mellow · 5 months ago

Text

steddie, omegaverse, victorian-ish era, omega hysteria, cuckolding, infidelity, breeding kink

Steve fidgeted with his skirt and then, realizing he didn't want it to wrinkle, began to wring out a handkerchief. Jason reached out, as if to pat his hand and bring some comfort, but instead just grabbed one of his hands, making him still.

"Calm yourself, dear wife. The doctor will solve everything."

Steve let out a sigh. "I will keep the faith."

"You must. You're the whole reason we're here."

They were called in and Steve hung on his husband's arm as they walked. The doctor welcomed them and gestured for Steve to sit on the table. With assistance from Jason, he did. As his husband, Jason did all the talking, telling the good doctor about their problem. Which freed Steve up to simply stare at the physician.

He had curly hair, worn long in a style not seen in alphas today. It made Steve feel less self conscious about the short style is own hair was in. Most omegas considered long hair fashionable nowadays. The doctor has his own hair tied back by a ribbon but a few rebellious strands still framed his face.

"We've simply run out of options. We had to come to you", Jason said.

"And what have you tried thus far?", the doctor asked. Munson, Dr. Edgar Munson, Steve remembered a plaque saying.

Jason explained in detail. How Steve had been feeling urges unnatural for an omega. Physical desires that he tried to act out on his own, pushing his husband whenever he felt the need, like an omega possessed by a demon of lust. How Jason resorted to putting Steve away in a separate room.

And how despite being fraught with these urges, Steve had yet to conceive.

"Well, that is concerning", Dr. Munson said, looking to Steve.

Steve must really be unwell. His husband stood right there and yet the doctor's gaze made him feel warm in ways that he knew were sinful.

"So you've come for a fertility service? That is your main source of worry?"

"If we could leave here knowing his belly will soon be full, it would be a great relief. And I'm sure it would bring an end to his hysteria", Jason expressed.

Dr. Munson nodded and motion for Steve to shift positions. "I'll need to get under your skirt for this part, madame. But rest assured, the tarp will preserve your modesty."

The tarp did just that, concealing not only Steve's lower half but also the doctor himself. He bit his lip, holding Jason's hand. Of course his husband would be present to make sure the doctor did a proper job. His skirts were pushed up and the doctor pushed his knees apart. With his drawers split in the middle, his legs being spread exposed his most delicate part to the room.

He could hear the doctor hum in thought and Steve squeezed Jason's hand. Not even his husband had ever really looked at....well...it. Dr. Munson prodded gently, touching his folds and humming again.

"There's something wrong with it, isn't there doctor?", Jason asked.

"As far as I can tell, his core is perfectly healthy. Not too dry or too wet, the perfect amount of resting slick. The hairs look fine too, no early grays."

"You're only looking at the outside, there must be something in him that makes him unhealthy", Jason urged.

"Well let's check. I'll beg your pardon Mrs. Carver", Dr. Munson said before sliding a finger inside.

Steve let out a small gasp, eyes fluttering, and hips shifting. The doctor's finger moved in and out slowly. Steve's scent got a little stronger. He blew on his cunt and watched it twitch with anticipation.

"Well doctor?", Jason pressed.

"It seems to me that you might be ready for a preliminary service. Would you like to be present, Mr. Carver?"

"Of course."

Steve felt something rub against his clit, another finger, and let out a moan. His husband must have perceived it as a release of pain because he shushed him.

"The doctor is only trying to help. Don't be a child."

"Yes, dear. I under-ahha-I understand", Steve gasped when he felt something warm and wet.

It had to be his tongue, it could only be his tongue. His free hand went up to cover his mouth to keep from making too much noise and bothering his husband. Jason grimaced anyway, scenting the air.

"He's making that smell again. Are you expelling whatever has been disturbing him?"

"He needs a release, that much is certain", Dr. Munson said, pushing a second finger inside. He latched his mouth back on and Steve's hips wriggled where he laid.

This has been what he needed. To be touched like this, savored like this, wanted and desired. Jason had taken him on their wedding night and sparingly in the couple of years since then. And unsatisfyingly so. Never mind that all Steve wanted was his alpha's knot. Had practically begged for it at times too. But such things were improper for an omega. He shouldn't want them.

But the doctor was an experienced professional. If his prescription for Steve's ailment was to suck on his clit, he would keep faith in his ministrations. And he even had his husband's encouragement and support.

"You might feel discomfort", Jason said, misreading the way Steve's hips rolled. "But think of our future pup."

"Our pup...our pu~uhhp. Yes our-", Steve cut himself off with something that was between a moan and a sigh as he felt himself crest over the edge, back arching off the table before falling back down.

"I'll be collecting a slick sample and then we can discuss a future appointment", Dr. Munson said.

He did so, his touch ever so soft and soon Steve's legs were back in a respectable position. The doctor put his sample away, back to them as he did so and then rinsed his hands. Steve caught the glisten on his mouth before he washed that too.

"Now, his urges should be assuaged, at least for some time. If you want guaranteed results though, I would suggest he come back in for a knotting preparation. With that and a proper knotting, he should be carrying in no time. When would you like to schedule?"

Jason considered it for a moment. "I believe next month-"

"Next week", Steve said quickly, making both alphas turn to him.

"Next week it is", Dr. Munson noted down.

"That's not very much notice for me", Jason said.

"Please, alpha. You know I want a pup more than anything", Steve pleaded.

Jason sighed. "Fine. Next week."

Steve trilled in delight and Dr. Munson finished making a note of it.

"Mark my words, Mr. Carver. I'll have a pup in your wife before you know it."

Part 2

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie #omegaverse #a/b/o

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lanabuckybarnes · 4 months ago

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𝗪𝗲’𝗹𝗹 𝗠𝗲𝗲𝘁 𝗔𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻 | 𝗣𝗿𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘂𝗲

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Bucky Barnes x Baker Reader (F) 𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: War, Feelings, Mentions of PTSD, Mentions of Death — Any more let me know 𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2.1K 𝗔𝘂𝘁��𝗼𝗿 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲: So, another potential series hehe. I felt like my long term boy deserved his own lil thing and I’ve been thinking of an idea like this. I’m not sure when I’ll update this series, hopefully as much as I can but updates will be here and there. 𝗧𝗮𝗴𝘀: @boybandbaby, @chimchoom, @moon-light1928, @noellez-best-life23, @samodivaa, @kulteule, @zunigabarnes — Let me know if you would liked to be tagged!!!

The diner is filled to the gunnels when Bucky arrives, papers in one hand, his hat sat askew on his head. She never noticed him at first, too busy jotting down the order of an elderly couple in the farthest booth.

Poppy was gorgeous, eyelashes batting against soft blushed cheeks, teeth peeking out beneath painted pink lips. She laughs at the charming older gentlemen’s words, some joke about the beans giving him wind last time. His wife bats him with her handkerchief, tossing a glare his way with some choice words. She doesn’t mind though. With a final rundown on their order, she gives them a time estimate and turns, stopping dead in her tracks at the sight of him.

“B-Bucky,” she stutters, kitten heels clicking slowly as she inches closer to him. His attire has her almost fearful, like cornered prey staring at bared canines. She’s almost wary of passing him to get to the counter, her eyes darting over the glass door searching for a way out. A way out of what? Bucky suspected it was the conversation they were about to have.

“You like it, doll?” He smiles, his lips wobbling unnaturally. She wasn’t stupid and Bucky wore his heart on his sleeve, he was scared yet put on a brave face.

“You…you look nice.” She responds, brushing past him. Even the fabric against her bare arms is foreign; it’s scratchy and stiff, nothing like the man she knew.

“You don’t like it.”

She hums, stacking empty glasses onto a circular tray. Bucky steps over, helping her like he usually would.

“It’s not that I don't like it…” she looks him up and down again. He does look rather handsome but that green colour is ingrained in her mind. She watches men Bucky’s age and younger come and go wearing the same uniform. Not many of them were returning on those massive ships parked up by the dock. At the thought of Bucky being one of the unlucky ones, tears pool at her waterline. She turns before he has the chance to see her so upset.

“Poppy,” he coos, a large hand falling onto the small of her back. “You and I both know what this means, I don't want to spend the last night in have with you wallowing over things that won't happen.”

Poppy’s head shoots up, eyes fogged in disbelief “last night?”

He nods solemnly, “I ship for England tomorrow.” He says softly, capturing her hand in his.

“Please come with me tonight, I want to spend my evening with you.”

She’d overheard Bucky speaking with Steve about a science fair he was excited to attend. It wasn’t exactly her cup of tea but if it were what Bucky wanted she would do it. She would do anything for him.

After her shift Poppy spent a small amount of time freshening up, mind still unrested since Bucky’s words at the diner. Just a few hours ago, at the start of her shift, tomorrow felt like it was taking its time. Now she felt the hours ticking by almost like minutes. Soon the sun would set and rise again on a new day, one where she would say goodbye to her one and only. Perhaps for the last time.

Bucky picked her up from her front door, arm bent at the elbow so she could loop her own around it. Steve followed not far behind, an oversized tan coat protecting his slender frame from the chill of the evening air. Speaking of which, it was something she had neglected to remember when she opted for the short-sleeved dress. Bucky drops her arm for a second, fiddling with the gleaming belt and buttons before shrugging it off his shoulders.

His hands come around but she stops them before they drape the coat over his shoulders. The thought of the fabric around her is nauseating, she didn't want anything to do with the omen of death, yet Bucky’s fond smile and twinkling ocean eyes have her feeling guilty for ever rejecting such an offer.

“Thank you.” She says sincerely, nuzzling her nose into the coat.

“Pleasures all mine princess…besides, you look good in my clothes.”

The way Bucky’s eyes rove down her body sends shivers down her spine and a hot flush to her cheeks. He kisses her gently, thumb soothing over her cheek, when he parts he chuckles.

“Oops”

“What?” She sputters, mind still fuzzy from the kiss. He had a tendency to do that to her.

“I smudged your makeup,” his thumb and forefinger hook her chin, tilting her head into the dim street light. The apology thick on his tongue is dispelled by a huffing Steve, piercing blue eyes honing in on Bucky from over Poppy’s shoulder.

Right. Science fair first. Unfortunately.

The salted waves batter against the battleship grey ship, lathering its port side in white. Despite the rising sun glimmering atop the rolls of blue there is a chill to the air, one that bites at the creamy skin of Bucky’s nose tinting it a rouge shade.

“Sergeant Mayflower.” A voice calls out from the longboat, like a fog horn over the rumble of men murmuring their prayers and promises before setting foot onto the boat with seemingly no return. Bucky’s heart lurches every time the stout Captain barks out a name, his voice billowing out in a misty form.

He isn’t ready to go, no one is, as soon as their names are called they know where they’re off to, they know what they must do — it doesn’t matter what the papers say when every time a ship comes to collect it also drops off. Mountains of bodies wrapped only in sheets to protect the eyes of their innocent families, for the ones still alive? Death may have been an easier fate.

The men he’s exchanged a few words with today each hold that same dull look in their eyes, fear that’d been hidden deep below the surface to appear strong. Another name called, the crowd of men let out a small sigh but nothing could cover a woman’s wail from behind them.

“My boy!!” The greying lady sinks to the floor, clutching her equally as shaken husband. The young recruit, barely eighteen turns, huge helmet swivelling atop his head. He’s too small for war, he reminds Bucky of Steve. After much fuss from his mother, the boy's fate is sealed as he steps onto that ship, becoming lost in the sea of green and brown.

He feels sick, a lump of fear and sadness claws at his trachea as he thinks of who also stands not even a foot away; He clings to a small hand, squeezing it tightly. Poppy squeezes back.

“Sergeant Barnes.”

His world closes in on itself, his heart stopping its rapid pace in an instant.

“Bucky.” Poppy’s voice brings him back again. Her hands rest on either side of his cold cheeks, thumbs brushing at tears he didn’t know he’d spilt. He topples into her arms, pulling her up off her feet till he could feel the thump of her heart over his jacket. His name sounds over the crowd again but he is lost in the glossy sea of her eyes.

“I will come back.” He asserts, a warm promise against her full lips.

“I know.” She whispers, voice hoarse.

“I will.” He seals his words with his lip on hers, giving her love that his words could not portray. He would come back to her, he had to. He had no one else but her.

“Save a drink for me,” he forces a smile onto his face, cupping her cheek.

“Whiskey?” She laughs brokenly, using her free hand to swipe away her tears.

“Always.”

With a final squeeze, he lets go, sifting through the crowd of wide-eyed men. His foot sets onto the plank resting on the docks when he looks back — she’s there, putting on a brave face for him. He waves mouthing his love for her. She does the same before turning on her heel and leaving him.

The streets of New York blared with life, not unlike 70 years ago but the sounds had changed. Sirens wailed a few blocks away, plane engines whirred above the looming skyscrapers. All of it both comforted and overwhelmed Bucky.

He brushes past a mob of tourists taking photos of the iconic yellow taxis, his eyes flicker back down to his phone. The address Tony had sent him wasn’t too far now, a sharp left and a jog across the busy road, eyes peeled for cops trying to stop his jaywalking, and he was at a cute building.

The outside stood out, sage walls and frames bold against the bland shops surrounding it. A worn welcome mat rested beneath his feet, a remanence of little flowers on a hill in the corners. The door squeaked lightly on its hinges as he entered, and above him, a bell tinged alerting the minimal patrons of a new customer - not that they cared, their noses in books.

They were all elderly, or rather, his age. A man with thin grey hair and a hunched form tucked himself away into the farthest booth from the windows, a coffee steaming on the table and his weathered copy of ‘Jane Eyre’ clutched between bending fingers. Peculiar read for a man of his age but who was Bucky to judge when he’d also found himself enamoured by the text.

Two elderly ladies sit nearby too, crumbs of a sweet dessert on their plate and gossiping amongst themselves. He makes his way up to the counter, gazing freely at the freshly baked muffins and cookies. His mouth waters at the scent coming from the kitchen, mind fluttering back to the times he’d find himself baking goods with Poppy; flour in his hair and melted chocolate over his cheeks and around his lips.

Why was he thinking of her now? It had been a long time since Poppy had entered his mind. Before he has the time to wallow in the old fuzzy memories a voice calls out.

“Stark!” You bum the back door open, pale green boxes piled so high it was impossible to see making you rely on muscle memory only. The boxes hit the counter with a dull thud and you let out s breath of relief, the last thing you wanted to do was remake those cinnamon buns.

“You must be here for these.” You smile politely at the man in front of you but he stands rigid. You aren’t the best at reading people but you can tell he’s alarmed; brows arched high and eyes wide, his chest heaves with pants as though he’s run a marathon but he isn’t sweating. In fact, his skin is pale, ghost-like against the black leather coat he wears.

Whatever comes to Bucky’s mind as a response doesn’t make it out of his mouth. He’s shocked, feet bolted to the floor.

Poppy. His mind screams. The girl in front of him was Poppy. His eyes roamed over your face, from the twinkle in your eyes to the slope of your nose, the cut of your lips - you looked just like her, even down to the way you smiled. His fingers itched by his sides, nerve endings begging to reach out and caress your cheek like he’d wanted ever since becoming Bucky again.

For a long time after his therapy at Wakanda, everything in his body longed for the love of his life. He knew it was impossible, she was surely dead by now. Yet she—you stood there, staring at him with an awkward tug to your lips. Shit! He’d been staring too long.

“H-hello?” You begin to question yourself under his piercing eyes. Was he here for the order? Was he even here? Come to think of it were you even here? You did have that close shave with the car earlier on…

The man before you clears his throat, shock schooled from his face impressively - he now looks bored rather than terrified. “This is all his?”

“Yep,” you shake your head, smiling so wide your cheeks burn.

“Ok, good…well thank you.” He offers you an awkward smile of his own, his arms reaching out to pick up the boxes with ease. He turns without a word, using his fingers to open the door just enough to kick it open with his foot.

You watch him through the windows as he darts off in a blur of black. When your mind finally clears you still, cursing under your breath. He never paid.

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valkyriexo · 1 month ago

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Do Not Answer | Hyunjin

ᑉ³pairing; Joker Hyunjin x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Thriller, lightly Suggestive

ᑉ³warnings; lightly suggestive , knives, mentions of blood, mentions of death, mentions of murder, darker theme overall,

ᑉ³Authors Note; 1k event Commisson giveaway winner @linocvp1d (sorry it took so long :((( ) Thank you for beta reading @kisskissbanggang ! i appreciate you so much

The television flickered in the dimly lit room, the chaotic hum of the nightly news filling the space. You sat cross-legged on the worn velvet couch, your head tilted with fascination as the anchor recounted another crime spree. The footage cut to a shaky video of a man standing amid a scene of mayhem—cars ablaze, shattered glass strewn across the pavement, and panicked faces blurred in the background.

He stood out against the chaos like a twisted masterpiece, his lanky frame wrapped in mismatched layers that defied logic yet demanded attention. A deep violet blazer, scuffed and torn, hung loosely over his narrow shoulders. Beneath it, a bright green shirt peeked out, its garish color streaked with dark stains. The golden tangle of his hair fell over his forehead, sticking to his pale skin, streaked with what looked like sweat—or maybe blood.

But it was his face that held you captive. Pale as porcelain, the corners of his mouth curled unnaturally high, splitting his expression into an almost painful grin. Dark rings encircled his eyes, smudged kohl blending into streaks of grime, making the wild gleam in his gaze all the more unsettling.

His presence was magnetic, the kind that drew you closer even as every sane fiber of your being told you to run. He turned toward the camera, cocking his head in a gesture that felt like both an invitation and a threat.

“They’ll never catch me,” his voice crackled through the speakers, low and smooth, laced with deranged amusement.

You tilted your head to mirror his, a slow smile creeping across your lips. There was something… fascinating about him, something that made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

The anchor’s voice pulled you back, but this time it was tinged with barely concealed fear. “Authorities are urging all residents to remain inside. Lock your doors, secure your windows, and under no circumstances should you engage with strangers. This individual is considered extremely dangerous.”

The screen cut to footage of the aftermath of his latest crime—a burning building, emergency lights flashing against the smoke-filled night, and paramedics rushing stretcher after stretcher into waiting ambulances. “He’s been known to target random victims, often at night,” the anchor continued, her voice cracking slightly. “And—” she hesitated, glancing off-screen before swallowing hard and regaining her composure. “There are reports of him taunting his targets before striking. If you receive a call from an unknown number, do not answer. Repeat: do not answer.”

Your gaze remained locked on the screen, the anchor’s panicked words a distant hum in your ears. They didn’t understand him. Not really.

Your phone buzzed suddenly, jolting you out of your thoughts.

It sat face down on the coffee table, the vibration rattling against the surface. You froze, your pulse quickening, but you didn’t move to pick it up.

The ringing continued for a few seconds before stopping, leaving the room in heavy silence. You exhaled shakily, trying to steady your breathing. It was probably nothing. A butt dial call. Or—

The phone buzzed again, breaking your train of thought. This time, you reached for it with hesitant fingers, flipping it over to see the name glowing on the screen:

Mom.

You let out a small breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and answered. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, sweetheart. Are you watching the news? It’s terrifying. Please tell me you’re home and have the doors locked.” Her voice carried that familiar mix of worry and love that she’d perfected over the years.

“Yes, I’m home,” you said, moving toward the kitchen as you spoke. “Doors are locked. I’m fine, Mom. Promise.”

“You’d tell me if you weren’t, right? I just—these things are happening so close to home, and that man…” Her voice trailed off, and you could practically see the way she’d be wringing her hands, pacing the living room.

You balanced the phone between your ear and shoulder as you pulled open the fridge. “I’m fine. Really. I’m about to make dinner. Nothing to worry about.”

“Okay, okay. Just… call me if you need anything. And don’t answer any strange calls, okay?”

You bit back a smile. “You’ve been watching too many horror movies.”

“This isn’t funny, honey. Just be safe.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The call ended, and you set the phone down on the counter. With a small shake of your head, you turned your attention to dinner, pulling ingredients from the fridge and cabinets. The steady rhythm of chopping vegetables and the sizzle of oil in the pan brought a sense of normalcy to the evening.

The man from the news lingered at the edges of your thoughts, though. His image seemed burned into your mind—the wild glint in his eyes, the way his crooked smile exuded both danger and charisma.

You stirred the pan, letting the aroma of cooking fill the room. And then, just as you were plating your food, the phone buzzed again.

You glanced over, expecting another call from your mom, but the screen read:

Unknown Caller.

Your hand froze on the fork, your stomach knotting. The words of the anchor came rushing back:

Do not answer.

The buzzing continued, persistent and jarring in the quiet apartment. You licked your lips, wiping your hands on a towel as you moved toward the phone.

You hesitated, the warnings running laps in your mind. Your fingers hovered over the screen, but before you could decide, the call stopped. The screen went dark, leaving an eerie stillness in the room.

You stared at the phone for a moment, your breath shallow.

It’s nothing, you told yourself. Probably a mistake or a spam call.

But then, it buzzed again. The same Unknown Caller.

Your heart raced as you watched it vibrate on the counter, your feet rooted in place. You didn’t move, didn’t answer, and after a few seconds, the ringing stopped again.

The silence that followed felt heavier this time, pressing down on you like a weight. You exhaled shakily, wiping your palms on your jeans, trying to dismiss the growing unease twisting in your chest.

And then it buzzed a third time.

The screen glowed, Unknown Caller staring back at you like a challenge.

Your hand trembled slightly as you picked it up. Something inside you stirred—curiosity, defiance, or maybe something darker. Whatever it was, it overrode the warnings in your head.

With a deep breath, you swiped to answer.

“Hello?”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence on the other end. And then, a low, smooth chuckle, warm and unsettling all at once.

“Well, well,” the voice purred with amusement. “Third time’s the charm. I was beginning to think you’d never pick up.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the voice sending a shiver down your spine. It was unmistakable—him.

“I don’t usually make house calls,” he continued, his tone playful but laced with malice, “but you… you’re an exception.”

You gripped the phone tighter, your pulse pounding in your ears. “Who is this?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, though the crack at the end betrayed you.

He laughed again, the sound rich and unnerving, as though he was savoring your reaction. “Oh, come on. Don’t play coy. I think you know exactly who I am.”

You were silent.

“Oh, come on now,” he purred, as though savoring your confusion. “Don’t tell me you don’t recognize the voice.”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing. Was he toying with you? But it was impossible—how could he know who you were?

“Why are you calling me?” you demanded, trying to regain control, but your heart was hammering in your chest.

“Because you’re so… interesting,” he said, dragging out the word, the tone heavy with meaning. “You’ve been home all day, haven’t you? Just sitting there, waiting for something to happen. Nothing ever changes, does it? Same routine, same quiet apartment.” His voice lowered, almost whispering, sending a chill down your spine. “I can hear the silence. It’s deafening.”

The panic surged in your chest. “How—how do you know that?” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper.

Another laugh, sharp and unnerving, echoed through the line. “I told you. I’ve been paying attention. It’s… entertaining, watching you go about your little life. You get so comfortable, so predictable. But that’s about to change.”

Your blood ran cold. He was right. You had been alone all day, just the television and the hum of your thoughts. But how could he know? There was no way he was here… no way he could have been watching.

“You’re making a mistake,” you snapped, trying to hide the fear rising in your throat. “I don’t know who you are, but—”

“Oh, I know you’re scared,” he interrupted, his voice turning colder. “I can hear it in your voice. But you don’t have to worry. I’m just getting started.”

The line went silent for a moment, and you held your breath, your pulse thundering in your ears. The words didn’t make sense—none of this made sense. How could he possibly know all this?

Your knees threatened to buckle, but you forced yourself to stay upright. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re intrigued,” he shot back, not missing a beat. “Why else would you still be on the phone with me?”

Before you could respond, there was a faint sound in the background—a door creaking open. Your blood ran cold as you spun toward your front door.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he drawled lazily. “I’m not much for formal invitations.”

The phone slipped from your hand as the doorknob turned slowly, the lock you thought was secure clicking open.

There he stood, a twisted smile curling across his face, the same one burned into your memory from the screen. Up close, he was even more unsettling—the gleam in his eyes alive with chaotic energy, like he was drinking in your shock.

“Well, well,” he said, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut behind him. “Dinner and a show. How thoughtful.”

You backed up instinctively, your heart hammering against your ribs. “How—how did you get in here?”

He tilted his head, feigning innocence as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his tattered blazer. “You’d be surprised what doors open when you knock hard enough.”

Your eyes darted to the kitchen counter, where the knife you’d been using lay within reach.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” he said, noticing your glance. His voice dipped into a mock pout. “I came all this way to see you, and you’re already thinking of cutting me out of the fun?”

“What do you want?” you managed, your voice trembling despite the defiance you tried to muster.

He grinned wider, his teeth glinting in the dim light. “Now that,” he said, taking another step toward you, “is the question, isn’t it?”

He moved closer, the heavy silence of the room pressing in around both of you. His eyes gleamed with excitement, watching your every twitch, your every nervous breath. He didn’t need to rush; he was savoring this moment—this perfect mix of fear and control.

"You don't have to say anything," he purred, his voice smooth as velvet. "I already know how this goes." His words dripped with a mock sympathy, the kind that made your skin crawl. "You’ll beg. You’ll plead. But that won’t matter."

His steps were slow, deliberate, like a predator circling its prey. Every footfall echoed in the quiet, reminding you that there was nowhere to run, no escape. His hand reached out, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, the touch cold and deliberate.

"Please," you whispered, your voice breaking, trying to hide the tremor that rattled your body. "Don’t… don’t hurt me." You couldn’t stop the pleading from slipping out. It was instinct, raw panic clawing at you from the inside. You wanted to disappear, wanted to be anywhere but here, but your body refused to listen.

He stood inches from you now, close enough for you to feel the heat of his presence, his breath warm against your face. "Oh, sweetheart," he said softly, almost mockingly. "I don’t want to hurt you. Not yet, anyway." He let that hang in the air for a moment, like a question you didn’t want to answer.

You flinched as he took another step, your back hitting the wall behind you. The tears welled in your eyes, the overwhelming sense of helplessness seeping in. "Please," you sobbed, "just leave me alone. I’m begging you."

He smiled then, a cruel, twisted thing that sent ice through your veins. "Begging. There it is." His voice dropped lower, more sinister, a soft laugh rolling off his tongue. "I could watch you beg for hours. It’s almost too easy."

He leaned in closer, his breath warm on your ear. "Do you know what happens to people who beg?" His lips brushed your skin as he spoke, sending a shiver through your whole body. "They break. They start losing themselves. And once you break, there’s nothing left to stop me."

Your heart pounded harder as his hand rested on the side of your face, his fingers lightly tracing your cheek in a gesture that should have been comforting but only deepened your terror.

But then, just as you felt the breath leave your body in a sob, something inside you shifted.

You stopped crying.

His fingers stilled on your cheek, sensing the change in you. You met his gaze, and for the first time since he'd walked in, you weren’t afraid. At least, not the way he thought you were.

You smiled, but it wasn’t the terrified grin of someone who had given up. No, this was different. It was sharp. It was knowing. And in that instant, his cocky, dangerous demeanor faltered for the briefest moment.

"Oh Hyunjin..," you said, your voice steady, almost affectionate.

The moment his name left your lips, everything around you seemed to freeze. His breath caught, his eyes wide, locked on yours, and for the first time, he was the one who faltered. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe. His fingers, still resting on your cheek, remained perfectly still, as though the very mention of his name had shattered the illusion he’d so carefully crafted.

His gaze flickered, confusion clouding his features as he took a step back, the momentary vulnerability in his eyes like a crack in his carefully constructed façade.

His grip on your chin tightened, and he leaned in, his face inches from yours. "What game are you playing, huh?" His voice was low, threatening, but the edge of uncertainty had crept in, making it even more unsettling. "You think you can scare me back?"

You leaned closer, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, "I’ve been waiting for you to find me."

His breath hitched as you leaned even closer, your lips just grazing his ear, the intimacy of the moment sending a jolt through him. You could feel the tension thickening in the air, the battle between control and the unsettling connection that was forming between the two of you.

"I've been waiting for you to find me," you repeated, your voice soft, almost like a lover’s whisper.

The words sank into his skin, and for a split second, he pulled back just enough to study you, eyes narrowing, trying to comprehend what you meant. But there was something in your gaze—something that unnerved him, something that spoke of obsession.

He'd known women like you before. Women who thought they could twist themselves into something he would desire, something that would draw him in. But as he watched you now, he realized it wasn't just imitation. It was a deep understanding, a disturbing knowledge of him that made his skin crawl.

"Oh?," he muttered, but even his voice was strained, as if he was both fascinated and horrified by the truth he was starting to uncover. "What... what are you trying to do?"

You didn’t answer him immediately. Instead, your eyes wandered over his face, studying every line, every scar, every little detail as though you were committing it to memory. Your gaze was unsettling—intimate in a way that only someone who had watched him for too long could achieve.

"You think I’m just like the others," you said, your voice flat but somehow laced with something darker, something dangerous. "But I'm not. I know you. I know exactly what you like, Hyunjin. I know who you choose. And I knew if I made myself like them..." You paused, the ghost of a smile on your lips, "you couldn’t help but find me."

His eyes widened in disbelief, but then a twisted smile slowly curled at the corners of his lips, as if he were finally seeing you for who you really were. "So that's it," he said, the words slipping from his tongue like venom. "You thought you could lure me in? Make yourself a perfect little victim? Pathetic."

Your gaze never left his as you shrugged, unphased by his harsh words. "You came right to my doorstep, didn't you?" Your voice was a low hum. "You always do when someone like me is waiting. You can't help it. You’re drawn to what you don’t understand."

His grip on your chin tightened again, and this time, there was no pretending. He was beyond the point of merely intimidating you. He was starting to lose control, the realization that he wasn’t the one in charge anymore sinking in.

"You're out of your fucking mind," he hissed, but there was something about your quiet smile—something unsettling in the way you leaned in even closer—that made him pause.

You didn’t flinch, didn’t back away. Instead, you pressed in even closer, until your faces were mere inches apart. His eyes searched yours, desperate to figure out where the line was, where he could draw it and finally break you.

But the truth was, there was no line. You had crossed it a long time ago.

"I’ve always known, Hyunjin," you whispered, the words dripping with something far darker than admiration. "I’ve always known what you needed. And I’ve been here, waiting for you... just for you."

His grip on your chin tightened again, but his movements were no longer about power. There was a flicker of something else—something almost... excited. “You think you’re some kind of challenge, huh?” His words were laced with a hint of amusement, like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. You didn’t even blink.

His lips curled into a smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It was more a test now—seeing how far you’d go. He took a step back, dropping his hand from your chin, and without saying another word, he moved toward the far wall of the room. He reached for the knives lined up on the counter nearby, the cold steel glinting in the dim light. The air between you two felt thick, charged with something dangerous, something raw.

You didn’t move, didn’t even seem to acknowledge him as he grabbed the first knife, expertly flipping it in his hand, his eyes still locked on yours. With a flick of his wrist, the blade flew through the air, embedding itself into the wall just inches from your face. It would’ve been too close for anyone else, but you didn’t flinch.

You didn’t even blink.

He threw another, then another, each one grazing the edge of the wall near you. The room filled with the sharp thuds of metal hitting the hard surface, but still, you remained completely still. Unshaken. Your eyes remained fixed on him, watching, waiting, almost... entertained.

"Are you done?" you say.

Hyunjin’s breath grew heavier, the fascination in his gaze deepening. No one had ever dared to remain so calm, so unmoved in front of him. Most people were terrified by the chaos he created, by the danger he so freely wielded. But you? You were something else entirely.

He took a slow step toward you, his eyes never leaving your face. The silence between you both was suffocating, a heavy tension that only seemed to grow with every passing second. He wasn’t sure if he was testing you or if he was just trying to understand you. Could someone like you really be real? Or was this all just an act to survive?

You broke the silence first, not with words, but with a simple gesture. You didn’t flinch. Instead, you turned toward the TV, flicking it on with a calmness that only made his heart beat faster. As the screen lit up, the news anchor’s voice cut through the silence of the room.

“Breaking news tonight: a series of brutal killings in the city have been linked to an unknown assailant. Authorities are urging citizens to remain cautious as they investigate the disturbing pattern...”

The screen flashed a picture of the victims, the same faces he had seen on the news before. But now, there was something different. Something far more intimate.

They were your victims.

Hyunjin froze, the knife in his hand trembling slightly as he turned to look at you. You met his gaze with a knowing smile, your eyes now gleaming with something dangerous—something he hadn’t expected.

“Did you think I was just waiting for you to find me?” you asked softly, your voice almost teasing now. “I’ve been watching. I’ve been planning... learning. Everything you’ve done, everything you’re capable of... I’m not afraid of you, Hyunjin. You’re exactly what I’ve been waiting for.”

He swallowed, the words getting caught in his throat as he took another step back, his eyes flickering between you and the TV screen. The truth was right there. You were real. You were every bit as dangerous as he was, and maybe, just maybe, you were even more unpredictable than he’d ever imagined.

His smirk returned, though this time, it was something darker, a mixture of amusement and raw desire. "Well, well," he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. "You’re insane. But damn, if that doesn’t make this interesting."

He dropped the knife onto the table, and for the first time since he'd walked in, he didn’t look like the predator. Instead, he looked like someone who had just met their match.

Hyunjin's heart raced, but it wasn’t from fear. It was something far more thrilling, something that tightened in his chest with every word you spoke. The way you watched him, the cold calculation in your eyes, sent a shiver down his spine, but also made something dark stir in the pit of his stomach. This was the moment he'd been waiting for.

But instead of backing off, you stepped closer. You didn’t even flinch at the knives, didn’t even seem to acknowledge their deadly proximity. Your gaze was locked on his, not with fear, but with anticipation.

You reached up, your fingers trailing along his jawline, the touch almost gentle. He leaned into it, despite himself. There was something about your proximity, the way you were pulling him in, that was impossible to resist.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered, voice low, almost a growl. “But you’re also exactly what I wanted.”

You smiled, that same knowing, dangerous smile that made his pulse race. “I’m not afraid of you,” you whispered, the words heavy with meaning. “In fact, I think I’m starting to enjoy this... maybe even more than you are.”

And before he could say anything more, you closed the distance between you, your lips crashing against his in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was hungry, desperate—two predators finally giving in to their shared hunger. His hands flew to your back, pulling you in closer, deeper, as if he couldn’t get enough. You responded with equal ferocity, your body pressing into his, hands threading through his hair, pulling him in until there was no space left between you.

His mind screamed at him to regain control, to pull away, to remind you who was in charge. But the heat of your kiss, the wild, untamed energy that sparked between you both, left him speechless. It was a game now, but not one he had planned. He had underestimated you, and that, more than anything, turned him on.

As he pulled away from the kiss, both of you breathing heavily, the moment seemed to stretch, thick with tension and something more primal. His eyes searched yours, as if trying to decode every part of you that he hadn’t yet understood, that still eluded him.

He smirked, his voice still low and rough, a trace of amusement dancing in his gaze. “What’s your name?”

You tilted your head, considering the question, your lips curving into a knowing smile. There was something unsettlingly confident about you now, like you were no longer trying to hide who you were—who you had always been.

“Harley Quinn,” you answered, your voice sweet, but with a dangerous edge.

He froze, his heart skipping a beat at the mention of that name.The look in his eyes was a mixture of intrigue and caution, as though he was beginning to understand exactly what kind of monster he was dealing with.

"Harley Quinn," he repeated, testing the name on his lips. The idea of you being a version of him—crazy, unpredictable, and dangerously charming—was a twist he hadn’t expected. You weren’t just some fragile victim. You were something else, something much more volatile.

"You like it?" you teased, watching him with a playful glint in your eyes, completely unfazed by the weight of the moment.

He chuckled darkly, stepping back slightly, but his eyes never left yours. "I think I’m starting to like you, Quinn." The way he said your name, with both amusement and an underlying hunger, made it clear he wasn’t talking about anything as simple as affection.

You smiled, leaning in just enough to brush your lips against his ear once more. "Careful, Hyunjin... you might find out I'm more dangerous than you think."

He exhaled slowly, his smirk widening as he pulled you back into another kiss, a kiss that promised there was no going back.

And just like that, the Joker had found his Queen.

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jokeringcutio · 1 year ago

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Art the Clown x Reader Drabble "Giving Birth to Art's Baby" [ EXPLICIT, Gore]

AN: Nobody asked for this. Summary: If Reader had Art’s baby. (or: You realize you're fucked, birthing a demon's child, but get a bright idea while doing so)

Warnings: Explicit content (Blood/Murder/Birth), Demon!Art, Demon!kid, Cannibalism/Placenta eating. Mentioned Forced Impregnation. Reader gives birth. Reader tries to survive. Reader lives by the end of this chapter. You have Art’s look-a-like baby (not just his head. An actual kid).

The sterile whiteness of the hospital room blurred into a canvas of dread as they told you to push. "You can do this," the nurse said, her voice a harsh command against the silence of your unborn child's heart—a silence that had been haunting you since labor began. The monitors sang no lullaby of life; instead, they hummed a dirge for the creature stirring inside, the one you knew bore no resemblance to a human babe.

"Push!" she insisted, but something primal within you recoiled. Your mind reeled, images of the ultrasounds flickering like a horror show behind your eyes—those glimpses of something otherworldly, something that twisted the midwives' faces into masks of confusion and fear. You felt it squirming, an alien presence in the sanctuary of your womb. Its head, too large, its limbs, too sharp—you remembered the cold gel on your belly and the screen showing a chest empty of a beating heart and a skull with teeth that no other baby ever had.

The images had filled you with nightmares.

"Push, damn it!"

With each word from her lips, you were torn further between the instinct to expel the abomination and the unnatural maternal pull towards the thing you carried. It looked slightly human, yes, but there was no pulse, no thrumming of life—just the void where a heartbeat should echo.

"Push, or we'll lose you both!"

Your muscles clenched, a symphony of pain rippling through you as you fought to obey, to be rid of the living death inside. You tried to calm the tempest in your chest, telling yourself over and over, "I can do this."

Then he invaded your thoughts—Art, the demon, the clown in black and white, a mockery of joy and laughter. His teeth, those sharp instruments of terror, flashed in your memory, evoking the night of unspeakable horror when he had claimed you. Should you have fought him harder? Should you have shouted or cried? His touch was a brand, his seed the poison that grew into the monstrosity within.

You had recognized the shape of the baby’s skull the instant the ultrasound had shown it. His teeth. His head. His heartless frame.

Mass murderer and psycho on the run. A clown who never spoke and was never caught. A criminal the police claimed to have killed time after time again, yet he kept returning. You weren’t stupid. You knew he was no ordinary man, had seen and felt him up close, had lived through carrying his offspring and felt its tiny hands like claws inside your womb.

"Push! I see the head!"

Your scream tore through the air, a battle cry against the violation that had led to this moment. With a guttural cry, you bore down, every fiber of your being straining to bring forth the offspring of darkness. The nurses leaned in, their faces etched with morbid curiosity and professional detachment.

"More! Now!"

And you did. You pushed past the fear, the revulsion, and the anguish. You pushed because surrender was not an option. The child of Art, the silent clown with the soulless bright eyes surrounded by circles of dark, was coming, and you would face it, even as it threatened to tear you apart.

"Head's out!"

The words cut through the fog of your agony, and for a brief, impossible moment, hope flickered. But it was a fool's hope, born of pain and desperation. For what lay between your thighs was neither dead nor alive, neither human nor wholly other. It was the unholy union of your flesh and Art's demonic whimsy, born into a world that would never understand its existence.

"Keep going, you're almost there!"

That nurse's voice, so insistent, so devoid of the horrors that awaited, spurred you on. And you pushed again, into the unknown, into the nightmare made flesh.

The sterile chill of the delivery room clawed at your senses, but nothing could compare to the icy grip of fear that seized your heart. The nurse's declaration was a death knell, ringing hollow in your ears.

"Oh no, look at that color,” she breathed out, her words a ghost lingering in the air. The child’s head was as white as the sheets you were birthing on.

Your gaze fixed on the writhing mass that now slipped free from your body, its skin as white as untouched snow, not a shade of life to be found. Terror danced in the nurse's eyes as she caught the creature you had birthed, fully convinced to hold a stillborn child.

But then it turned its head towards her, lips pulled back in a macabre grin, black and white painted across its face like a twisted replica of Art's mime visage.

It was as you had feared it would be. Any hope you had held that your baby might come out all rosy and normal faded like ice under the sun.

"God!" The nurse recoiled, hurling your offspring onto the bed as if it were a viper.

"Easy! Easy!" You cried out. This was your child, your blood. And there was the little voice inside your head that whispered that Art wouldn’t die. No matter how many shots had been fired at him. No matter how many limbs had been cut off. The man still walked the earth, spreading death in silent joy wherever he went.

What if your child was the same? Already its heart wasn’t beating yet it seemed very much alive. Would throwing it away like its life meant nothing be the solution?

Adrenaline fueled your limbs, and with a grunt, you crawled toward the tiny form cast aside on the cold hospital linen. No. This was your baby too. No matter how evil, you would nurse it.

"Shh, shh," you soothed, half-mad with pain and wonder as your arms closed around the little body. Your hands trembled, cradling him close, the resemblance uncanny—Art's spawn, his legacy. Something soft dangled between the baby’s legs.

"Boy..." you whispered, the realization dawning upon you as you held him against your breast. The baby’s head instinctively sought for your nipple, his already long-grown teeth snapping as he sought.

The sight of his head filled you with terror, and you felt slightly sick to see the baby’s lack of lips and already blackened teeth. Bright eyes stared up at you, black circles around him. The first touch of his mouth to your skin was tentative, searching, before a sharp pain made you hiss. "No biting!"

He seemed to understand or perhaps heeded the command instilled in his dark lineage. You were grateful he started to suck next and didn’t bite your entire nipple off. You wouldn’t put it past him – not with what you had seen his father do and what you had read and heard in the news articles about him.

There amidst the blood and the shadows, you were bound to this child, this extension of a demon's desire, by cords thicker than fear, stronger than revulsion. In the silence that hung heavy, only your harsh breaths and the soft, wet suckling sounds filled the void.

Your arms ached, but you clung to him—the fruit of your womb and a monster's seed. The room spun slightly, the stark white tiles of the hospital room blurring as you focused on the tiny creature at your breast. His lips, so unlike a human’s and too far pulled back, painted in an unseen artist's black and white, suckled with an instinctual hunger.

"Sweetheart,” you tested the word, reassuring yourself that you could do this. That you had to use affectionate terms around him especially because he was the way he was.

A new plan formed in your mind.

If you could bring such true evil to the world, could you perhaps dampen it? You were pretty certain you could not undo it. You could not change a devil into an angel. But if you could not turn evil into good, could you perhaps guide it? Guide it away from harming innocents?

"You're mine," you murmured, studying the little baby in your arms. If not for the head, the child would have looked rather normal.

“My son,” you proudly said, testing the words whilst the nurses and doctors around you stood and watched. You heard their muttering and were vaguely aware of how one of the nurses had pushed an emergency button and alerted someone else in the building about what was going on.

Would they come and take your baby away from you? Would they want to try and murder him?

A fierce protectiveness was swelling within you. “I’ll protect you, sweetheart,” you reaffirmed, determination lacing the single word. “You are my son.”

Some of the nurses took a step back from the bloodied bed, their eyes still wide with disbelief. Behind them, the door burst open with a violence that made every eye swing toward it.

Art stood there, his silhouette like a twisted shadow from a child's nightmare. The nurse at the entrance reached for him. “Sir,” she said, eyes upon the garbage gab he carried over his shoulder. “These are sterile surroundings.” Her concern was cut short by the gleam of steel—a deft flick of Art's wrist—and she crumpled, a scream caught in her throat, blood blossoming on her uniform like a grotesque flower.

The doctor next to her cried out when a blade hit his legs, slashing through the clean white fabric until his shins bled. Another nurse to his side crumpled when Art passed her by, pushed over with blood on her pristine white clothes.

"Stop!" Your voice was a command, even as you recoiled. "Don't."

Art’s head cocked, you could tell he had heard your voice, but he didn’t listen. Whatever knife he had brought with him was launched to land in the middle of a nurse’s forehead, pinching her to the wall. He smiled broadly while he stepped up to the doctor’s tools to get a scalpel from them, obviously pleased with all the sharp things that were within his reach. He threatened to step forth to the Doctor who had already wounded legs and who had fallen to the floor. The man looked up at the demonic clown fearfully, tears in his eyes as Art raised the scalpel.

“Art, please,” you begged, “Don’t hurt them.”

It wasn’t your pleading that stopped him. But something else entirely. A low groan as finally, the afterbirth followed - a final, visceral release that marked the end of your gruesome trial.

His head cocked, the mime's unnerving silence punctuating the chaos he had wrought. He approached, eyes fixed on the bundle in your arms. Between your legs, the heap of blood and tissue drained the sheets. The baby’s umbilical cord was still attached to the placenta that had finally come out.

Art studied it. First, the writhing baby in your arms. He looked at it like he had never seen a newborn child before. He probably hadn’t, you thought. At least, not one of his own. The wonder was visible in those bright light eyes of his. The demonic toothy smile had turned into a black hole of wonder.

Then, the brightly shining eyes traced the umbilical cord and came to rest on the placenta. Something in his eyes changed, and he looked up at you, almost hungrily. His gaze softened then at the sight of his son again, and dirt-covered fingers reached out a few times, indicating he wanted to hold him but was too shy to grab the babe.

Your son’s eyes opened, recognizing his father. But he wouldn’t leave his meal. The teeth nibbled on your nipple while milk kept flowing richly, then bit down a little harder when you moved your arm – an indication that he did not want to be moved.

With a spidery grace, Art extended a hand, his fingers stretching toward his progeny. You tightened your grasp, feeling the peculiar warmth of your son against your flesh.

"Art," you began, voice quivering with a cocktail of fear and resolve. "He's feeding." You met those abyssal eyes, searching for understanding. "We need them alive—the nurses, the doctors. We might need their help..." Whatever could you say to keep him from killing these people? You raked your mind, thought desperately. And then it came out. Unbidden. "For next time."

A pause, and then a different kind of hunger flashed across his face. Another offspring? The idea hadn't crossed his twisted mind until you seeded it there. The possibility of creating more beings like this one, beings that belonged to both of you—it ignited something within him.

"Next time," you whispered, coaxing.

Art's attention shifted, drawn away by the glistening afterbirth on the bed. A grotesque curiosity morphed into action as he reached down, snatching it up with an eager hand. He snapped the umbilical cord with his teeth, igniting gasps throughout the room of the nurses and the doctor – all either petrified or too wounded to leave. You gave them all an empathic stare, a silent ‘I’m sorry’ while you watched as Art descended on his own meal.

The room filled with the sound of his silent feasting, a tableau of horror that paralyzed the surviving staff. They could only watch, too terrified to move, too horrified to look away.

"Good," you breathed, holding your son closer. "Focus on that. Let us be."

Surrounded by trembling bodies and the scent of iron and fear, you rocked gently, whispering promises into the velvet softness atop your son's head, promises of a world where he would never be alone—where he'd have a sibling to share the darkness with. And more importantly, a mother who would guide evil in ways that would save those she cared about. Herself included. ~ AN: This could be a full story, but I was lazy and only wrote the birthing scene. Might upload other parts that can go along with this as I have an outline. If you like my (gross) writing (style), consider following me or browse my masterlists (psst, there's more).

~~ Support me on Ko-Fi - Masterlist - Request Box ~~ The Full Tale: Art saw the pale girl, another of his kind, and realized that he wanted to be less lonely. Someone of his own kind, now that sounded nice. A kid of his own to play patty cake with? So he started looking for a potential carrier for his kid. You were cute, didn't run as hard, didn't make a sound when he tried to harm you. A quiet little human, about the size of the clown kid he had seen. You were perfect. Instead of killing you, he made sure you got pregnant. During the pregnancy, you kept seeing traces of him, found little gifts from the stranger who featured in your nightmares ever since.

You weren't stupid. You found out quite quickly that your clown is in fact the much sought-after murderer who comits the most horrible crimes under the name of Art. You have seen what he is capable of and dive into the archives researching him and his crimes. He seems to survive everything.

When the ultrasounds show you a distorted baby with no heartbeat, you know that you carry true evil inside of you. But getting rid of it is no option, as you can't kill what already seems to be dead. With no other fate, you have no option but to birth the monster's child. How you will handle things after, however, that is something you can influence. You will do anything in your power to survive. ~~

#art the clown x reader #art x reader #terrifier baby #terrifier fanfic #birthing horror fanfic

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m1d-45 · 6 months ago

Text

a break in routine

summary: wishing for sethos and alhaitham, sagau edition

word count: 2.7k

warnings: minor spoilers for alhaitham story quest, minor spoilers for alhaitham/kaveh lore, author knows nothing about sethos, obvious favoritism is obvious

-> gn reader (you/yours) and unspecified travelled (they/them)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

it was an ordinary day in sumeru city.

the streams bubbled across water-worn rocks, dusk birds flew lazily through the skies. shroomboars wandered from field to field, and scholars studied their craft. workers honed their trade, merchants sold their goods, and all was normal for the average citizen.

for two certain vision wielders, however, the sun high above seemed to taunt them. it, and the large clouds drifting by, hid the stars from view. there was no way to watch the constellations shift across the sky, to try and pinpoint the moment where the existing ones fell and new ones rose in their place.

but they had jobs to do. they couldn’t afford to be so distracted. so they breathed, forced their hands from their vision, and took another step forward.

in the desert, anxious feet paced around camp, the crackling fire lighting up the tents as the sun slowly sank toward the horizon. the sand had yet to start cooling, but there was a blessedly strong wind blowing through. not enough to be worried about, but enough to wick away sweat, making such repetitive movement bearable.

he couldn’t help it, really. in all his time with his vision, sethos had never once seen his constellation in the sky. he never expected to, having never met you in person, but tonight was different. tonight, gourd and god were falling from the skies, and his heart raced. static electricity had clung to his skin all week, shocking anyone who tried to touch him if he didn’t let it discharge through his vision first. it had become habit to tap the frame before trying to touch anyone else, but the symptoms weren’t the source of his concern. what was important was the source. he wanted to know the reason why his eyes seemed to be attached to the heavens above, the reason for his unnatural restlessness and the irritating feeling that he was waiting for something but being unable to determine what.

a skim of local chatter and a run-in with a rtawahist scholar had mostly answered his questions. he’d never heard of the stars shifting being such a personal experience for vision-wielders, but even the scribe was in a strange mood lately. if he was affected, level-headed and known for his cold logic, then it made sense that sethos couldn’t seem to sit still, right? right. it had to be.

he looked up again, lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the last of the sun’s rays. the clouds were moving unnaturally quickly, clearing the way for the first stars to shine through. it still wasn’t quick enough.

he dropped his hand and head, huffing a sigh and continuing his patrol around camp. it was too tight to be of much use, but his mind was wandering enough for his body. the scraps that he remembered from the scholar were looping in his head, over and over with every beat of his feet on the sand and his heart in his chest.

the name that had popped into his head when he received his vision. its meaning, decrypted using books older than the archons. the thin lines of electro shining through the gold casing. an hourglass, forever bleeding sand, a clock forever counting down to some event.

an event that was rapidly drawing closer. something that prickled beneath his skin and stole his breath, something that he couldn’t prove but couldn’t ignore. the few clouds were clearing, letting him see the stars above. they didn’t mean anything to him—he could pick out the wayfinding stars with ease, the tail of the lesser lion and the ear of the hare guiding his travels, but everything else was nonsense. rtawahist dedicated itself to documenting everyone every constellation that rose and fell, but he didn’t even know how to pick them out. he’d pulled up his vision at some point, tracing the seal of the temple with his thumb like it would help him find what he was searching for.

he didn’t see the first star fall. all he saw was a flurry of shooting stars, each shining a bright blue. one was violet, his hand tensing around his vision at the sight.

that annoyed him. he searched himself for a reason as to why—you had cast down stars into the city before, so why did it hurt now? he was uneasy, dragging his eyes away from the sky in favor of easier motions. he didn’t understand the sky, but he understood his camp. he knew the tents he walked around, knew the dunes he searched for scorpions, and that was enough. he didn’t need to understand anything more than this, no matter how much he might want to. he was just sethos, and that was okay.

for the rest of the night, he paced with a vendetta. he wrapped his vision in cloth to keep his hand from seeking it out, pacing the same loop around and around. tent, rock, different tent, different rock. occasionally he would see the shimmer of something too blue to be a regular sky, but he always turned away. he didn’t need more distractions.

it took him until dawn to realize that the lines of his constellation were sparking with electro.

in the city, the grand scribe had long since readjusted to his old position. his routine was strict and with no room for error, his feet guiding him out the front doors the moment the bells rang. anything happening before his shift wasn’t his problem, and anything that happened after for someone else to deal with. he knew this regiment well, and had long-since familiarized himself with the routines of those around him. it made things easier.

kaveh returned to the city just after dusk, when all the usable light had fallen from the sky. tighnari was never away from gandharva ville after dark. cyno could be a wildcard, but even he stuck to a (loose) curfew. when he didn’t, he often had good reason.

this system worked well for alhaitham. he knew where everyone was with some non-zero degree of certainty, and if he couldn’t find them then he knew who to ask. there was always variability in human behavior, but with enough back-up plans this could be easily accounted for. some required more than others, some none at all, and some…

some liked to disobey all of his observed trends for little apparent reason.

he pushed through the front doors of the akedemiya, seeing the usual crowd of scholars. some were preparing to leave, others had just returned, and he didn’t care about either group. straight ahead, standing beside the railing, was kaveh.

he wasn’t waiting for him, or else he’d have turned around by now. he was dressed in formal wear, stitched together scarves draped over his shoulders like a cape. he lowered the sound dampening on his headphones as he approached, chatter and windsong filtered out. kaveh was standing with his hands on the railing—not currently acting as a vessel, but still under some sort of control. that’s the only reason he dressed up like this.

red eyes found his, then looked away with a smile. hm.

alhaitham had asked the traveller more than his fair share of questions about divine possession. he’d only experienced it once before, when investigating siraj, but rumors had carried much more details than what he’d experienced. realms of stars and invisible floors, even varying levels of presence and control, which he hadn’t thought possible. sure, the distance between your world and teyvat was likely farther than he could comprehend, but why would you be able to specify exactly how someone moved one moment and then be a mere spectator the next?

the traveller, expectedly, had little to share. what could they know of a god’s motivations? all alhaitham could do was speculate, blindly waiting for something to change and give him more information.

it was somewhat unnerving, seeing kaveh like this. it was always obvious when a vessel was being inhabited, but they were typically doing something. they never stood still for long. shopping, talking, fighting, anything was preferable to… this. kaveh was an explosive who’s fuse was far too delayed, leaving him on edge. he was still breathing, so it wasn’t as if alhaitham had been pulled into some other dimension. he’d heard from tighnari how disorienting it could be being pulled into the sky—a “banner,” he’d called it, though he didn’t say why—for the first time, and was thankful it didn’t seem like that had happened. then again, kaveh was also clearly under your control….

…for the first time in a confusingly long while—when had the sky turned dark?—alhaitham tore his eyes from kaveh’s, looking around. everyone had left.

no scholars chatted about their problems. no guards stood by the door. no birds chirped in the trees, not even when he removed his headphones entirely. the clouds had frozen in the sky. no breeze disturbed his skin, not even slightly. it was as if he and kaveh were in a private bubble of time, frozen in place.

“just wait.”

he looked back. kaveh had snapped out of his trance, evidently, his hands shaking from the force with which he gripped the railing. alhaitham put his hand on his back to steady him, not missing the feverish heat to his skin.

“are you okay?” he asked cautiously, trying to match what he was seeing to what little knowledge he had on hand. his heart was racing, trembling as if the non-existent wind could blow him over at any second.

“it’s… been a while.”

“…” was that possible? sure, the first time had certainly rattled him for a few days, but he’d assumed that it got easier with time. then again, even the traveller needed a few seconds to adapt whenever you left, and it wasn’t as if alhaitham knew everything about being a vessel. a few trial runs in a few chance domains didn’t make him an authority.

he set that aside for now. “what are we waiting for?”

kaveh waved a hand up, towards the sky. “wait.”

he looked up, searching the gaps between the rapidly clearing clouds. they didn’t drift away, instead turning more and more transparent, letting him see the shapes beneath. his heart twisted as he recognized his own, a bird drawn out in barely-there lines of green so thin he wasn’t even sure if they were real. he’d always had strong elemental sight; was that it?

he waits. eventually, nine random stars light up blue, shining brightly before burning out. one glows purple, growing larger and lingering for a little longer.

a starshower. kaveh had been brought here as witness to the stars falling, and alhaitham had probably just been caught in the bubble of time around him. he inches a little closer to him at the thought, selfishly wanting to watch.

another batch lit up, and the purple one fell out of the sky. it dropped over the south-eastern horizon, likely landing in inazuma. another, north towards mondstadt.

another. the blue paled in comparison to the bright light from his constellation, the six stars flashing in turn. lines of gold shot along his vulture’s silhouette, the light coalesced into one single star. it was a pinpoint that rapidly blossomed and grew, overtaking the stars around it. he could feel his heart begin to race, watching and hoping as it drew closer and closer.

he didn’t know what this meant. he didn’t know the difference between blue and purple and gold, he didn’t know if there was a significance to his constellation shining, but he wanted it. he couldn’t understand what it was, couldn’t rationalize a reason to, but he wanted that star. it was his, and he’d fight to get it.

it was easier than that. he didn’t have to do anything but watch as the light grew and grew until it enveloped his whole person, striking all the breath out of his chest.

so this was what it felt like. light danced across the surface of his skin, filling his vision with a mixture of green and gold. he could feel his heart beating in his chest, every pulse of blood pulling more energy into his soul. it wasn’t the same as the brief moments before, in the cave; to compare the two would be like claiming a drop of water was the same as the sea itself, simply because both were blue. “disservice” didn’t begin to cover it.

he understood kaveh’s disorientation now. if he ever got used to the feelings of love and joy and pure adoration poured into him, he’s not sure he’d like whoever he became.

“alhaitham?”

all at once, the world came back into place. the wind wicked what he belatedly realized were tears from his face, birds and insects too loud to be comfortable. he’d grabbed onto kaveh’s shoulder at some point, which he now released.

he coughed, finding it unusually hard to breathe. “apologies. let’s leave.”

kaveh laughed, dramatically hooking his arm around his shoulders. to any bystander, it might have just looked like he had zoned out for a moment, but kaveh knew. kaveh was there in that private hollow of time, and was the only one here with him now, the only reason he could put one foot in front of the other.

the ramp down from the akedemiya was longer than he remembered, though the streets were appropriately empty. it was the one normal thing that had occurred in the past… however long he’d been trapped in time, and he clung to it as a lifeline.

kaveh is the one to unlock the door, both of them ducking inside. he sinks into the familiar couch, barely bothering with his boots or coat. his fingers slip on the clasp holding his vision to its chain, fumbling for far too long. he doesn’t blame himself.

it was largely the same as the last time he’d seen it. a pale gold frame wrapped around a shining green crystal, the sigil of dendro glowing within. but when he turned it over, the outline of a vulture shone brighter than before. dendro energy flowed freely, barely restrained by the glass. he didn’t consider his control over the elements to be weak by any means, but even a fool could see that something had changed. it was more than training, more than what could be achieved by practice alone. for the first time, the power lent to him by his god was his to keep.

“it looks like you owe me one,” kaveh jokes, holding out a thick mug. he isn’t usually one to drink coffee, but for now he makes an exception. it’s as bitter as it is dark, clearing some of the fog in his head.

“…why would i owe you anything?”

he smiles. it’s soft, genuine, and rare. “i may or may not have been told i was joining a team of ‘the grand scribe’s favorites.’ if i hadn’t been there, you might’ve missed it.”

that’s ridiculous. the idea that a mortal could have any leverage on where the divine cast their light was laughable at best and pathetic at worst. so why had he said it?

kaveh’s presence didn’t alter your actions, but it certainly changed his. normally he’d have gone straight home, entirely missing the time bubble caused by his presence. sure, arguably the star would have found its way to him all the same, but he would have missed the meteor shower.

“…fine. i’ll pay you back later.”

his words were stiff and he had to force them out of his mouth, but it didn’t matter.

kaveh laughed.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin sagau #sagau #self aware genshin #alhaitham #sethos #kaveh #sagau alhaitham #sagau sethos #sagau kaveh

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neve-rook-datv · 2 months ago

Text

The Trouble Within - Neve Gallus’ personal notes - Part 1

Disclaimer : This story is inspired by fan critiques and discussions regarding the romance dynamics in Dragon Age: The Veilguard, particularly around the evolution of Neve’s relationship with Rook. Many fans felt some frustration with Neve’s hesitance to fully engage in the romance with Rook, and her reserved demeanor. This piece explores why Neve seems to keep her distance despite the intensity of her feelings and reimagines her interactions with Lucanis, whose light-hearted flirtation serves here as a facade to mask her true emotions toward Rook.

Arlathan Forest is a place that almost feels alive—ancient, watchful. The trees arch overhead, their leaves filtering the light into hues of deep green, amber, and burnt red. The ground is blanketed with fallen leaves that shift in color as the sun moves, and the air is thick with the earthy scent of moss and damp wood. It’s hauntingly beautiful, yet there’s a weight to the silence here, as if the forest is holding its breath, waiting.

And then there’s her.

Rook moves ahead of me, weaving through the trees with an ease that feels almost unnatural, like she belongs here in a way I don’t. The dappled light catches on her face, illuminating her profile in vibrant, natural hues, casting shadows that shift across her skin as she steps in and out of patches of sunlight. I find myself watching the way the colors dance around her, highlighting the quiet strength in her posture, the relaxed yet sharp way she holds herself.

Something about the way she walks—confident, steady, each step deliberate yet unhurried—makes it impossible to look away. Hints of amber and evergreen seem to cling to her, as if the forest itself recognizes her presence, drawn to her as much as… well, as much as I am.

I don’t know when this pull began. At first, I told myself it was curiosity, a fleeting interest in her reckless nature, in the way she throws herself into danger without hesitation. But now, watching her in this light, the forest colors framing her like some figure from an ancient tale, I feel something deeper—something I dare not name.

She turns, catching my gaze, and there’s that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, her eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. “Something on your mind?” she teases, breaking the silence and pulling me back to reality.

I force a laugh, a quick, dismissive sound to mask the way my chest tightens. “Just keeping an eye out. No harm in staying vigilant.” But the truth is, I’m mesmerized. The word Trouble slips through my mind again, and it feels like a warning—to her, to me. She’s trouble in every way, and yet… I can’t bring myself to look away.

The deeper we move into the forest, the darker and richer the light becomes, casting Rook in a way that feels almost deliberate, as though the forest itself is revealing something hidden in her. There’s a quiet strength in her gaze, a softness I rarely see, and each time she steps into a beam of light, she seems to command the world around her without even trying. I don’t think she realizes the effect she has on me, the way her presence keeps me unsteady, questioning everything I thought I knew.

Calling her Trouble feels like my last line of defense, the only way I have left to protect myself. It’s a label that’s meant to keep her at arm’s length, to remind me not to get too close. But as that barrier slips, I feel something inside me begin to unravel, like a cord stretched too tight, finally giving way. I can’t stop myself from looking her way, each glance feeding a pull I don’t fully understand, one that unsettles and captivates me all at once. The way she moves, how the light wraps around her, draws me in deeper, makes her seem almost otherworldly, untouchable. And yet, in these moments, I feel closer to her than I’d ever let myself admit.

Lucanis keeps things light, and I remind myself that’s all I need. His flirtations are easy, harmless—a game that lets me forget the weight of everything else, if only for a moment. With him, there’s no need to dig deep or question anything; we can laugh, exchange glances, play at something that never asks for more. It’s uncomplicated, a distraction that feels almost safe in its simplicity.

But even as I tell myself that’s enough, I can’t help feeling a pull toward something beyond that ease, something that makes my heart race in a way Lucanis never could. And that’s when I feel her presence, like a quiet tension at the edges of my thoughts, impossible to ignore. And I… I am left to watch, caught between the fear of what this means and the thrill of simply being near her.

I wanted to keep things simple, to call her Trouble and pretend that’s all she is—a distraction, an annoyance. But standing here in the heart of Arlathan, surrounded by ancient colors and silent trees, I can feel my resolve slipping, the walls I’ve built crumbling with each glance, each step.

She doesn’t know, of course. How could she? She’s focused on the path ahead, oblivious to the chaos she’s causing in my mind. But as the reds and greens cast their final light on her face, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m losing this battle—that “Trouble” is no longer a warning, but a confession.

Edit: Wording, phrasing, flow.

#dragon age #fanfic #romance #neve gallus #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age rook #rook and neve #neve Gallus romance #datv #datv spoilers #datv rook #datv romance #datv fanfic #rook x neve #rook #datv neve

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kirain · 6 days ago

Note

You've given us Emmrich taking care of sick Rook. Can you maybe give us Rook taking care of sick Emmrich? Please and thank you

The eerie hum of the Fade outside matched the tension within as Lucanis, Bellara, and Neve entered Emmrich's study. They carried the corpse of a Venatori agent, the body wrapped tightly in a stained canvas. Emmrich rose to greet them, his pale face illuminated by the flickering candles scattered throughout the room. His tall, wiry frame seemed more fragile than usual, his movements slow and listless.

"Emmrich," Lucanis said, setting the body down on the stone slab to the left of the room. "We need your help. There's a chance this agent knew Elgar'nan's location. If we can get answers, we might finally be able to stop him."

Emmrich steeled himself as he studied the corpse. Despite his obvious exhaustion, he managed a faint smile. "Of course. I'll do everything I can."

Vae, who had been observing from the doorway, stepped closer. "Are you feeling all right?" she asked, her cerulean eyes flickering with concern. "You look—"

"I'm perfectly fine," he interrupted politely. "There's no time to waste. If this man's spirit holds the key to finding Elgar'nan, we must act quickly."

With a wave of his hand, the air grew heavy, a slight chill nipping at the back of everyone's necks. As the magic strew through the body, something stirred beyond the Veil, and Emmrich pulled, catching it in his snare.

The corpse twitched. Then its chest heaved with a sharp, unnatural breath, its eyelids snapping open to reveal dull, glassy orbs. Emmrich staggered unexpectedly, but steadied himself, his hands trembling as green energy crackled around his fingers.

"The connection is weak," he gasped. "Guarded, likely due to Elgar'nan's influence. Haste would be appreciated."

"Where is Elgar'nan hiding?" Lucanis asked, plainly.

"Everywhere..." The corpse's mouth moved sluggishly. "And nowhere."

Bellara frowned. "It's being vague on purpose. Let me try." She leaned closer. "Where is Elgar'nan's physical body?"

The corpse let out an ear-piercing screech, its limbs convulsing against the stone. Emmrich winced, his face contorting in pain.

"Are you all right?" Vae asked sharply, rushing to his side as he swayed.

He nodded, though his pallor deepened. "It's fighting me... but I can hold it. Ask again."

Bellara's tone turned forceful. "Where is Elgar'nan's physical body right now. Give us the location."

The corpse writhed, its jaw locking momentarily before a rasping hiss escaped.

"The spirit... resists," Emmrich groaned, his voice strained. "We don't have long, I fear."

Neve, her expression icy but focused, stepped forward. "Enough of the now. Let's try the when." She addressed the corpse. "Where is Elgar'nan planning to attack next?"

The corpse thrashed violently, its head snapping back in defiance, and Emmrich stumbled, his knees buckling, as though some unseen force was pressing down on his shoulders.

"Stop this," Vae demanded, gripping his arm to hold him upright. "Something is clearly wrong."

"Not yet," Emmrich whispered, his voice barely audible. "Neve... ask again."

"Elgar'nan's next attack—where is it going to be?" she emphasised, leaning over the slab.

The corpse choked out two words through clenched teeth. "Castle… ancient..."

With a final, guttural cry, the connection severed, like a taut thread snipped by scissors. The corpse fell limp, and Emmrich suddenly crumpled to the floor.

"Emmrich!" Vae yelled, kneeling beside him. She gently rolled him onto his back, his face tight and drenched with sweat.

"What happened?" Bellara squeaked, horrified.

Vae's brow furrowed as she touched her hand to his forehead. "He's... sick. He had a fever this whole time, and we didn't even notice."

A heavy silence fell over the group as the realisation sank in—they'd pushed him too hard, with no regard for his safety. Neve and Lucanis, ever pragmatic, quickly but carefully lifted him off the floor and carried him to his bed, while Bellara fetched a bowl of water and a cloth, her expression rife with remorse.

"I'm so sorry," she mewled, handing the bowl to Vae. "You told us to stop, but we didn't listen."

Vae shook her head. "Neither did he," she sighed. "I'll take care of him. You three focus on what we've learned. 'Castle', 'ancient'... it's not much to go on, but maybe it's enough. Let the others know, too."

They nodded, then left the room, casting worried glances over their shoulders.

Once alone, Vae sat beside the barely conscious man, soaking the cloth and dabbing his forehead. "You're too kind for your own good," she muttered, her tone a mix of exasperation and affection. "I wish you'd tell me when you're not feeling well."

Emmrich's eyes fluttered open, his mind hazy, though his hand reached out, weakly brushing against hers. "Now you... know how it feels," he coughed.

Vae flinched, then gave him a defeated chuckle. "All right, point taken," she assured him, clasping his hand. "I guess I deserved that."

His lips curved faintly before his eyes closed again, his breathing shallow. "But I am sorry, my dear... for frightening you."

"Shh. Just rest now," she hushed, pulling the blankets up to his chin. "I'll be here when you wake up."

#emmrich volkarin #rook x emmrich #emmrich x rook #da4 emmrich #veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age #dragon age emmrich #da: the veilguard #bellara lutare #lucanis dellamorte #neve gallus

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white-wolf-buckaroo · 22 days ago

Text

I’ll still fight every day. For them.

A dad!Vander fic (with my og character, Luna, Vander's fifth adopted child)

Set around Act 1.1.

Masterlist: there you go

Disclaimer: english ain't my first language folks

Vander's dreams were a fragmented chaos of faces, laughter, and screams.

He saw Vi’s fiery determination while he taught her to fight, Powder’s infectious giggle as she sat on a barstool in front of him sipping on a cup of juice, Mylo’s smirk as he showed him his most recent prize from a trip to Piltover, Claggor’s steady gaze on him as he taught him how to repair an engine, and Luna’s sleepy smile as she told him goodnight after tucking her in.

But then the visions darkened. Their faces twisted with fear, shadows consumed them, and he could do nothing but watch as the world he built for them crumbled.

He woke drenched in sweat, his chest heaving. The room around him was dim, lit only by the eerie, flickering glow of violet vials lined on shelves. The faint hum of machinery buzzed in the background, making his head throb. His body felt heavy, his limbs unfamiliar, as if something unnatural coursed through them.

Panic set in when the memories started piecing themselves together. The bridge. Silco. The fight. The fire. His body hitting the ground.

I should be dead.

He tried to sit up but groaned in pain, the movement sending shocks through his nerves. Restraints dug into his wrists. He looked down and saw faint, glowing veins snaking up his forearms.

“What is this?” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

Wait.

Where were his girls? Were they safe? Vi, Powder, Luna. After what had happened to Mylo and Claggor… His heart ached with familiar yet still fierce pain.

He had to get out of there and get to his girls.

The door creaked open. A man entered, his silhouette framed against the harsh light of the corridor behind him. The doctor approached, clipboard in hand, his one visible eye gleaming with calculated curiosity.

“You’re awake,” Vander recognized him. It was Singed, his tone clinical, devoid of empathy.

“What…” Vander’s voice cracked. “What have you done to me?”

Singed tilted his head, observing him like a specimen under a microscope. “You were dying. No—dead. But I salvaged you. You’re… a unique case.”

Vander yanked against the restraints, fury and desperation surging through him. “Salvaged? What for? Where are my kids? What happened to them?” His voice rose with each word, the weight of his body no longer the only thing crushing him.

Singed didn’t flinch. “You were exposed to a significant dose of Shimmer during your final moments. Your body responded… unusually well. I’ve continued the process. For science, of course.”

“For science?” Vander growled. His voice was raw, a mix of anger and fear. “I’m not some experiment, and I sure as hell didn’t ask for this. Tell me where my kids are!”

Singed’s expression didn’t change, but there was a pause, a hesitation, as if weighing how much to reveal. “Your children… I do not know their current whereabouts. The boy with the goggles and the thin one—they didn’t survive.”

Mylo. Claggor. He’d seen it in his dreams, but hearing it confirmed sent a bolt of grief and guilt through him. He had failed them. He had failed all of them.

“I cannot say about the others,” added Singed. “I am not privy to their fates. My concerns lie here, with you.”

Vander snarled, yanking at the restraints again, adrenaline overriding the pain. “I don’t care about your damn concerns! You stole me away, turned me into… into this! And for what? Some twisted experiment?”

Singed stepped closer, unbothered by Vander’s outburst. “You are valuable. An anomaly. I am seeking answers—ones that could change the very fabric of life and death. If successful, the knowledge gained here could bring back those you’ve lost… perhaps even your children.”

Vander glared at him, the weight of those words sinking in, fuelling his anger.

“And if you fail?” he asked bitterly.

Singed’s gaze was steady, almost cold. “Then you are merely another step closer to understanding.”

The weight of despair was unbearable. Vander slumped back against the bed, his body trembling from exhaustion and the war raging in his mind. He didn’t know what hurt more: the knowledge that he was alive while his boys were gone or the uncertainty of whether the girls he’d sworn to protect were safe.

“I’ll find them,” he murmured, more to himself than to Singed. “I’ll get out of here… And I’ll find my girls.”

Singed raised a brow, his expression unreadable. “You will not. I saved you from death to serve a greater purpose. Your path and theirs have diverted, and will not cross anymore.”

The words were a dagger in Vander’s chest, but he refused to let the despair consume him. He gritted his teeth, glaring at the doctor with every ounce of defiance he could muster.

“What purpose can be greater than the one of a man trying to get back to his daughters?” he growled.

“The one of a father trying to safe his daughter from death.” Singed answered, coldly.

He moved then quick, injecting something in Vander’s arm that put him to sleep after a few seconds of blurry visions and distant echoes of the sounds around him.

The fevered haze of Shimmer and whatever Singed had put in his veins brought dreams that felt too vivid to be mere imagination. Vander saw Vi first, standing tall and proud in the Last Drop, her fists clenched and a determined fire in her eyes. “You’re supposed to protect us!” she yelled, her voice cracking. Behind her, the shadows of Mylo and Claggor faded into smoke, their faces etched with betrayal.

Then came Powder, her blue hair streaked with soot, tears running down her cheeks as she clutched a shattered monkey toy. “You left us,” she whimpered. “Why didn’t you stop them?”

The dreams shifted to Luna. She was sitting alone in the basement, looking tiny than ever, hugging her knees as the rain poured outside. Her small voice broke through the sound of the storm: “I waited for you,” she said, in a small voice, tears streaming from her eyes, scared from the thunder outside he couldn’t protect her from anymore. “Why didn’t you come back?”

Each dream ended the same way: Vander reaching for them, only for their faces to dissolve into the blackness, leaving him screaming into the void.

He woke up screaming, alone in the same room.

It went on like that forever. At least it felt as if. Vander didn’t regain full consciousness until after a few more rounds of nightmares and memories combined that ended with him in tears wanting, no, needing to reach out to his children but being unable to do so.

Singed was working on a table close by when Vander spoke up:

“You said you’re doing this for your daughter,” he began, his voice rough, weak.

Singed didn’t turn around, but he answered. “And if I am?”

Vander’s eyes were fixed on him as he kept on talking, breathing heavily. “Why me? What makes me worth the trouble?”

Singed paused his movements, as if debating how much to reveal. “Your body showed resilience to Shimmer that I’ve never seen before. You are… an anomaly. If I can replicate what you are, I might be able to achieve something far greater. To bring her back.”

Vander narrowed his eyes. “Your daughter… she’s gone?”

“Yes,” Singed said bluntly. “But not forever. I will find a way.”

“And you think turning me into some monster is the answer?” Vander snapped. “She wouldn’t want this—none of them would!”

Singed tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “You assume to know what a daughter would want, what lengths she would forgive. But tell me this: what wouldn’t you do to see your daughters again?”

Vander froze. The question hit too close to home, stirring the buried storm of guilt and desperation in his chest. He closed his eyes, seeing Vi, Powder, and Luna’s faces in his mind, their smiles, hearing their laughs resonating inside his head. The only thing keeping his sanity intact, for now.

“I’d do anything,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But not like this.”

Singed regarded him with something almost akin to pity. “Then you lack the resolve necessary to truly save them.”

Vander’s eyes snapped open, blazing with fury. “No. I have the resolve to fight for them. To protect them. That’s what a father does. And you? You’re just a coward hiding behind your experiments.”

For the first time, Singed’s mask slipped, the words striking a nerve. But he said nothing, merely turning to leave the room.

When Singed began experimenting more on Vander, the dreams became more vivid, but also more horrid.

He was back in the Last Drop, the bar lively but not chaotic, warm light spilling across the wooden floors. Vi sat on the counter, swinging her legs as she polished one of the mugs with a towel too large for her hands.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Vander teased, leaning against the counter.

Vi stuck her tongue out at him. “Maybe you’re just too picky.”

Powder was on the floor nearby, constructing something out of scraps and gears she’d scavenged from the streets. “It’s gonna be a bird,” she said proudly, holding up a half-finished contraption. “It’ll flap its wings when it’s done!”

“Looks great, kiddo,” Vander said with a chuckle, ruffling her hair as he passed.

Luna was at the far end of the bar, perched on a stool much too big for her, her feet dangling as she coloured on a piece of parchment. She looked up at him with a bright smile. “I made this for you, Daddy!” she exclaimed, holding up a crude but heartfelt drawing of their family—him, Vi, Powder, Claggor, Mylo, and herself.

Vander’s chest swelled with pride and love as he knelt beside her to take the drawing. “It’s perfect,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He kissed her cheek and she giggled when his beard scratched her soft skin. “Best thing I’ve ever seen.”

But the scene shifted then. He was still in the same place, but he found himself in a broken version of the Last Drop, its walls crumbling and its windows shattered. The bar was filled with shadows that whispered accusations, their words cutting deeper than any blade.

“You failed them,” one shadow hissed.

“Why did you get to live?” another demanded, its voice sharp and venomous.

The shadows formed into figures—Mylo and Claggor, standing together with their backs turned to him. “We trusted you,” Mylo said, his voice cracking. “And you failed.”

Claggor didn’t speak. He simply turned to face Vander, his expression empty but his eyes filled with betrayal.

Then, as if the dream couldn’t get worse, the scene shifted again. The girls were standing in a row: Vi with bloodied knuckles, Powder clutching a ticking bomb, and Luna holding a stuffed animal that dripped with crimson. Their faces were pale, their eyes hollow.

“Why couldn’t you save us?” they said in unison, their voices echoing like a dreadful chorus.

When Vander woke from these dreams, the reality of his imprisonment felt almost like a relief. Almost.

One day, after a particularly grueling session, Vander slumped in the corner of his cell, his breath ragged. Singed entered, carrying a tray of vials and syringes.

“Your resistance is remarkable,” Singed said, almost admiringly.

“I don’t care about your experiments,” Vander growled, his voice hoarse.

Singed ignored him, setting down the tray and examining Vander with calculating eyes. “The dreams—tell me about them.”

Vander’s eyes snapped to the doctor. “What do you know about my dreams?”

“The Shimmer has… side effects,” Singed admitted, his tone clinical. “It digs into the mind, pulls out memories, fears, desires. I’ve observed similar reactions in others. But your dreams—they’re different, aren’t they? More… vivid?”

Vander didn’t answer. He didn’t trust Singed enough to share the torment in his mind, the faces of his children haunting him every time he closed his eyes.

“You see them, don’t you?” Singed pressed. “Your children?”

Vander’s fists clenched. “Don’t you dare talk about them.”

Singed tilted his head, studying him like one of his experiments. “The mind is a powerful thing. It can motivate or destroy. You’d do well to remember that.”

Vander glared at him, his jaw tight. “You think this will break me?”

“I don’t need to break you,” Singed replied, his voice unnervingly calm. “I need to understand you. And in doing so, I will save her.”

The mention of Singed’s daughter brought a flicker of pity to Vander’s rage, but it didn’t soften his resolve.

“You’re wrong,” Vander said, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. “You can’t save anyone like this. And you won’t stop me from saving mine. You do all of this to save your daughter, but know that I will not stop fighting to get away from you to get back to my daughters as well.”

Singed paused, the faintest shadow of something—recognition, perhaps?—flickering across his face. He nodded slowly. “Very well. I know what a man is capable of doing for his child. There is… Nothing, so undoing, as a daughter.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper as cold as the room itself. “But know this: it will not bring you anything.”

Vander’s jaw tightened. He sat up as much as the restraints allowed, his voice steady and resolute. “I’ll still fight every day. For them.”

“When I’m done with you,” said Singed, his voice cold as ever, clinical, void of any human emotion. “You won’t even remember them.”

Taglist: @keira7664 @starryhiraeth

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muffinsin · 2 months ago

Note

hiya muffin!

i was wondering, if you havent done this prompt before, you would write something about the dimitrescus dating a strongwoman-type reader? Like, big, tall, throw-you-over-her-shoulder typa gal. If you dont write specific genders thats fine too ‼️‼️ Im just very self-indulgent, as someone whos RE8 oc is built like a TANK. 😓

thank you for your time. Stay peachy! 👽

Oh? Absolutely!👀👀! I write for female and neutral readers, so you’re all good! :) I think I’ll have to check out your OC sometime then! Very much of a fan of..buff…women…😋

Kept a lot of littler HCs in these to add a bit variety to it!🙇‍♀️👀

Let’s get into it :)

Masterlists

Bela

With Bela by your side, it becomes very clear that there are two types of physical strength in people at the castle

The type you possess

And the type she wields

Her, wielding unnatural strength gifted by the cadou infecting her

And still, physically speaking, Bela is rather petite, with no visible muscles, only soft skin and an overall rather skinny build, little body fat or muscles seen

You, on the other hand, are almost a direct opposite to this

While being incredibly strong for someone from the remote village, you certainly also look it, unlike your girlfriend

And poor Bela just about melts at this

Feeling your strength and seeing the muscles proving it are incredible exciting to her

She likes to cling onto your arms when you walk

When you suddenly flex them, you often manage to pull a gasp from her

Unfortunately, she manages to stay quiet sometimes, only straightening up adorably and holding on a little tighter

When you cuddle, Bela loves to be held by you, to feel your frame against hers, to hide away from her responsibilities for just a little while

While she won’t ever admit it, she feels so safe around you, extra much so due to your height and strength

Somehow, it helps her feel almost small, looked after

A break from being the coolheaded heiress. The cunning huntress. The eldest sister forced to manage her younger sisters day after day

A break from being the strong one, the responsible one

Simply to be Bela, Bela, who is wrapped up in your arms, held tight, comforted

Often she will hold onto your strong shoulders then, or wrap herself around your upper body all together

Of course your girlfriend enjoys different portrays of your strength, too

When you occasionally quite literally pick her up, you always bring a squeak from her thick lips

Always, without fail. You love it

No matter how long she’s with you, she will never get used to that

You wouldn’t think she is used to it, her tall physique and overall cannibalistic and dangerous nature not quite- well- inviting one to pick her up like she weighs nothing

Funnily enough, you find Bela does weigh very little, being made of a swarm of flies

She’ll hold onto you tight, blush adorably as she’s carried

When she feels particularly comfortable, perhaps even somewhat carefree, she’ll giggle when you pick her up

Often, you find yourself picking her up and slinging her over your shoulder when she overworks herself yet again

She’s whine and giggle, insist she has things to get done

Both of you know it’s a losing battle anyway, for she too craves the comfort you offer her

Another time you display your strength is by purposefully showing off

Such as when she looks around her room for her sickle, usually whenever some foolish maid dared “clean” her perfectly organized room or one of her sisters went through it to find something

You like displaying your strenght by easily picking some of the furniture or items up for her as you help her look

When feeling playful, you pick her up entirely, drawing giggles from her when you claim “nope, not under here!”

You’re happy you’re one of the rare people to make her laugh

Cassandra

Cassandra is considered the strongest individual at the castle, and has been for a long time

Well, aside Alcina, that is

Still, she takes pride in being the strongest among her sisters, the most efficient killer and huntress

You don’t change this, necessarily

But, you easily become one of the, if not the strongest mortals at the castle

And as such, with your height and strength, you stand out

In the beginning, you think Cassandra must hate you

She bothers you each day, digs her nails into you and scratches, bites and giggles your ears off

She’s a nuisance, even reduces the time spent in her precious torture chambers if only to annoy you a little more

Soon, you find out;

No, she does not hate you

In fact, it couldn’t be any more wrong to assume so

No, strong, evil, sadistic Cassie has a crush

Someone to match her, perhaps?

She’s excited at the thought

She tests you, you find soon, seeing just how much she can toy with you before you snap

Ever trying to fluster you with hot, open mouthed bites along your skin and back, you eventually think to even the field

Now, acting against Cassandra can certainly to a quick death sentence and a drawn out, torturous death below the castle grounds

Alas, you know: Cassandra is playing a game

She wants you to join in, to receprocate

Bored of the average staff members surrounding you, the playful brat wants a challenge

One only you can give her

So, the next time she gets near, trails her sharp fingernails along your arms and moves in to bite yet again, you strike

“EAA!”

You didn’t think you could make the fear-inspiring, brutal, nightmarish Cassandra Dimitrescu squeak, but find it’s an utterly adorable sound

Thrown over your shoulder easily, Cassandra hammers with closed fists against your back, squirming and kicking to be let down again

You deny her this

After all, if she truly wanted it, she would free herself from your grasp

You’ve seen it a hundred times before, how she slips from intruders and predators by turning into a deadly swarm of flies piercing its skin

Or her pool of strength, even, which she doesn’t seem to even dip into as she hammers her fists weakly against your back, careful she doesn’t cause any serious damage

It’s a game of play-pretend, her protests loud while a large smile is on her face

You dare interact with her, even dare to push and pull playfully. You indulge her

She likes you

Over the course of weeks, she keeps on doing the same, biting and teasing you only to end up surprised when you push back, grabbing her and throwing her light, but muscular body across your shoulder or holding her and carrying her by your hip as you work

The two of you enjoy your game, the playful bickering, the little wounds inflicted that you know she loves to see on your skin

Soon, she makes the first step, once at last swarming from your grasp to plant her lips against yours

Eager, you reciprocated, not about to let the opportunity pass

Neither of you feel the need to take your time, and quickly a kiss blooms into a relationship of playfulness, affection, pain and pleasures

You find, she enjoys how you catch her off guard when she’s about to fight you and is thrown over your shoulder easily

Even if it does earn you a few bites along your back

While she never quite uses her full strength on you, knowing it would shatter your bones and tear your skin like paper, she does like to bite and scratch, giggling when you reach up to smack her ass or tighten your grip in her as pain rushes through you

This aside, you find she enjoys a show of your strength even much behind closed doors

When you’re wrapped up in one another, she too likes to give you a display of her strenght, laughing in delight as both of you struggle to keep the other down

And lastly, in softer moments, she likes to be curled up on top of you like an overgrown cat, her flies buzzing calmly with your strong arms around her

While having a few muscles herself, she’s still somewhat petite compared to you, her body strong, but unable to sport too many muscles due to her biology

You find, she likes touching up your arms even more due to this, remanding head scratches with one hand while her teeth sink into the arm of the other

Daniela

When seeing you for the first time, Daniela just about throws herself at you

Never has she seen anyone with your physique, finding mostly weak maidens working at the castle whereas anyone of ample strength is often sent to work for Lord Heisenberg or Moreau

You chose the castle, instead

On your first day you encounter the woman already

Daniela’s swarm is all around you, her upper body formed just so she can trail her fingertips up your chest and to your shoulder

“Aren’t you a delicious thing”, she coos, her lips parted, her eyes set on you

She looks ready to eat you, no, not only ready, eager

And while you try to be as polite as possible and not get yourself into trouble with her, Daniela shows clear interest in you

She’s on you each day, trailing her fingers across your skin, shamelessly touching up your arms and shoulders and swarming in the air to lean her head on your back and shoulders, her expression almost dreamily

She’s convinced you love her early on; after all, why wouldn’t you, silly!

And as such, you find she’s very touchy

When you’re working, she’s often pressed up against her back, her shorter frame against you and her breasts pushed into your back causing your own nipples to harden occasionally

Your body and mind certainly responds to her

When you sit, on a break somewhere, you already know to anticipate her coming your way and boldly sitting down on top of your thighs, chatting about this and that

As she does one night, her head rested against your shoulder, her hands in her lap, her body on your lap in turn

She’s talking quietly, but you can tell she’s getting tired by the way her words make less and less sense and she trails off more often before finishing her sentences

Upon proposing she ought to get to bed, she merely whines and curls closer against you

And seeing this, you boldly wrap your strong arms fully around her and lift her

Daniela is up in an instant, giggling and holding onto you as she’s carried to her room

What true princess treatment!, she thinks, and it’s what immediately has her feelings for you double in intensity

You aren’t sure when the two of you got together and started dating, as she’s always been so very touchy and has always somewhat treated you like her girlfriend

Was it when she asked if you’d join her that day? Nestled underneath the warm covers?

Was it when you shared her bed in a different way the first time? When you had her wrapped around your fingers, her smaller, more petite body underneath you?

Or was it when she started regularly pulling you down or swarming up to you for kisses?

When you’d cup her cheeks, lean down and steal some whenever she was on her way out?

Or was it when you started regularly joining her for dinner with her family?

You don’t know, but couldn’t be happier

Being the snuggle bug she is, Daniela loves to be held in your arms

Despite her overall soft and gentle physique, Daniela is very durable and giggles each time you squeeze her hard, completely unharmed

She giggles most when you pick her up and throw her over your shoulder, usually when it’s time for the two of you ought to get some sleep and she’s still sat in the library, reading through yet another romance and fairytale

Both of these things fluster her easily too, though

While Daniela has a flirty personality and a way with words, you manage to reduce her to a blushing, gasping mess when you show off your physique or strenght

When undressing or changing, she’s on you immediately, touching and kissing in almost worshipping fashion, occasionally even biting or scratching when she can’t hold herself back

And lastly, she loves to go hunting with you

Your physique gives you an advantage few others have and allow you to hunt with her

Leaving the castle is a privilege known to little and even should you not hunt with her, you like to accompany her

Often, this means waiting by a small pond for her and ending up bathing together when she returns covered in blood

#cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #jooseboxxe #buff women #🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴

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myersgirlxxx · 2 months ago

Text

Shadows of the occult 03. Shadows between realities 01. 02

Wednesday x fem reader

summary: In the shadowy halls of Nevermore Academy, you navigate the delicate balance between reality and the Other Side. As an occultist with a powerful yet unstable connection to the elements, you learn that the Other Side does not come easily. it demands secrets and sacrifices. Caught in the gaze of the enigmatic Wednesday Addams, you must confront the darkness within before it consumes you.

Warnings: Dark themes, mental health, supernatural elements, intense relationships and mature content.

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The nightmare came again.

It always started the same—Nevermore, but twisted, wrong. The towering trees that usually framed the school were gnarled and dead, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. The walls of the school itself were crumbling, vines of blackened thorns creeping through the cracks. And there, in the heart of it all, stood the gates to the Other Side.

They pulsed with an unnatural light, like blood beating through a vein, and the air around them buzzed with the hum of something alive, waiting, watching.

You always knew what would happen next. The elements—Blood, Death, Knowledge, Energy, Fear—would start to rise from the ground, manifesting as dark figures that moved with a purpose, circling you, pulling at your very essence. They whispered in a language you couldn’t fully understand but always felt in your bones. It wasn’t just a warning—it was a promise.

And then the fog would come. Thick, rolling in from the edges of your vision, swallowing everything in its path. This was the part that always chilled you to the core, the part that felt most real. The fog wasn’t just a dream. It was the Other Side, pressing in, trying to break through.

You could hear the gates creak open, feel the pull of that other realm as it reached for you. And just before you were pulled in, just before the darkness consumed everything—you always woke up.

Gasping for breath, heart pounding, you shot up in bed, the shadows of the nightmare clinging to your skin. Your room was dark, the usual pale moonlight filtering through the curtains. But tonight, even that light seemed dim, as if something was blocking it.

For a moment, you sat there, your breath coming in ragged gasps, trying to shake off the lingering sensation of the dream. But it wasn’t just a dream, and you knew it. It was a message. The membrane between worlds was weakening, and the Other Side was trying to break through, using you as its conduit.

Your fingers brushed against your neck, where the feeling of those whispers still lingered, cold and invasive. You couldn’t afford to lose control. Not here. Not now.

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Nevermore had always been strange, but lately, it felt different. The cold air that wound through the corridors seemed heavier, charged with something unsettling. The school’s history was full of dark legends, but the feeling that clung to the walls now was new, almost suffocating. You could sense it, just as clearly as the pull of the Other Side that never left your mind.

Xavier had mentioned it the other day at lunch, his voice low as he leaned in close, as if he didn’t want the air itself to hear. "Doesn't it feel... different to you lately? Like something’s off?"

You had brushed it off with a shrug, hiding the fact that you felt it too. But you knew better. The thin veil between realities—the one that kept the Other Side at bay—was weakening. You could feel it most at night, when the fog rolled in, dense and unnatural, curling like fingers through the cracks in the windows and doors. That fog wasn’t just mist from the forest. It was from the Other Side, creeping in through the weakened membrane.

Xavier didn’t know that, of course. But his senses were sharp. He was feeling the effects, the same ones that made your chest tighten at night. Still, you couldn’t afford to let anyone know the truth. Especially not Wednesday Addams.

Sitting in your usual spot at lunch, you absently toyed with your fork, the noise of the cafeteria fading into the background. Across from you, Enid was chattering away, her bright energy a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere weighing down your thoughts. She had been going on about something—likely school gossip—but her words barely registered.

"Earth to you!" Enid laughed, waving her hand in front of your face. "You’ve been zoning out a lot lately."

You blinked, forcing a smile. “Sorry, just distracted.”

“By Wednesday?” Enid teased, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Hardly.”

Before she could press further, Xavier slid into the seat next to you, his expression serious. He didn’t even bother with a greeting. “Have you noticed the fog?”

The question was blunt, but it struck something deep within you. You kept your expression neutral, not wanting to reveal how much his observation unnerved you.

“It’s just weather, Xavier,” you said, trying to sound casual.

He shook his head, leaning in closer. “No, it’s more than that. It’s been thicker, heavier. Like it’s... watching.”

You felt the blood in your veins stir at his words. The element of Blood had been restless lately, whispering to you more often, feeding off the weakening of the barrier between worlds. You fought to keep your composure, knowing that Xavier’s curiosity could lead him too close to the truth.

Enid frowned, looking between the two of you. “Is this another one of your weird theories, Xavier?”

Xavier’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away from you. “I know what I feel. There’s something wrong with Nevermore right now.”

He wasn’t wrong, but admitting that would only draw more attention. You leaned back in your chair, arms crossing over your chest. “Maybe it’s just your powers acting up.”

Before Xavier could argue, the air around you shifted. A cold breeze swept through the cafeteria, drawing everyone’s attention. And then she appeared—Wednesday Addams. She moved through the room like a shadow, her presence commanding even without a word. Her dark gaze locked onto you, and for a brief second, you could feel the weight of her suspicion, sharper than ever.

She didn’t sit down, didn’t bother with pleasantries. “There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

You raised an eyebrow, ignoring the way both Enid and Xavier tensed beside you. “Right now?”

Wednesday’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yes.”

Sighing, you stood, making a show of stretching before offering a playful smile. “Well, lead the way then, Addams.”

As you followed her out of the cafeteria, you could feel Xavier and Enid’s eyes on your back, their unspoken questions hanging in the air. But it wasn’t them you were worried about. It was the way the fog had thickened just beyond the windows, creeping closer to the school. And it was the look in Wednesday’s eyes—the one that said she was getting closer to discovering the truth.

Once you were alone in one of the quieter corridors, Wednesday stopped abruptly, turning to face you. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes were sharp, cutting through whatever mask you might have tried to put on.

“You’ve felt it too,” she said, her voice low but certain. It wasn’t a question.

You didn’t deny it. “The fog? Yeah, it’s hard to miss.”

“There’s more to it than just fog,” she said, her tone clipped. “It’s something else. Something... wrong.”

You tried to keep your voice light, though the tension in the air was palpable. “You’re always so cheerful, Addams.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t take the bait. “I don’t trust things I can’t explain.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you kept your face neutral. She was too close to the truth. The pull of the Other Side, the elements swirling just beneath the surface, was something no one at Nevermore could know about. Not yet. Not even Wednesday.

She took a step closer, her voice dropping lower. “There’s something off about you. And I don’t trust you.”

You chuckled softly, leaning against the wall. “You say that like you trust anyone.”

Wednesday’s expression didn’t change. “I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

For a moment, you considered telling her something—anything—that might throw her off the scent. But Wednesday Addams wasn’t someone you could easily deceive. She would keep digging, keep pressing, until she uncovered whatever secret she suspected you were hiding.

But you weren’t ready to reveal the truth. Not yet.

“You’re free to keep watching me, Wednesday,” you said, your voice teasing as you leaned in slightly. “But I’ll warn you, I’m not that easy to figure out.”

Her gaze didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something—annoyance? Interest?—before she stepped back. “I’ll figure it out,” she said simply, turning to leave.

As she walked away, her figure disappearing into the shadowed corridor, you felt the elements stir within you. Blood, Knowledge, even the faintest touch of Death—they were all there, whispering, waiting.

And as much as you tried to suppress it, you knew Wednesday was right.

The fog wasn’t just a warning.

It was a sign.

The Other Side was pressing closer, and soon, the secrets you had worked so hard to keep hidden would no longer be yours alone.

#wednesday addams x you #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x you #wednesday x female reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday imagine #jenna ortega imagine

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