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reilemon · 4 months ago

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♥︎Amore Immortale♥︎ Ch. 1

Chapter Title ♥︎ Down The Rabbit Hole ♥︎ ch.2 𓂂 ch.3

♡︎ synopsis: A simple foraging trip takes an unexpected turn when you wake up in a mansion hidden deep in the forest. Now four captivating men are nursing you back to health, but their intentions—and identities—are a mystery.

♡︎ pairing: vampire!Xavier, vampire!Zayne, vampire!Rafayel, vampire!Sylus x fem!reader (separately and together)

♡︎ cw: depictions of head injury and fever

♡︎ tags: vampire au, slow burn (-ish), eventual romance, eventual smut, eventual polyamory

♡︎ word count: 4.3k

♡︎ a/n: the first chapter of the sixth and final story for kinktober 2024. I wanted to finish off kinktober with a gang bang, but I got carried away and now this is going to be a multi chapter story. I hope you'll like this one.

♡︎ Thanks to my dearest friend and beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @cafekitsune

"Poor little bunny." The blue eyed man coos as he find the source of the sudden loud noise - you. The clumsy human probably slipped and fell when the sky opened and heavy rainfall started. He carefully scoops you in his arms, with your head resting on his shoulder.

A small whine barely hits his ears and he catches the moment you briefly gain consciousness. He softly chuckles when he hears your silly question before passing out again. He ignores how a little of your blood is mixing with the rain on the fabric of his coat and starts walking away.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Your eyes flutter open, heavy and bleary. You adjust slowly to the dimness around you, the fireplace in front of your bed the only source of light. The ceiling looms high - a ceiling you don’t recognize. The walls are covered in wallpaper, worn and peeling in places. You don’t recognize that wallpaper either. The royal purple catches the dim firelight, a color you could never possibly afford.

You shift against the bed beneath you, the silk sheets cool and smooth against your skin. Over you is a heavy wool blanket, its weight like a comforting presence. A low groan escapes your lips as you rise and rest on your elbow. The room is beautiful, with expensive furniture, but there is this dormant energy to it.

You glance at the thick velvet curtains covering the window. The sliver peeking in the corner shows you a glimpse of the outside world. It’s nighttime, the downpour relentless, drops thrumming against the glass.

‘The rain!’

You sit up abruptly, a sharp pang of pain zapping through your skull, making you wince and press your fingers to your temple. Your fingers try to rub the pain away as you lean on your other arm to rest. Right, the rain. After closing up the bookstore, you've gone to the forest to search for some mushrooms and sweet chestnuts. A hearty dinner and sweet dessert would be a great start of your two week long vacation. The last visitor commented how their elbow hurt which meant a thunderstorm is coming. You politely smiled and packed up their books. You should've listened to their elbow.

Now, staring around this unfamiliar room, unease twists in your stomach.

‘Where the hell am I?’

Right on cue, the door creaks open, and a tall, raven haired man steps into the room. He pauses in the doorway as his eyes meet yours.

“Hello,” he says, his voice smooth and deep. “How are you feeling?”

You swallow, his presence suddenly making you aware of the mess you must look. Embarrassment prickles your skin, and you rub your temple, trying to compose yourself, only to see his brows knit with concern.

“Um, I’ve been better,” you manage, forcing a chuckle. The grogginess in your voice doesn’t help the embarrassment. You smooth a hand over the blanket, feeling a little exposed. “Why am I here?”

“My friend found you,” he explains, “Out in the forest, just before the storm. You most likely slipped on the mud and hit your head.”

He nods towards your forehead, then reaches for a small, gold hand-mirror resting on the bedside table. The antique metal glints softly as he holds it, and you take it with a hesitant hand. As you lift it to inspect your reflection, you catch a small bruise just above your brow, the skin tender and slightly swollen. Considering the circumstances, you think, it could’ve been much worse.

The man, whose name you still haven’t learned, clears his throat. “I was the one who changed you into dry clothes,” he shifts in his seat, averting his gaze briefly before meeting your eyes again. “For that, I apologize. I wouldn’t have done it if there were any other choice.”

You shake your head with a small, reassuring smile. “It’s fine, really. If you hadn’t, I’d probably be shivering with pneumonia right now.”

His expression softens with relief. “I’m glad you understand. I would still like to listen to your lungs, Would you be comfortable with me examining you?” then he adds, “I’ve been in the medical field for quite some time, I assure you.”

Something about his demeanor, calm and controlled, makes him look trustworthy. And considering how thoroughly he must have tended to you—removing every speck of mud, leaving you dry and warm in a comfortable bed—it’s clear he has your wellbeing in mind. You nod. “Of course.”

He gives a curt nod and shifts closer to the bed. “You don’t need to do much, just sit as comfortably as you can,” he murmurs, the calm, low timbre of his voice steadies you. The shirt you wear—a loose button-up clearly meant for a man—hangs loosely over your shoulders, open at the collar. Suddenly, you feel the pulse of your own heartbeat, wondering if he might hear it already. His hand moves lightly over the fabric, as he leans closer, and then he places his ear gently against your chest, just above your heart.

The moment feels both entirely professional and so intimate. You tell yourself that this is completely normal, this is the usual routine. But he is not your doctor, and you can’t shun the butterflies you feel from having a handsome stranger resting his head on your chest. His hair, thick and dark, grazes your collarbone as he listens, his breath warm against your skin. Your heartbeat, which you’re certain must be thudding wildly beneath his ear, betrays you, a deep flush creeping up your cheeks as you try to steady yourself.

“Breathe in deeply for me,” his voice a soft murmur, his cheek brushing against you.

You comply, feeling his presence with every rise and fall of your chest. When he shifts, his head moves closer to your collarbone, the tickling brush of his hair sending a wave of goosebumps along your chest. You’re conscious of every small movement, every slight intake of his breath.

He shifts back a little, his hand grazing your shoulder as he adjusts to press his ear against your back. “One more time,” his tone is still composed, though you’re unsure if you catch a hint of restraint.

You breathe in, slowly, deeply, feeling the warmth of his palm on your shoulder. He holds still for a moment longer, listening intently. Then, he slowly pulls back, settling into his seat with a neutral expression.

“You do have a small fever,” he calmly states. “Although, there are no signs of anything serious.” He offers a faint, almost apologetic smile. “You should lie back down and rest.”

Your cheeks are warm, and not just from the fever. You nod and do as you’re told, sinking under the comforting weight of the blanket. The man briefly explains that you were unconscious for around two hours, and that your clothes are being washed.

You nod again, processing the details. “Thank you… that’s all very considerate of you.”

He offers you a faint smile. “It’s the least we could do.”

He rises from his seat and steps toward the door, his hand resting on the brass knob. “I need to check on my friend in the kitchen. There may be a fire to manage. And I’ll bring you some herbal tea.”

You chuckle. “Well, thank you, Dr…?”

A flicker of amusement lights his eyes as he opens the door, pausing for a moment. “Just call me Zayne.”

You tell him your name in return, and with that, he’s gone with the soft click of the door.

After Zayne leaves, the room slips into an almost eerie quiet. You prop yourself up against the plush pillows, trying to get comfortable despite the persistent ache in your muscles and the dull throb in your head. The room feels larger now that you’re alone. Every detail catches your attention—the thick velvet drapes, the intricate patterns on the worn wallpaper, the faint smell of stale air. You’d get up to investigate the room or try to figure out more about where exactly you are, but your body protests with every small movement. So you have to settle for gazing around the space instead, picking out details you hadn’t noticed before. The furniture is old but well-kept, the kind that belongs in a property far grander than any home you’ve ever been in. This place—it’s not like the humble cottages back in your village. No, this is different. Larger. More isolated. Somewhere far from the familiar streets you walk every day.

A shiver crawls down your spine at the thought of how far away you could be from your home. You’ve never ventured beyond the edge of the forest. You’ve heard stories about the other side. It was always whispered between older folk who’d lived through enough strange events to keep their superstitions alive. Vampires, werewolves, creatures of the night. They’d mention them, always in passing, as though acknowledging them would draw something out of the shadows.

At first, you’d dismissed it. What else could it be but old folklore? Some scary tales to spice up their lives, stories passed down from generation to generation. Something for them to talk about when the nights grew long and dark, to keep the children from misbehaving. Those creatures don’t exist. You were certain of that.

Or, at least, you had been.

You replay the events in your mind, trying to make sense of it all. Zayne said that his friend found you unconscious in the woods. They’d brought you here, tended to your injuries, and kept you warm. His behavior had been nothing but kind, gentlemanly even.

But then, why does your skin prickle as you think of him?

What if he is one of them? The pale complexion, the unnerving quiet, the way he’d moved with such elegant grace. And those eyes... there was something about the way he looked at you. Your pulse quickens. You try to reason with yourself—if this man, Zayne, were a vampire, wouldn’t he have done something by now? You were unconscious and vulnerable. He could have easily taken advantage of that moment, but he hadn’t. He’d taken care of you.

But what if... what if this is all part of some darker plan? You swallow hard, trying to silence the growing paranoia. What if they want to keep you here? What if, right now, they’re simply playing a long game, to coax you to be their little blood doll—

‘Stop.’ You force yourself to take a deep breath, trying to calm your spiraling thoughts. There’s no proof, no reason to believe that Zayne—or anyone else—is anything other than a human.

You glance toward the window. Your body feels like lead at the moment, but tomorrow you will probably be well enough to leave. The storm can’t go on forever.

A sharp knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts.

"Come in," you manage, your voice wavering just a little.

Zayne steps in, balancing a tray of a delicate ceramic tea set. The gentle clink of porcelain against porcelain brings comfort to your senses. Behind him, another figure slips into the room—a man with handsome, soft features. His tousled, blonde-gray hair looks like it would be soft to the touch. And his eyes, though shadowed by the dim lighting, have a dreamy quality, like someone lost in thought.

A faint smell of something burnt drifts into the room, cutting through the soothing scent of the herbal tea. You can’t help but frown a bit at the scent, but neither man acknowledges it. Zayne places the tray on the small bedside table, the teapot steaming. The air feels warmer now, not just from the tea.

The second man steps forward, offering you a polite nod, “Hello.” he says, his voice silky and mellow. “I’m Xavier, the one who found you.”

His soft smile makes your heart stir. It takes you a beat to find your voice to introduce yourself.

“Thank you… for, well, rescuing me,” you say with a shy smile.

Xavier gives a gentle shake of his head, his smile widening. “Why were you so deep into the forest with a storm on the way?” he asks, his tone feels almost like teasing.

You chuckle nervously as you feel the faintest flush of embarrassment creep up your cheeks. “I – Well, I wanted to gather some things for dinner,” you admit. “It’s my first real break from work, and I may have gotten a little too excited.”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment, as if he’s trying to fully take you in.

“You’re lucky he was done fishing at the time.” Zayne adds as he hands you a cup of tea. His fingers brush lightly against yours as you accept it, deepening the flush on your cheeks. You are lucky to be here. Even though you’re sitting in a room with two men who are strangers, they still have cared for you with such tenderness. You could feel their warmth in every gesture, in every word. It’s hard to hold onto fear when faced with such care. Even now, you can feel yourself relaxing, the tension in your shoulders unwinding.

You take a sip of tea slowly, trying to mask the strange tide of emotions flooding through you. You had been so afraid, so convinced of something dark lurking beneath the surface. But now, in this quiet moment, with the warm tea in your hands and their watchful eyes on you, you feel strangely safe.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The clock on the mantel ticks softly, the brass hands showing it’s almost 1 a.m. The fire burns low, casting a warm, flickering glow over the room. Your eyelids feel heavy now, the weight of exhaustion settling deep in your bones. You turn onto your side, pulling the duvet tighter, forming a cocoon around you. The warmth, the softness—everything lulls you closer to sleep. But your mind drifts, recalling the conversation with Xavier after he’d brought you dinner.

He’d placed the bed tray gently over your lap, making sure everything was within reach. Before he turned to leave, the sound of your voice stopped him.

“Did you manage to catch anything?” you asked, your voice quiet but curious.

Xavier had looked confused for a moment, then his face lit up with a soft smile. “I did. Fried a few, but Zayne didn’t let me serve it to you.” He chuckled. “Said he didn’t want you choking on a bone.”

You laughed too, the sound easing the leftover tension you’ve been holding. That explained the faint burnt smell that had lingered earlier, and why Zayne had to rush to the kitchen.

“And don’t worry,” he added. “I brought back your basket too. Everything’s intact.”

You were about to thank him, but then an image flashed in your mind—a fleeting memory of him, his hair wet and clinging to his face. The moment felt so vivid, so real, that it stopped you mid-thought. You stared at him, squinting slightly.

“What’s wrong?” His voice softened with concern, his brows furrowing.

You shook your head quickly, flustered for being caught staring. “Nothing… it’s just—did I say something to you? When you found me?”

Xavier hesitated, his lips twitching as though trying to suppress a grin. He glanced to the side, his hand coming up to cover his mouth, but his eyes gave him away. “Oh no…” you said, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks. “Was it something embarrassing?”

“No,” he replied, though the gleam in his eye said otherwise. “It was cute.” He paused, then looked back to you, “You opened your eyes for a moment, and asked me, ‘Are you my prince?’ Then you passed out again.”

Your heart practically leapt into your throat, your face instantly flushing. “Oh, that’s definitely embarrassing,” you groaned.

Xavier laughed then, his voice soothing. “Don’t worry, I’ve been called worse.”

And just as you wished for the shadows to come alive and swallow you, Zayne entered, saving you from further humiliation. He brought you a bowl filled with ice and a cloth. You thanked both of them, adding that you planned to leave in the morning.

Their faces changed for a heartbeat when you said that, though you didn’t miss it. It wasn’t worry exactly, more like hesitation, as though they weren’t entirely convinced you would be gone by morning. Or perhaps… that they didn’t want you to be.

That thought lingered now, swirling in your mind as your body sank deeper into the mattress. Their kindness, their calmness—they made you feel safe, soothed the fears that had gripped you earlier. Yet, there was something unspoken between the three of you.

A sigh escapes your lips. You can feel sleep creeping over you, warm and heavy, pulling you under. The memory of Xavier’s reassuring smile and Zayne’s attentive gaze lingers in your mind, their faces blurring at the edges as your thoughts dissolve into a haze.

They are both so kind. And so handsome.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

A low whine escapes your lips before you even open your eyes. The ache in your body is heavy and relentless. Every muscle protests as you shift, but you force your eyelids open. The room is warm, the fire crackling faintly in the hearth. Someone must’ve light it while you were still asleep.

‘I said I’d leave in the morning.’ You glance over at the clock—it’s 11 a.m. That’s not really morning, but it is time for you to leave. If only you felt better.

You wince as you slowly, painfully, push yourself out of bed. Your legs feel weak, your body sluggish, like you’re moving through water. Every movement sends a wave of soreness through your bones, but you grit your teeth and push through. You don’t want to linger here any longer than you have to.

Grumbling under your breath, you stagger toward the door, your feet barely shuffling across the hardwood. You’re still dressed in the warm clothes Zayne gave you, though they feel a little too big now. You’ll just ask for your things and be on your way. You’ll return their clothes once you fully recover.

Goosebumps spread all over your skin as you open the door, the chill air of the hallway shocking your senses. It is completely quiet, only the soft creak of the floorboards under your slippers breaking the silence. More doors sit along the hallway, likely bedrooms as well. You glance at them briefly, but you step towards the staircase ahead. The polished mahogany wood gleams faintly, and you internally groan at the thought of making it down the steps in your current state.

You’re about to take your first step when—

“Hey!”

The voice comes out of nowhere, stopping you in your tracks. You freeze, your heart jumping in your chest as footsteps echo from above, growing louder as they approach. Turning, you find yourself face-to-face with a man descending the stairs. He’s tall and moves with an almost feline grace. His hair is gorgeous - messy curls of muted violet and his eyes, an unusual blend of blue and pink, are sharp and full of curiosity. His plump lips are pulled in an amused smirk.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is teasing, though there’s a touch of disapproval in it. His arms cross over his chest, as he takes in your disheveled state.

You blink at him, still trying to shake off the fog in your head. “I - I need to leave.”

He narrows his eyes, looking you up and down. “You should stay in bed,” he says firmly, stepping closer. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”

He is right, you do feel like you’re about to collapse, yet you can’t help but notice how striking he is. His hair, his eyes, even the way he moves—it’s all captivating. But you force those thoughts away, shaking your head slightly. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

He uncrosses his arms, offering a small smile that’s both charming and a little smug. “Oh, right. I’m Rafayel.” His voice dips slightly, your name falling from his lips. “I’m staying here too. Zayne told me what happened.”

You blink again, taken aback by how easily he says your name. You hadn’t expected to meet another guest in the house. “Rafayel,” you repeat.

He nods, brushing a hand through his unruly curls. “Yeah. I took care of your clothes. They’re drying in my room,” he adds. “It’s still raining, though, so they might take a while.”

At his words, you pause and listen. Sure enough, you hear the soft, steady patter of rain against the windows. You’d been so focused on leaving that you hadn’t even thought to check the weather. ‘Of course it’s still raining.’ You sigh inwardly, frustration and weariness settling in your chest.

“What about Zayne and Xavier?” you ask, hoping to at least get some help from them.

Rafayel smirks, shaking his head. “They’re sleeping.”

You frown. “Sleeping?”

“Yup,” he says with a shrug, almost dismissive.

Your mind races. You know why you are up so late, but why are they still sleeping. Your mind is about to wander to that corner again, but you stop yourself. ‘They must’ve been exhausted from taking care of an injured stranger.’

Still, the unease lingers. Rafayel’s gaze flickers over you, his eyes softening slightly as if sensing your discomfort. “Look,” he says, his voice gentler now, “you really don’t look like you’re in any shape to leave. Why don’t you rest a bit longer?”

You hesitate, your body aching with every breath, the fatigue weighing you down with each second. He’s right. You’re not ready to leave yet.

Rafayel’s eyes hold yours for a moment. “You’re safe here,” he adds softly.

Just as Rafayel is about to steer you back toward the bedroom, another voice cuts through the air, deep and teasing, with a velvety edge that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Is that the lost kitten?”

You look down the stairs, and there he is. The man who appears next makes the very air around you seem heavier. He’s taller than the other men, with strikingly sharp features. His white hair is tousled yet elegant, and his eyes - a deep, mesmerizing wine-red, lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach flutter.

Before you can even react, the man is standing right in front of you, his height towering over you. You can’t help but gawk, unable to stop yourself from tracing every detail of his sharp jawline, the way his lower lip looks so plump and soft.

Rafayel’s voice, sharp with annoyance, snaps you out of the trance. “You know her name, Sylus.”

But Sylus just smirks. He takes your hand, his fingers long and strong, enveloping yours completely. Your breath catches in your throat as the warmth from his touch sends heat rippling through your body. His hand is so much larger than yours, making you feel almost fragile in his grip.

“My name is Sylus. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Your name drips from his lips, and he bends forward and presses a tender kiss to the back of your hand. The sensation of his cool lips against your flushed skin sends tingles across your arm. You can’t help but blush under the attention.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rafayel roll his eyes, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. “You’re shameless.” he mutters, though there’s a playful lilt to his voice.

Sylus simply laughs, a low, rich sound, before releasing your hand. With a light touch on your back, Rafayel guides you back toward the bedroom, his hand steady and firm against you. Sylus trails behind, watching with an amused expression.

When you’re back in the bedroom, Rafayel’s hands gently but insistently push you down by the shoulders, guiding you to sit back on the edge of the bed. “Seriously,” you protest, exasperated, “I feel better already! I don’t want to be a burden.”

Sylus leans lazily against the doorframe, his arms crossed, a smirk dancing on his lips as he watches the scene unfold. "You look much too cute to be any kind of burden, kitten," he says, his eyes fixed on you.

Before you can say anything else, Rafayel presses you back into the blankets, his firm but gentle insistence impossible to resist. As you sink back into the bed, Sylus pushes off from the door and approaches with an almost predatory grace. The teasing glint in his eyes fades slightly as he crouches beside the bed, his expression softening as his hand reaches out to press against your forehead. His touch is cool—no wonder, since the rest of the mansion is freezing—and the sensation sends a refreshing chill through your heated skin.

“You still have a fever.” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly against your temple.

Rafayel shakes his head, giving you a disapproving look. “See? You’re in no condition to leave. I’ll prepare you tea and breakfast.”

Your protests die on your lips as Sylus pulls away, his touch lingering on your skin. Both men turn around and leave before you can say anything else.

The door shuts softly behind them, leaving you alone once again. You sink deeper into the bed, your body heavy with exhaustion. Your thoughts swirl, still caught in the lingering effect of their presence. You turn on your side, facing the window, staring at the thick velvet curtains that block out the view of raindrops racing down the tall windows. As much as you want to leave, as much as you should leave, you know your body isn’t ready. The fever might not be severe, but it’s enough to weaken you. Slipping away now—especially into the woods with no clear path—feels like a death wish.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips. For now, the best option is to rest and regain your strength. You can’t deny how safe their presence makes you feel, even if you don’t fully understand why. Something about them pulls you in, something more than just their looks.

You close your eyes, letting the exhaustion pull you under.

#love and deepspace #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #zayne love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #xavier smut #zayne smut #sylus smut #rafayel smut #love and deepspace smut #lads smut #sylus x reader #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader

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chiacanwritesometimes · 1 month ago

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the three times you tried, and the one time it worked. (part three)

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

ship: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 2.6k

authors note: i’m posting this one a little later than i thought i would, i spent more time with it to ensure the most satisfying conclusion :) i delve into themes of pregnancy, weight gain, and miscarriage, so please do not interact if these themes trigger, bother, or make you uncomfortable.

===========

there’s no word for a parent who lost their child. you’ve heard that before. but, there’s no word for a parent who lost their child before they were born.

he stopped touching you the way you liked. he didn’t stop loving you, but he grew sorrowful of the way you grew stiff at his touch. it wasn’t personal, you knew it wasn’t his fault. it wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. you grew tired of hearing that, and the way peoples voice whined when they heard the news, and the way they tilt their heads, knit their eyebrows together and go “ohhh.”.

you became resentful. you were angry at the world, angry at yourself, angry at anyone who reminded you that your body was a failure, that you were a failure.

it’s safe to say that you hadn’t fucked in a while. the few moments you let him kiss you, and things got a bit heavy, you sighed and tapped his wrist twice, a signal you both have to show that it was time to stop. like clockwork, he smiled, kissed your forehead, and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

he started smoking again. you tried to protest, but you knew deep down you envied him. how dare he flaunt the fact he can damage his body with cigarettes, cigars, alcohol, and them have no effect on his body. you knew that wasn’t by choice, but you still felt jealous. he tried not to do it so often in front of you. there was a positive to this, though. you liked the smoky kisses he gave you when he was smoking, the tobacco taste of his tongue making you feel elegant.

most nights were spent awake. or, at least, him awake. you always fell asleep first, kissing him goodnight, and turning your back to him. he always looked at you, and just sighed.

he couldn’t sleep. it’s been years since he couldn’t sleep that way. he tried everything, from tea to subliminals. the white noise of the music couldn’t take him away from the fact that he felt grief, in all that which he was. and to make matters worse, his metal arm was the only part of him that didn’t seem to be affected. many days were spent without it, but the instant he put it on, he felt a surge of confidence. he felt disgusted with himself, reeling from the fact that the one thing he hates most about himself was the only thing in tip top shape.

you often wondered if your actions would lead him to get another lover. you scolded yourself for thinking that about him, as that wasn’t a fair accusation. you know that he held immense love for you, but you couldn’t help but feel cynical. maybe the only reason he stayed with you was some sort of ‘thank you’ for having stayed by his side so long after the effects of hydra. quickly, you pushed those feelings aside. you felt guilty to have had thought of him so poorly.

four months passed since maine. nine months had passed since the first time you were pregnant. the due date would’ve been any time soon, and every day was a reminder. the clothes in boxes, the pastel wallpaper rolled up. strangely, you felt somewhat normal. i mean, as normal as you can get in a situation like this.

you knew, deep down, it wouldn’t always be like this. you knew that eventually, you wouldn’t shy away from his touch, and you’d let him love you the way you wanted him to.

you decided to visit the shrine. you hadn’t done that in a while, but this time was different. you woke him up before the sun rose, and asked him to go with you.

of course he said yes. these past few weeks, you hardly asked him for anything. he was desperate, he was clinging to the ghost of your existence. your home was no longer blessed with your laughter, your dancing, your singing, your life. he wanted you, needed you, missed you. these disappointments had been the bane of his existence. he tenderly held your hand as you led him to your secret hideaway, the shrine. he kept quiet as you explained the meaning of the flowers around it, and the shape of the headstone. he admired your attention to detail, and for the first time in months, he saw, within you, a weight lifted. your eyes were tired, yes, but not resentful. your touch on his hand was no longer obligated, but appreciated. how obvious it seemed, sharing grief. how does that one quote go? a sorrow shared is a sorrow halved. it seemed like you had spent hours together outside, and it wasn’t long before the rays of the sun warmed you both to the point of removing a couple layers of clothing. you wore a simple nightgown, the silk cloth having a sheer effect from the sun. his muscles looked toned from the shadows cast from the sun, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself go with your feelings. you placed a hand on his shoulder, his human shoulder. his eyes immediately zipped to you. he looked, nervous.

“james?”

his hand met yours, and held it. he then placed it on his cheek, inhaling deeply. his eyes fluttered shut.

you were kinder with yourself. you were kinder with him. you were kinder with the world. most nights were spent in his embrace, his soft kisses peppering your skin. you no longer stiffened at his touch, no longer dreaded his kisses. lazy mornings were filled with conversations about nothing, and everything. your value wasn’t determined by wether or not your womb could be fruitful. you threw away all pregnancy tests, hoping that would be a first step towards acceptance.

it was july, three weeks after the shrine, five months after maine, and ten ish months after you were first pregnant. hot summer nights were spent in a little gazebo in your backyard, the burnt smell of sweet marshmallows filling your nostrils. you laughed as he looked defeated at his small lump of charred sweetness. he rolled his eyes at you and threw a graham cracker at you, which made you laugh even more.

eventually, the fire died down, and you two were left stargazing. rather, you were left stargazing, and his gaze was on you. you didn’t know the name of the constellations, so you made them up.

“that one is a sword wielding cat.” you giggled, half asleep.

“yeah?”

“yeah. and next to it-“ you whispered. “next to it is his damsel in distress.” you pointed. you noticed his eyes linger.

“are you alright?”

“you are so fucking beautiful.” he said, almost in disbelief.

“…okay.” you smiled, and wiped a strand of hair away from his face. ��is that all?”

“of course not.” he leaned on his elbows. he kissed your forehead, your cheek, your lips. “you’re wonderful, intelligent-“ a kiss on the bridge of your nose. “charming, gorgeous-“ a kiss on your chin. “and you’re…” he stopped.

“i’m?” you asked, holding his face.

“you’re mine.”

you smiled softly. his metal hand rested on your thigh, making you suck your breath from the cool touch. he waited for you to tap his wrist twice, to see if he was walking on eggshells. he paused, one beat, two beats, three. nothing. his eyes looked into yours, and you smiled.

it goes without saying that there wasn’t much sleep to be had that night.

now, you didn’t know you were pregnant. that is, you assumed, but brushed it off for fear of it happening again. you googled symptoms, but convinced yourself it was just hormones. what an easy scapegoat.

“why are you such a bitch?”

“hormones.”

it wasn’t until you looked a little fuller around your stomach that you bit the bullet and took a test.

two lines.

fuck those two lines.

you tried your best to hide it, you really did. you didn’t want to hide it from him, but you felt that another disappointment would break him completely. you could take one more, though. besides, this heartbreak would just be yours to bear.

you managed to keep it under cover for four months, until he found you out. you were taking a shower, and didn’t hear him walk in. you covered yourself in soapy suds, and hummed. he stayed there, watching you. he felt perverted, but he didn’t watch you lustfully. you looked different, fuller. he frowned, maybe it was the glass warping your shape. did you hide the fact you gained weight from him? he didn’t mind, why would you do that? he noticed you wore bigger shirts, and you stopped letting him hold your stomach when he spooned you. he was going to ask about it, but bit his tongue. maybe it wasn’t wise to ask his wife about her weight after two miscarriages. he may not know much about modern customs, but he knew that was definitely a bad idea. you kept humming, and turned off the water. you turned to see him, and your face flushed.

how. the. fuck. were you going to explain your bump to him?

“could you hand me a towel, dear?” you asked, trying your damn best to hide your nervousness. he nodded, and did as you asked. he slid the glass of the shower, and took you in your beautiful, bare form. the water droplets on your breasts made him blush, and he looked away out of respect.

“you’ve seen me naked before.” you teased.

“i know.” he mumbled.

“baby?”

“hm?”

“look at me.”

he did, and boy did he look at you. his eyes examined every feature on your face, every freckle on your cheek, every speck on your eyes, every pore on your skin.

“no, honey. look at me.”

he was confused. what on earth did you think he was doing? he tilted his head, and started to protest, when you grabbed his hand and placed it on your stomach. you didn’t say anything, just mouthed, “i’m sorry.” he just kept his hand on your stomach, his breath hitched.

“how long?” he asked softly.

“three, almost four months.”

“you should’ve told me.” he said, his voice breaking.

“i didn’t want to disappoint us again, and-“

“doll…” that shut you up. how you hated when he called you that, he could get away with anything with that name.

“bucky.”

“you could never disappoint me.”

“well, i-“

“no. you could never disappoint me. ever.” he tucked your wet hair behind your ear and tilted your chin lightly forward.

“you mean so fucking much to me, baby or no baby. i love you, regardless of the fact that-“ his voice broke. “regardless if…” you knew what he was trying to say, but did he? he cleared his throat.

“regardless if we have to dance this dance time and time again. i want to dance it with you. your sorrows are my sorrows, your joys are my joys. your love is my life and your life is my love.”

80 percent of miscarriages happen in the twelve weeks. you were on your fourteenth week.

the rest of the pregnancy felt like the other shoe was about to drop. you often woke up, scared you would be surrounded by blood, but…nothing. every time you went to the bathroom, you tensed up. nothing. you felt slight pain. nothing. you felt like you were going to be right, but how you hoped you were wrong. you begged, to any god who could hear you, that you were wrong.

he soon took you to medical appointments, to catch up on the ones you couldn’t attend when you were hiding. you went to ultrasounds, physical appointments. you even got to pack your hospital bag. you wouldn’t dare enter the nursery, you felt that it was bad luck.

you both knew the gender of the baby, but you didn’t host a gender reveal party. you wanted this to be your little secret, your little joy, your little loss. he agreed, because the only thing he ever wanted to be was with you.

when you were six months pregnant, he prepared a little dinner for you. when you were seven months pregnant, he surprised you with jewelry. every passing day was filled with suspense, as if the baby was going to come out and say, “sike! y’all really thought i was real?” you giggled at the image of that.

eight months rolled around. conversations about going to the hospital weren’t just a thing of the imagination, they felt real; they were real. one night, you laid in bed, ridden with pain. your back hurt, your feet hurt, your boobs hurt, your nails hurt. no matter what you did, it felt like everything was either sore or swollen. stretch marks adorned your thighs, stomach, arms and breasts. he never failed to let you know you were beautiful. god, and he truly believed it. your plump figure was that of a goddess, and he didn’t mind your breasts growing in size.

as a side project, without your knowledge, he started working on the nursery. your nesting behavior was set in the living room, the kitchen, the bedroom, but never the nursery. you hadn’t dared to set foot in that drab and desolate room, so he took it under his wing. when you were asleep, and really really asleep, like tired pregnant woman asleep, he left your bed, and got to work. he adorned the windows, the walls, the ceiling. stars decorated the ceiling, little constellations that you made up. he painted the stars from the night you first met. he built the crib, a beautiful, dark oak crib. he was always one to fiddle with things, as he found that it helped him stay grounded. he built the gazebo you frequented your days in, and a rocking chair. you didn’t complain, you liked the intoxicating smell of wood, sweat, and whiskey. what a man.

it hit you when you were nine months pregnant, that well, you were nine months pregnant. you didn’t think you’d make it this far, and now that you have, you felt at peace. if things fell into place correctly, you would have successfully carried a child to term. your husbands days were spent taking care of you.

you remember the day so vividly. you were wearing an oversized grey shirt that read, “practice safe lunch, use a condiment!” with a ketchup bottle drawing on it. how ironic, given your state. you stationed yourself in the living room, to be able to leave as quickly and efficiently as possible. somehow, you didn’t feel nervous. as your water broke, and you began dilating, you felt strong. maybe not physically, but mentally.

in the hospital bed, you groaned as you dilated. labor can last up to 12 hours for the first birth, so you had started taking frequent naps. or, attempted to. try taking a nap with your body being expanded by some watermelon sized child.

soon, it started. sweat beads overwhelmed your face as you began to push. blinding pain erupted from your skin, and you threw your head back. he, obviously, was there, holding your hand; supporting your weight. long felt the time that you spent pushing. you sobbed into his shirt, your white knuckles beginning to become sore, and your veins popping out so noticeably.

as soon as you were done, you were handed the baby, your baby. your baby. your baby with him, the baby you carried for nine months, the baby that stayed.

seven pounds, four ounces. this little baby boy, so tiny in your hands. he was a little one, but boy did he make it up in spirit. you named him after your husband, and his middle name from an old book you read when you were young. james oliver barnes, your darling rainbow baby.

three times you tried, three times you wept, but it was all worth it in the end.

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otterspaceastrology · 5 months ago

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Pick a Card Reading + Phone Wallpaper

What is your Future Spouse’s Aura Like?

Disclaimers

Readings are for entertainment purposes, so please take with a grain of salt and enjoy!

When I talk about masculine and feminine, I am talking about energy so that can apply to any gender or identity.

When picking a pile, use your intuition, close your eyes, relax and think of the question and then open your eyes and let it be drawn naturally to a pile, repeat as many times as you need to know it’s your pile. Of course you can do it any way you want that’s just my preferred method!

Now on to the Readings!

Pile 1

INDIGO/GREEN

The Hierophant, The Fool, 7 of Wands

Mercury, Gemini, 11th House

Planner, Idealist, Reliable

For Pile Ones Future Spouses Aura I get someone who really values friendship and communication but also needs a great deal of solitude to feel at peace, their social battery might deplete pretty quickly so they may love staying home and spend good one on one quality time with you more then anything else!

Pile 2

RED/YELLOW

King of Pentacles, Page of Swords, The Star

North node, Scorpio, 3rd House

Popular, Practical, Innovative

Pile Two your Future Spouse is very assertive and powerful! They have lots of fiery passion and are very focused on success, their goals are really important to them and they will stop at nothing to achieve them which could also translate to them being quite determined during your courting phase!

Pile 3

YELLOW/PINK

10 of Pentacles, 4 of Wands, 3 of Pentacles, The High Priestess

Aquarius, Sun , 6th House

Experimental, Stoic, Kind

Pile Three your Future Spouse is so unbelievably sweet and selfless! They are the type to have constant optimism and a desire to help others, I see a lot of volunteer work! They are hardworking with the biggest most genuine smile! Because they are such a selfless person, I see that they gain so much abundance just like going through life with this mindset, and you will also reap the benefits!

Thank you so much for reading my pick a card I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did making it!🥰✨

All Wallpapers made by me, quotes found on Pinterest

#astro community #divination #future spouse #love reading #pac tarot #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot #tarot reading #astrology #aura

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gachagon · 1 year ago

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This is big spoilers for the commercials in the Awayfrompryingeyes website on the Welcome Home site.

I've been saying since DAY 1 that Eddie Dear was going to be one of the most important Neighbors to pay attention too, aside from Julie, Frank, and Sally. And this update just practically confirmed it, I had this long running suspicion about Eddie Dear, and it's that I think he was one of the first besides Wally to gain sentience in a way.

I know most people believe Wally was the one who "woke" up first essentially and was able to see the reality of what they were actually living in, but I think Eddie Dear was the first of Wally's friends to actually wake up. My reasoning for this is that Eddie's "backstory" on the neighborhood page is so vague and strange compared to the other neighbors. He's the ONLY one who doesn't remember where he came from, and we see routinely throughout these updates that he's kind of the odd man out a lot of the times.

And that's not totally unusual for a kids show, but there's something about Eddie that just points to him being a lot different from the other puppets. Like that he's also the only one who's able to actually tell what time it is, as he's the only neighbor with a real watch.

And he really REALLY wants to fit so badly into the world of Welcome Home that he sticks to his job as a mailman as much as he can. But even looking at his interactions with the others, you can tell he's not quite playing the role he's been set as perfectly.

I don't think Home (the house) had anything to do with Eddie waking up, I actually think it was a combination of Eddie just not being able to mesh well with the part he has to play and the other characters breaking his routine without asking him. The moment that really shakes him is when he can hear the Narrator say "And Eddie Dear was happy." and i think that's because he really doesn't know if he is happy or not. Home is still strange because its obviously the one thing that Eddie fixates on when he first gains sentience, but I don't think its what shook him out of just being a puppet only.

Eddie is also so obviously playing along with the idea of Homewarming and doesn't actually know much about it. But he's not letting the others know this, as when he's alone is when he tells himself to just "focus on the festivities" instead of the other confusing parts of Homewarming. When he's with Poppy decorating the tree (with turkey...? and gravy...?) He just makes it seem like what they're doing is a no brainer, and something everyone does during the holidays.

But when he starts spiraling at the party, all of the things he helped decorate look strange and confusing to him. He can't focus on anything, staring into the wallpaper makes it seem worse, and the fabric of his own reality is literally being ripped at the seams (there's just an excessive amount of video tearing which I equate to Eddie's sense of sanity at the moment and just how present he really is)

It's here that Eddie finally realizes just what they're doing, and what everything really truly looks like. Eddie even tries to focus solely on Frank's face to sort of ground him, but the goddamned credits for the episode itself is playing over Frank's face and obscuring his vision. The scene itself wants to move on but Eddie is still able to see what the audience normally wouldn't be able too, and that split from his reality to ours is what makes him freak out in the end.

#welcome home update #welcome home #happy homewarming #welcome home theory #eddie dear #welcome home spoilers

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betelgeuses-wife · 5 months ago

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Beetlejuice x fem reader [slight hurt/then comfort fix]

Reader is an adult with a job, living in the beetlejuice house. Fine for 16+ but bear in mind the POV of character for this fic.

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Notes: written for fem reader. Fem pet names.

Type: oneshot

Genre: hurt/comfort

Length: short/medium? Idk word count

Warnings: not sure if any are needed. Some suggestive comments on Bee's part.

Barely proofread.

Do not steal my work or copy and post anywhere else.

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The clock was still chiming as you walked in the door to the house, the bird popped in and out of the clock but the sequence had ended a moment later as you ditched your shoes and bag by the door for a later, more tired you that would remember it right before bed. The house was depressingly quiet, not like you had expected any different. It was just you after all. Well...you and one annoying ghost.

The aged wallpaper seemed greyer than usual and it only provoked your want to rip it off and put up a new pattern. You loved the house and how it was originally decorated but it was in need of some T.L.C. which was something you had the money for but not the time. Your frame slouched as you shuffled over to the couch and sat down on the edge, you knew why it was quiet.

After an argument yesterday about Bee always being around and in your space, especially when you had friends round or the odd date, you had selfishly made him disappear. You had been so frustrated that you said his name three times just to get him off your back but now you felt guilty. It was something that had plagued your mind all day. Nagging at you. You took a breath and rubbed your face, sighing before you spoke quietly to yourself.

"I'm such an ass. He was an ass first. But...still."

You didn't know if you should summon him, to do so would only to be for your own gain. To get some form of comfort. Because you had no one else. Not right now. You would be selfish to. You knew that. So you sat there alone, flicking the TV on though you barely watched it. You couldn't help but think about what Bee had told you over the last couple of years. How he married and it didn't work out. How he helped the couple who lived here before and was let down. And he had helped you. Albeit for a deal. But you had kept up your end of the deal until yesterday. And even still, without asking or without expecting anything he had helped you out with much more than you deserved. He kept an eye on you. Made sure you were taken care of when you got home even though he would act like he wasn't doing it for you and it was just out of boredom.

And you had sent him away. All because, what? You didn't like that he called out the new friends you made who said things they shouldn't have? Because the dates you brought home did something that made you uncomfortable? Did you really get annoyed with him because he looked out for you and you were too stubborn to realise it?

How could you summon him for your own comfort after that? You couldn't. It would be an asshole move. You knew that. So you sat in your own pathetic guilt for the evening. You heated up a meal you had made and frozen earlier in the week, it was a lousy meal without your usual dining experience. The reruns of shows didn't seem as funny as they usually did either. You sighed heavily and tried to power through your dinner but suddenly you didn't feel hungry anymore. The day was was feeling heavier by the minute and you contemplated just having a shower and going to bed.

You forced yourself from your spot on the couch and threw the rest of your meal away before placing your dirty dishes in the sink. You'd do that later. Tomorrow. You didn't really have the energy to care in that moment.

You convinced yourself that maybe getting an early night would be best. Then you'd have a longer weekend if you didn't sleep in. You were lying to yourself that you'd get a good night's sleep. You put your shoes away on the rack and lazily placed your bags up against the wall. It was good enough to not be a trip hazard later at least. It felt like you were dragging your body up the stairs but your mind was elsewhere, the pesky thoughts of how lonely it must be for Bee. He was probably up in the tiny model graveyard. That's where he had been before.

Sure, Bee had said some nasty things too yesterday. A slur of names. Theoretical accusations too. But you had still sent him back to where ever he had been before. You could've just gone to bed or the bathroom. Out of respect he kept out of those places unless, for whatever reason, you called for him while there. You had other options and you still picked to say his name three times. What a dick move.

Those thoughts swam in circles in your mind as you wandered into your bedroom, your dazed mind barely able to figure out your next move. You showered and pulled on your worn shirt that had transitioned from outerwear to comfy bed top which was paired with a pair of shorts from a set but you had lost the shirt to it years ago. A strange combination that was quite normal for you now.

You climbed into bed, the sheets were fresh as you had fallen asleep on the couch yesterday, a strangely nice surprise that you welcomed. Freshly clean, comfy clothes, you should've felt content and ready for sleep and yet you stared out the window numbly. You laid there, waiting for sleep set in, waiting for your eyes to grow tired but it seemed your mind was far too determined for that. You sighed and closed your eyes for a moment.

"Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice." And you waited.

And waited some more.

But there was just silence.

You opened your eyes and still the room was empty. Until you looked over at the door frame where the pale man in a striped suit was leaning. His eyes on his hands as he picked at his nails before crossing him arms. He looked less than pleased.

"Well, thank ya for lettin' me out, toots. Nice t'know ya need me." His words were anything but sweet this time. The sarcastic poison dripped from his words. The tone just made you sink back into bed without a retort unlike you usually would.

"I'm sorry I sent you away. I shouldn't of. You can have free reign of the house. I'm getting an early night anyway..." Your voice was quiet. Defeated. Bee seemed to notice and instead of his usual mocking manner, he moved around to the empty side of the bed and sat down.

"Doll, ya really think bein' put in time out for a day is gunna do much t'me? I'm a ghost! A day's nothin'." You watched as he exclaimed and moved to get comfortable on the bed; sat up against the pillows and the headboard, his legs crossed at the ankles.

"I don't know...I promised I wouldn't. I made a deal and I broke it. Like the people here did before...I thought you'd hate me." You hated the whole 'woe is me' confession but it still needed to be said.

You heard a snort and glanced up to see Bee looking out the window before shifting his eyes onto you.

"Hate ya? C'mon. Ya think I could hate ya for that? Annoyed? Sure. Ready t'make the rest of ya life a livin' hell? Definitely. But it'd take more than that t'make me hate you, sweetcheeks"

You sighed and shifted under the blankets, you felt a little relieved but still also felt bad for what you did.

"Do you think..." Your words trailed off.

"Do I think what, Toots?"

"Do you think you could stay here tonight? Just until I fall asleep anyway..."

"Oh? You're invitin' me to sleep with ya?" You watched as his annoying smirk grew.

"Bee. Fine. Get out. I'll sleep by myself." You stated as you turned away from the man. Your back now facing him.

"Hey- hey- hey-! I'll behave. I promise! I'll just lay 'ere. Like a statue! See!" You heard his voice desperately pipe up.

"Put some pyjamas on then. No shoes on the bed." You mumbled as you rolled back over onto your other side, watching as Beetlejuice got up and change into striped pyjamas with a cloud of smoke. He did a little show of jazz hands for added affect.

"Ta-da-! How'd I look? Sleek? Sexy? Seducing?" His words drawn out while he posed for each word.

"Just get in the damn bed, Bee. Before I change my mind." Rolling your eyes at the theatrics.

You watched as he scrambled to get under the covers and shifted closer to you. And closer still until you stopped him.

"Don't push your luck, Juice." Your words earned a groan. You closed your eyes and tried to settle, laying in silence for a while. You knew he was just pretending to sleep so you'd feel comfortable. You peeked up and scooted closer until you were nearly against his chest. Perhaps this was too close. You tried to back away but you found Bee's arm over your waist.

"Don't try t'run away now, Sweets." His voice was low and gravelly but he still spoke in a softer voice than usual.

You huffed a little but didn't move away again. You didn't speak for a moment. You just laid silently, eyes on Bee's chest though you were lost in thought.

"Work got the better of ya today"

"I never said that."

"Ya don't have'ta"

"Great. Glad to know you can tell I hate my job."

"I can tell ya tired, Dollface. Its'all I meant"

His words were strangely comforting. He was trying at least.

"Stop tryna be s'tough and lemme help ya"

He was right. Usually after a bad day you'd cling to him and watch some stupid show. But now you were in bed. A place he wasn't ever allowed before. This felt...different.

You sighed and snuggled up to him like you usually would on the couch, you felt his arms tighten around you before one moved up to the back of your head, his fingers gently running through your hair.

"I'll be 'ere, Doll. I ain't got anywhere else t'go anyway. Or maybe we could get things heated up if ya cold-"

"Beetlejuice."

"Alright- just layin' here. Like a statue."

You soon started to drift off to his familiar touch. His arm holding you close and his fingers massaging your scalp, it lulled you into a deep sleep. It had you questioning whether you should invite Bee to bed more often.

#tim burton universe #beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice imagine #beetlejuice film #beetlejuice fanfic #beetlejuice #beetlejuice hurt/comfort #beetlebabes #beetlejuice au #beetlejuice beetlejuice #beetlejuice fandom #beetlejuice movie #beetlejuice 1988 #beetlejuice posting #beetlejuice the movie

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