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samcats · 4 months ago

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Mike and Wills friendship vs everybody elses

I’m sick of people acting like Mike and Wills friendship is platonic when 1. One literally had a crush on the other and 2. None of the other friendships are treated the same way Mike and Will are throughout the seasons so let’s go over them!

(This is gonna be a long one!)

Season 2 & 1

First off, in season 1, the show focuses on how Will going missing effects Mike the most out of all his friends. Mike is the only one to notice Will isn’t at school the day he goes missing. Mike is the one to come up with the idea to go out looking for him. Mike only keeps El around when he realizes she can help find Will. Mike is the only one that’s focused on after they find Will’s “dead” body. Mike is the only one out of the party members that holds proper hope that Will may still be alive.

In season 2 he was the only one that went outside of the arcade to check where Will had gone. He was the only one that noticed Will was being extra quiet that day at school. He panicked when he couldn’t find Will, “Will what’s wrong? I couldn’t find you, are you hurt? I’m gonna get you home, okay? I’m gonna get you home”, He purposely volunteered himself to go check on Will and then proceed to stay with Will in the hospital for days afterwards. He was the only one out of his friends that stayed with Will in the shed when he was possessed.

Edit: also wanted to point out how in the crazy together scene when Will told Mike about the mindflayer he said “just please don’t tell the others okay? They wouldn’t understand.” Implying that Will trusts Mike the most and that he thinks only Mike would understand what he’s going through.

& Will only yelled Mike’s name when he was having an episode before the crazy together scene happened. He didn’t yell Lucas’s name or Dustin’s or even Jonathan or his mums, his first instinct was to call Mike for help. Both of these things furthermore prove my point that their friendship is different from the others and they’re much closer

Again, the show focuses on Will and Mikes friendship the most this season. Not their friendships with Lucas or Dustin or anybody else, just with eachother. None of the other friendships in the show have done anything like this. Hell none of the friendships in the show ever GET as much attention and focus as Mike and Will do throughout the seasons. They are treated so differently. Still don’t believe me?

Season 3

One of the most iconic Byler scenes is the rain fight scene. Now I'm not really gonna talk about how obviously romantic this scene is by itself. But how it contrasts Will and Lucas's apology scene. The contrast between these two scenes is such a huge piece of evidence to me and I'm surpsired I don't see it around more

(Thank you to this video for saving me while I was trying to find the scenes https://youtu.be/u-rLx10eROw?si=vdGoQNtnXU103iZt )

Here’s the two scenes mixed together for reference:

Byler’s fight

In the Byler scene, it has buildup. Will getting mad and then bursting out of the room, Mike follows him while Lucas stays behind. Once they get outside, the lighting is dark and blue. The music playing in the background is somber. The way both characters talk and act makes you know that this is a serious scene. The aftermaths of Will going to his house and crying as he destroys castle Byers. And Mike and Lucas biking out to find him in the rain. You could make the argument that Lucas being there makes this scene bad proof, but it focusing more on Mike then Lucas tells you otherwise.

Lucas’s apology

It’s super rushed, you barely even notice it. It’s super random and isn’t focused on at all, it just starts with Lucas saying he’s sorry and Will saying it doesn’t matter and it’s pretty much over. The lighting is bright, our minds are more focused on trying to get ready to trap Billy then the actual conversation they’re having. Neither Lucas or Will react to it afterwards. You could literally skip this scene and you wouldn’t miss anything.

So why have such a useless scene in the middle of nowhere?

The Byler rain fight is such an important scene to show how Mike and Wills friendship has gone downhill, to show the change between children and teenagers, and also to hint at Will's sexuality. The Lucas and Will scene is just so useless and random and could've been left out, but the way it contrasts the Byler fight scene makes me think that its only purpose was to show the difference between Mike and Wills friendship together vs anybody else's, and nothing else. Because why else have it there? If Mike and Wills scene wasn't meant to have a deeper meaning, then why make it as dramatic as it was? Why build it up the way they did?? If it was platonic the scene would've been more similar to the Lucas scene and/or toned down a LOT.

It's undeniable that the Duffers where trying to show us something with these two scenes

Season 4

You can tell there’s clearly tension between Mike and Will when they reunite in the airport, which is very odd. Mike and Will are best friends, and again, Mike wouldn’t act this way with any of his other friends. He didn’t even act this way with El

Mike then later admits that he was being an asshole to Will, and we get that beautiful “friends. Best friends.” Scene.

Now, I want you to rewatch that scene and pretend that Will is Max or Lucas or Dustin or Erica or Steve or Jonathan or anybody Mike is friends with. But you can’t. It just feels too wrong and too romantic, doesn’t it? It seems weird as well, because we know full well Mike wouldn’t say something like that to any of his other friends. He’s never had a conversation like that with any of his other friends, either. This is because they’re just that. Friends. So why should it be any different for Will and Mike?

This is the same for any scene with Mike and Will. Season 4 or not

And if you seriously cannot notice the difference between Mike and Wills friendship vs anybody else’s, you need to do a rewatch

Anyways, there’s probably more stuff I could add but I’m gonna leave it at that for now. If you have anything to add leave it in the comments! Thank you for reading

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whitedarkmoonflower · 10 months ago

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Masterlist

The Last Kingdom - Sihtric

Most recently posted:

Where the Heart Returns - angst, guilt, fear of losing someone dear to you, selfdoubt, SMUT 18+ after Rumcova setting. Sihtric plagued by guilt of leaving his family unprotected hurries to Winchester to make sure they are safe

Dance with me - fluff, SMUT 18+, dancing 😅 It's Eostre – time to celebrate, to feast and honour the returning light after the long winter. And you just want to feel happy and dance...with a certain shy Danish warrior

Forever mine - mention of blood, injury, fluff, SMUT 18+ A young Dane awakens something long buried in you, but the truth threatens to shatter your stolen moments. Can love survive built on lies?

Fictober 2024: Broken Bonds, Feeling alive, Good boy, Lord of Dunholm

Top 5 most read:

Indelicate proposal - SMUT 18+ an unexpected proposal leads to more unexpected actions as you discover the surprisingly soft core of the young warrior seeking your attention

Little Seer SMUT 18+ (Sihtric x reader x Finan) – as if being Skade's sister wasn't challenge enough, reader is faced with an impossible choice between two warriors, competing over her heart

Saved Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 SMUT 18+ – Reader is Uhtred’s sister and a skilled healer. She travels with her brother’s men and after the unsuccessful attempt on Uhtred’s life gets curious about the young prisoner, the sole Dane from the group of assailants that is left alive

Feeling you Part 1 SMUT, 18+, Part 2, Part 3 SMUT, 18+ – You thought you had left your days as an alehouse whore behind you until a handsome, young Dane crossed your path.

Traitor SMUT 18+ – you thought you had been prepared for everything as you were sent to spy on Uhtred, until the moment you met a certain Danish warrior

Sihtric x female!reader (canon)

Lost – Fic request: After Rumcowa is attacked Sihtric searches for his family not knowing what has happened to them.

Prisoner Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 SMUT 18+ – Sihtric and Finan are sent to spy on Bebbanburg, but Sihtric gets distracted by an attractive widow and lands up caught and secured by the guards with no chances of escape.

Kidnapped Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 – Fic request: Sihtric's wife is being taken by Hestan and she gives birth to twins while she is with them. Then Hestan sees Uthred and threatens that he has Sihtrics family, but of course, Sihtric gets his family back.

Princess Part 1 SMUT 18+ – Fic request: could you write something about Sihtric rescuing a princess (Alfred's daughter) and they both falling in love for each other despite the princess is about to marry somebody else.

Good wife Part 2 SMUT 18+ – Five years later Princess returns to Winchester just to discover Sihtric hasn't kept his promise.

Freedom SMUT 18+ – Reader is a childhood friend of Sihtric, whom he liberates from the slavery after the fall of Dunholm. The life has not been easy on her since Sihtric left. It's a heavy and dark fic, mentioning mental illness, violence and attempted suicide.

Braiding hair – Fic request: Can I request a sihtric x reader fic where she doesn’t know how to braid, so sihtric teaches her. and when she’s good enough he lets her braid his hair for battle saying it would bring him luck

Grief – Fic request: can i ask for husband! Sihtric comforting his wife!reader after losing her best friend. and she obviously suffers from grief. she just wants to be held and told it’s okay to grieve and there’s no shame in hiding it

Sickness Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 – Fic request: Season four Sihtric, when the group are passing through the fields during that plague and the river. Reader is the lover of Sihtric and is sick. (..) The reader and Sihtric have what they think are their last moments before she is kidnapped along with Stiorra, Aelswith and Aethelstan...

The Witch Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 – Fic request: I was hoping you could write a one shot of Sihtric x Fem reader. Where the fem is like a healer very similar to Iseult in season 1. But this time reader is patching up our boy Sihtric. The reader is extremally worried for Sihtric.

Bebbanburg – Fic request: (..) Sihtric ffc that takes place when they are trying to get Bebbanburg back and they take him and Finan and chain them. While they are chained, Sihtric notices a girl also being chained in a corner and after the battle he rescues her

You are good SMUT, 18+ – You don't trust Sihtric, but when you start seeing him the way he really is, you just want to be a part of his world

The promise – for his own good you wrung a promise from Sihtric that left your both hearts bleeding - lot of angst and very little comfort

Caged bird SMUT 18+ – It had been only a week since the handsome Dane, strength and danger emanating from his every pore, had evaded your secluded life, turning it upside down in the blink of an eye.

Yield to me SMUT 18+ – Fic request: you and Sihtric are sent to Bloodhair's camp to spy, and apparently there is more to discover than the secret plans of the Danes

Dream - Fic request inspired by the The Apparition by Sleep Token – Sihtric plagued by dreams of a woman from his past - angst, longing, some lowkey SMUT 18+ nothing explicit, use of she/her pronouns, happy ending 😉

Destiny is all - SMUT 18+ reading a book turns into a breathtaking adventure

Sihtric x female!reader (modern)

Reunited Part 1, Part 2 (ongoing) – Fic request: I'd like to request a modern!Sihtric x reader where they are reunited after a long time apart. // It was supposed to be a short two week trip that turned into five long years apart, just because your best friend couldn't keep her mouth shut.

Strangers on the train SMUT 18+ – Fic request: I can imagine Sihtric and reader meeting by chance on a train. It could get fluffy and even hot and smutty.

Library romance – Fic request: May I request a modern Sihtric fic (nothing serious just some fluff) where Sihtric and reader are best friends and madly in love with each other, but afraid of confessing their feelings.

Date Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 – Fic request: I would like to request a full on fluffy modern!Sihtric fic, where he's desperately in love with reader and he takes her on their first date, and does everything he can to impress her

Until the death us parts (Assassin!Sihtric x Templar!reader) SMUT 18+ – Spying on Sihtric is one thing, but when the reader receives the order to eliminate the target, things get complicated.

Two broken pieces (sub!Sihtric x dom!reader) SMUT 18+ – plot? never heard of it, pure smut with some minor good old pole-dancer/whore meeting a successful businessman background story

Sihtric x OC

Captive (Sihtric x OC) Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 – Sihtric is sent to Heasten’s camp to spy and discovers the Danes have a captive – young Saxon girl he just can’t leave to her fate. My very first fan fic, please bear with me 😅

The Curse (Sihtric x Skade) SMUT 18+, angst – as Uhtred's path crosses with the mighty seer Skade, there is only one way to break the pattern of violence and only one man capable of doing it as the power of love appears stronger than the power of hate

The Wheel of Time - Masema

Masema x female!reader

Supper SMUT 18+ – Serving supper to a prophet. There is no plot, just pure SMUT 18+

Power SMUT 18+ – all your life you've been on the run, hiding the power within you, until you meet a warrior brave enough to claim you despite the trouble you are bringing

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weclassygirl · 15 days ago

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scheme

⋆˙⟡ sauron x fem!elf!reader (witch) ⟡˙⋆

summary: reader meets her shadow in the flesh as two riders enter Eregion

warnings: some blood (fake wound)

word count: 2,8k

author’s note: he's finally here! might take a moment before i update (i need to rewatch season 2 for him), but the next chapter.... ugh i can't wait to post it. enjoy! (previous part -> deception)

He doesn’t, for weeks he doesn’t reach out, does not even give you a sign he’s alive. You wish you could rip him to shreds once you see him again even if his very essence would slip through your fingers.

Celebrimbor notices you’ve become distracted, your work becomes sloppy, where once was attention to details and strive for perfection now lay curses under your breath when another piece of work is ruined.

He comes to your side and places a hand on your shoulder. “Rest.”

You turn to face him, the hammer still in your hand as well as the chisel. “I have to finish—“ he places your tools down, you don’t protest.

“You’ve been working yourself to the bone and your mind is not where it’s supposed to be.” you sigh, he’s right even he does not know the true reason. You take off your apron and put it on the stool before leaving the forge.

You wander to the gardens and around Eregion trying to clear your head. You try to see past the trees, behind the horizon, maybe he’s out there. Wishful thinking.

You’ve heard of the attacks on the Southlands, men fighting against orcs and the destruction it placed over the land. They call it under a different name now. Out of the corner of your eye you see horses, a rider clad in armor and a man. A messenger, probably. Eregion always had news to answer and these days it seemed more than ever.

You come back to the forge after a while despite Celebrimbor’s refusal. You needed to occupy your mind, the blade you’ve been working on was nearly finished. You’ve been mixing metals to try and combine them into a nearly ethereal glow, mithril was far out of your reach. You’ve helped with the construction of the tower, not like the might of the Dwarves but your work has been appreciated.

Elrond came before spring to help Celebrimbor and he secured it when Prince Durin sent his for forces to Eregion. The secrecy has been languid, you knew what Celebrimbor was hiding, he knew of mithril, knew that the very light of the Elves was fading, yours included. You felt it, more than the others, you considered Sauron’s offer to bound yourself to him completely but called yourself a fool for such thought. This is not the time you spoke of, you know it, see it as behind a mist, the future of Eregion and all Middle-Earth. Glimpses that always end with fire and blood.

A guard comes into the forge and calls out your name. Your head whips around as you look at him.

“Your assistance is needed in the healer's quarters.” he informs you.

“What of the Warden?” you ask, surely the master of healers would accommodate to the unexpected guests who arrived through the gate, should one of them be injured.

“Busy with other matters.”

You sigh but put away your tools once again. “Very well.” you say and follow the guard.

You didn’t mind healing others but sometimes the injured or ill irritated you to the point your started to regret you were acknowledged as a healer in the first place. People came to you with the smallest cut or barely a cold, a proper herb and warm water would do most of the work.

When you arrive in the healer’s quarters your feet feel stuck to the ground at the sight of the person in front of you.

“Galadriel?” you couldn’t believe it. “I thought you left for Valinor.”

She’s clad in armor, her face dirty and sweaty from the journey. If she stayed in Middle-Earth you hoped she only heard the good things you’ve done while in Eregion, you do not wish to have her as an enemy.

“Fate decided I stay here.” she responds. She looks you up and down, the scars visible from your days under Morgoth, however no black fingertips. The darkness hasn’t consumed you or so she thinks. “I’ve heard of your progress here.”

You feign flattery. “Yes, I owe it to Lord Celebrimbor.”

“It’s impressive how much you swayed from darkness, not many can.”

You chuckle slightly, oh if she only knew.

“Yes, well, my punishment here proved to bear fruits.” you respond and you remind yourself why you’re here. You look her over. “Are you injured? I’ve been summoned as a healer rather than a smith.”

“My friend is, if you could tend to him.” she starts walking down the hall and when you enter the room you see him, his face so familiar to his but you don’t want to make false assumptions.

She tells him who he is and you turn to her with a question on your face. “King of the Southlands? How is it your path crossed with his?” you come closer to the man on the table and lift up the bloodied piece of clothing, he grunts as the dried blood tears away with the fabric. When you look to Galadriel her eyes tell you everything you need to know. Her task in Middle-Earth was not yet complete.

You inspect the wound and Halbrand watches you carefully, you dare not to speak. Is it him? After all this time? Should you voice your thoughts? The questions plague your mind.

“I’ll leave you to it.” she says as Elrond comes closer, you’ve conversed with him while he remained in Eregion and helped Celebrimbor in securing the work force to assemble the Great Forge. He’s been travelling constantly between Eregion and Khazad-dûm, the High King deceived him of his purpose here at first but the alliance between Dwarves and Elves grew.

When they are out of your sight you look to Halbrand. An interesting name he has chosen, so many meanings, every single one fitting his image. Admirable, shadowed, exalted. You nearly laugh under your breath.

“Is my state that amusing to you?” he asks and the corner of your lips rises.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” you’re still unsure if you can speak freely in front of him, he may just be a face that he saw once, that felt suitable for him to wear when appearing in your visions. You tear the fabric that laid on his wound, you discard it and grab a cloth with warm water. “What has happened?”

“Enemy lance, six days ago.” he responds and grunts as the cloth makes contact with the wound. You wonder if he truly sustained the hit or it was another illusion. You were certain the red blood was.

“Is it truly like they say? Turned to dust and ashes?” you ask, curious as ever.

“The Southlands?” you nod. He watches as you tend to him, grabbing a bit of Elvish herbs, athelas and mixing them in a mortar. The paste thickens with each turn and you put it aside to grab other herbs needed. After a while, he gives you the answer. “Yes.”

You grab an herb and bring it up to his mouth. “Chew on it.” you tell him.

“What is it?” he eyes it warily before taking it.

“It will replace the taste of iron from the blood in your mouth.” you don’t answer his question directly but he listens. As you smear the paste you mixed up he smiles under his nose, the sight doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Most people would be in pain and yet you react as if it’s a common cold.”

You’ve seen people wither in anguish from a single touch of Elvish medicine before it took its desired effect, it’s strange for a common man to not react to it. Perhaps he wants to show that he’s stronger than many. You go to the table to gather a clean dressing when you hear his response, so silent but makes you freeze in your steps. “Now I’m the first to give myself to you at my deathbed.”

Was it him or your persistent shadow speaking? Could you distinguish the two now? The voice so familiar but not muffled like many times you’ve heard it, this was real, raw.

You turn to him but his sight is already set upon you. Any evidence of pain gone from his face as you step closer to the bed with a bandage in your hands. You search his face for any sign of falsehood and he awaits your reaction. You smack the piece of cloth you were holding onto him when he grabs your wrist and pulls you closer. You lock eyes but yours slip down to his lips, he notices and smirks. It feels as if he’s drawing down to him, if he did you could just…

“Violence goes against what you should stand for.” he taunts and lets you go. You glare at him, you told yourself you would rip him to shreds the next time you see him.

“I should let you bleed out.” you retort, he looks down and gathers some of the red blood from the wound.

“So it’s a convincing illusion, I take it?” he smears it on his fingers and it turns pitch black. You huff in annoyance.

“You’re insufferable.” you clean your hands in the basin, leftover herbs floating in the water as you dry your hands. You hear him shift on the bed.

“Are you not glad?” he begins to get up and stalk closer to you.

When you turn he’s met with your brows raised and laugh on your lips. “Glad? I believed you to be dead.” you deadpan.

“Did you mourn?” he asks.

“Would you care?” you bite back.

It takes a moment before he responds, his voice soft. “Yes.” he stands right in front of you and takes your hand. The illusion you cast is perfect, leaving not a speck of dark that would have peeked from it. He inspects it, so much power that could come from them. “Don’t hide it.”

Your anger starts to disappear as he holds your hand. You never thought that you would see the day where he’s in the same room as you, in the flesh and not a black mass. “Defeats the point if I don’t.” you look up at him with question. “Why Eregion?”

“You’ve gained his trust, I intend to use it.”

“For what?”

He smiles. “Everlasting peace over all Middle Earth.”

You pull away from his touch.

“Under your rule.”

His answer comes quickly with no hesitation as if his mind is already set upon it.

“And yours.” you’re confused. He bound you to him, not completely but alas, you did not expect that answer. He looks to the entrance, listening if anyone comes by before looking down at you. ”Our paths are already intertwined, tangled whether you wish to cut them. I do not intend to let your talents go to waste after I’m done.”

His words compel you, a malicious intent behind them and yet you fall for them like the stars from the sky.

“A power over flesh?”

He nods. “I owe it to you, this idea, this scheme.”

You don’t have the time to respond when you hear someone walking down the halls, as the master of the healers enters, you step away from Halbrand or rather Sauron to you.

“Your Majesty, you should be resting.” he says as he sees him standing next to you, the blood on his fingers red.

“I needed to test my strength.” he lies swiftly and goes back to the bed. The Warden nods at you and tells you that he will take over. You bid Halbrand goodbye and glance at him one last time before leaving.

Not a day passes when you hear him talking with Celebrimbor. The workshop was quiet in the morning and you needed to gather your notes. The High King ordered every Elf to be moved to Lindon, one last gathering before your time passes.

You did not expect for Sauron to take actions so quickly but it does not surprise you.

“Might there not be some alloy to amplify the qualities of your ore?” he asks Celebrimbor as he hands him the piece of mithril.

“Well, that is… an intriguing suggestion.” you remark as you enter. You nod in greeting towards both of them and walk closer. Halbrand takes his eyes off of you.

“Call it… a gift.” Celebrimbor inspect the mithril in his hand before you stride to your work bench. Notes scattered, splashes of ink spilled on the table.

“You should be packing for Lindon.” he tells you and you gather whatever you can, some of the ink making it’s way onto your hand.

“I needed to grab my notes, shame to let them go to waste.”

Would any Men take them after you have passed to the Undying Lands? Would they appreciate them?

“You’re leaving?” Halbrand asks you, surprise in his voice.

You look between the two men. “High King’s orders, as much as I would like to stay. I have no choice but to obey.”

It pains you to say it, a witch following orders of a King, but the ruse must hold. Celebrimbor’s mind seems to be at work, Halbrand’s words resonating with him. It is then he remembers that you may not know who he is.

“This is Lord Halbrand, King of—”

“The Southlands, yes we’ve met.” you interrupt. “Galadriel sent for a healer at hand and I was the only one available at the time.” you look to Halbrand. “You should be resting.”

“No use if I’m bedridden when your people need aid.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You wish to help?”

“If you allow me.” he directs these words to Celebrimbor and he smiles as he looks between you two.

“I believe we can work something out.”

The three of you part your ways when he caughts up with you. The halls are empty, occasional guard posted but nothing more, the vines flow down the vast architecture surrounding you.

“I never realized you’ve made quite a name for yourself here.” he expressed as he started walking next to you. You nod occasionally at the guards as you pass through, some other smiths you work with.

When out of their sight you speak. “It was demanded.” you stop in your tracks, both of you now standing on the parapet connecting two buildings. “Would you let an Elven Witch roam around your kingdom so freely? Her darkness poisoning the very air you’re breathing?” your voice low should anyone listen to your conversation. He studies you closely, eyes softening in his low-man form.

“You, yes. Another I might consider throwing over the walls.” he remembers why he joined you. He has an occasion to properly talk to you, no visions to hold him back now. He goes back to his first statement. “People talk.”

You look down at the few Elves roaming in the courtyard, Fëanor’s statue illuminated by the soft light of the morning. “And what have they said of me?”

He leans against the balustrade. “An Elf once cast out by her people, called Morgoth’s servant despite doing it to survive and when fled chained once again by her own kind. Fulfilled her punishment here in Eregion and started to move away from darkness within her, became a trusted Elven smith and a healer where her work only blossomed.” he looks down to the ring on your finger, worn out by time however you never corrected it, the broken stone still held. He says it like reading a passage from a book, you don’t turn to look at him. Your voice barely above a whisper.

“They trust you so easily.” you’re almost jealous and he knows.

“They have not come to know me like they did you.” he reassures you. Once they do they will cower in fear.

You turn to face him, you sense the scheme within him. “You plan to use mithril. For what kind of weapon?”

“Not a weapon, it shouldn’t be too obvious. Something far more precious.” he looks down at you and smiles. “You’ll see, I believe it will be to your liking.”

“You think that Celebrimbor will let you into his workshop, a low-man?”

“Why wouldn’t he? I suppose I left a good impression.”

“Ah, of course.” you shake your head and smile under your nose.

The silence weighs between the two of you, some guards pass you by and the morning sky shines mercilessly. You start walking away from the parapet and into the streets, the small crowds surround you as you go by the merchant stalls, tall towers and small courts.

“It’s refreshing. Seeing you here, feeling your presence, it’s… stronger.”

“Few hundred years had made their mark.” you respond and stop by a fountain, the water hums in your ears.

“So did I.”

You look up at him and try not to roll your eyes. You admit he gave you tremendous help but the years you’ve spent in Eregion fell upon your shoulders. You knew you had to endure your stay a little longer, for his sake and yours.

“Thank you.” you find yourself whispering. He knows you well enough to give you a small nod in exchange.

“Do not think that I will release you of the practice over your craft.”

You smile, this is what you needed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

next part -> bewitched

#seriously need to rewatch season 2 for what's to come #in that time.... hope you like it #sauron x reader #annatar x reader #halbrand x reader #rings of power #lord of the rings

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149panda149 · 1 year ago

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TGCF: My theory on the inspiration behind the 4 calamities

In some of the oldest Chinese myths and legends, there are 4 guardian gods of the four cardinal directions - the green dragon, white tiger, crimson bird, and black tortoise, and each have a colour, season and element associated with them. I'm not sure if anyone has made this connection before, but I'm writing it down if anyone is interested. There are spoilers about the calamities' identity.

First, the 青龙（qing long, green dragon) --> Qi Rong, Night-touring Green lantern.

The qinglong's territory is the East, and its colour is qing, which means green, or turqoise. Its element is wood, and its season is spring. Closely associated with royalty and the imperial family.

Now, for the similarities with our favourite green goblin. "qing" is literally the colour in Qi Rong's title, and his colour scheme. Qi Rong has a habit of hanging corpses from trees, which may be his relation to the element "wood". He does not have any obvious coleration with the season "spring"- perhaps he was born in spring. He is royalty, part of the imperial family as cousin to the crown prince.

Second, the 白虎（bai hu, white tiger)--> Bai Wuxiang, White Clothed Disaster upon the Earth.

The baihu's territory is the West, its colour is white, element is gold/metal, and its season is summer. It is the king of all beasts, associated with disease and war, often used as a guardian symbol by soldiers.

On the other hand, Jun Wu's title, alias and colour scheme are all white, and has plenty of weapons that may be his link to the element of "gold/metal". I don't think he has anything to do with summer, but feel free to correct me if I'm wrong. He is king of the gods, a god of war, and the one to spread the human face disease.

As east and west are considered a pair, the guardian spirits are meant to reflect each other. In Chinese poems and such, symmetry is important, and both Qi Rong and Jun Wu were princes, one becoming revered by the highest of gods, covered with masks and false identities, one becoming the object of disgust by the lowest of ghosts, using his real name and face. There is a certain poetic symmetry to it, don't you think?

To the second pair. The 朱雀 (zhu que, crimson bird)----> Hua Cheng, Crimson Rain Sought Flower

The zhuque rules over the south, its colour is red, element is fire, and its season is summer. It is the king of all birds, more powerful than even the phoenix, immortal and undying. As such, in many places it is also considered a symbol of life.

Now, to the most popular ghost king: Hua Cheng. The english translation of his title is "crimson", and his colour scheme is indubitably red and autumn-y shades. He also re-re-met Xie Lian in autumn ( I think - I mean, the leaves were all red in the donghua??), and has died again and again to return like the zhuque. He is the king of all ghosts, with a great determination to live(sorta? are ghosts alive??) for his love.

Lastly, my personal favourite, the 玄武 (xuan wu, black tortoise)---->He Xuan, Black Water Sinking Ships

The xuanwu, also called a tortoise, is actually the only spirit to be a combination of 2 animals, a snake and a tortoise. It rules over the north. Its colour is black( sometimes depicted as dark blue), element is water, and its season is winter. In earlier legends, he is considered a guide and guardian to the netherworld, of death and of long life.

Thus, to our poor indebted water ghost. He Xuan's name is "xuan", the same! goddamn! character! as the spirit! His title and colour scheme are all to do with the colour black, and he is a water ghost because he died because of the Water Master. He has been marked by death, yet survived and vowed revenge. This, and the fact that his house is called the Nether Water Manor, is probably his relation to the netherworld of the xuanwu.

To the pair of south and north. Both Hua Cheng and He Xuan have suffered and suffered again, yet Hua Cheng chooses to linger on due to hope and love, and He Xuan due to revenge and hatred. But hatred and love are two sides of the same coin. If Hua Cheng hadn't experienced the hatred from his childhood, he wouldn't have thrown himself from the city wall and met Xie Lian. If He Xuan hadn't loved his family, so much, he wouldn't have broken that hard after their deaths to lose himself to hatred and empty vengence.

Aaaaaand that concludes this essay. Keep in mind that this is a theory, and probably even isn't true, but if anybody wants a more detailed description of the guardian spirits, or to know more about the similarities between the mythical creatures of ancient china and tgcf, I will be more than happy to make a part 2.

Thanks for reading!!

#he xuan #tgcf #bai wuxiang #hua cheng #qi rong #four great calamities #heaven official's blessing #tian guan ci fu #black water submerging boats #black water sinking ships #night-touring green lantern #crimson rain sought flower #white-clothed calamity #shan hai jing #meta #tgcf meta

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merthosus · 2 months ago

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Hi! It's my first time requesting something so please excuse me if my explanation is bad. (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠)

Okay so uh I have this convo with a Five Hargreeves C.ai bot it went on like uh Five and reader are arguing with each other and Five said 'I hope you died in the apocalypse' which end up reader got upset and taking it seriously.

This take place around season 2 before The Handler sent Five to kill board members(?), I forgot what they called, so Y/N went to the Commission and snatch a brief case but got caught and uh got killed.

You can decide what power Y/N have but it should have a connection to teleportation since I was thinking that it's how Y/N managed to sneak into the Commission, again my apology if it's hard to understand (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠) and uh if you want I can send my convo with the bot to you if it's going to help (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

The argument

Summary: After Five telling you horrible things about what he thinks about you, you make his dreams true Involuntarily you get hurt by the handler and five finally sees the truth worth of you being by his side, alive...

Thank you for your request, loved the idea behind that!! Loving the angsty trope :)

"I wish you had died in the apocalypse"

The argument started like most of them did—stress, frustration, and Five’s single-minded obsession with the mission. But tonight, something felt different. The air between you and Five was heavy, thicker than usual, and the words you were hurling at each other were sharper, more hurtful.

“I’m tired of this, Five! You treat me like I’m just another one of your problems to solve!” you shouted, hands trembling with anger. "You don't care about anyone except yourself!" Five stood rigid, his jaw clenched as he glared at you. “You think I have time to care about your feelings right now? We’re trying to stop the goddamn apocalypse!"

"And what if I didn’t want to help you anymore?" you fired back, heart pounding. "What if I just disappeared?" "Maybe that would be better,” he snapped, his voice cold and unforgiving. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to keep cleaning up after you! You’ve been nothing but a distraction!"

The words hit you like a slap, but you stood your ground, refusing to let him see the pain behind your eyes. “Is that what you really think?” Five’s expression darkened. “I wish you had died in the apocalypse.” The room went silent. His words echoed between you like a death sentence. Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt the sting of tears welling up, but you swallowed them down. “Fine,” you whispered, voice trembling. “If that’s how you feel, then I’m done.”

Before he could say another word, you disappeared—teleporting away, leaving him alone in the echo of his own cruelty.

Anger still roiled in your chest as you phased into the Commission, your teleportation power allowing you to slip past their security systems without a trace. You weren’t thinking straight, but you had a plan—a reckless one. If Five didn’t care, then what was stopping you from taking matters into your own hands?

You crept through the labyrinth of the Commission’s corridors, your goal clear: grab a briefcase and get out. Maybe you could fix things on your own, or maybe… you didn’t know anymore. All you wanted was to escape the pain, to make Five regret pushing you away. But just as your hand touched a briefcase, a voice cut through the air. “Well, well, well,” the Handler’s cold, saccharine voice echoed through the room. “Isn’t this a surprise?”

You froze. Before you could react, Commission agents swarmed you, guns raised and aimed at your head. Your powers flickered, but something was wrong—you couldn’t teleport out. The Handler stepped forward, a wicked smile on her face. “Teleporters like you really should know better than to try this here.” You tried to fight back, but it was no use. A single gunshot rang out, and pain exploded through your chest.

You collapsed, the briefcase slipping from your grasp as darkness closed in.

As your vision blurred and the icy grip of pain tightened around your chest, you heard the Handler’s heels clicking closer. The sharp scent of gunpowder filled the air, mingling with the metallic taste of blood rising in your throat.

“Well, isn’t this poetic,” she said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You were always too ambitious for your own good.”

Your body screamed in agony, but you forced yourself to stay conscious, the adrenaline barely keeping you tethered to reality. Gasping for air, you managed to lift your head enough to meet her gaze, defiance flickering in your eyes.

"I—I won’t let you win,” you choked out, your voice ragged and weak, but the fire in your heart still burning despite the looming darkness.

The Handler tilted her head, her smile widening. “Oh, sweetheart. You’ve already lost.” She crouched down beside you, reaching out to tap a perfectly manicured nail against the briefcase you’d almost claimed. “But don’t worry, you’ve served your purpose.”

As the edges of your vision darkened, a strange calm settled over you. Maybe it was the shock, or maybe it was the thought of Five—of the cold words he had thrown at you, pushing you to this point. You had come here, driven by anger and pain, but now that your life was slipping away, all you could think of was him. How much you had cared for him. How much it hurt that he didn’t feel the same.

But just as the world began to fade, something shifted. The air in the room crackled with a familiar energy, one that you knew all too well. Time itself seemed to warp, bending unnaturally, and you realized with a jolt that someone had followed you here.

A moment later, the Handler’s satisfied smirk twisted into surprise as the familiar blue flash of teleportation split the room. And there he was—Five, standing in the middle of the chaos, his face pale and eyes wide with something that looked far too much like regret.

“You,” he growled, his gaze locking onto the Handler as he took in the scene—the blood pooling around you, the briefcase abandoned at your side, and your body crumpled on the floor. “What the hell did you do?” The Handler stood up, her cool demeanor still intact despite Five’s obvious fury. “You should be thanking me, Five. She was just a distraction, wasn’t she? Isn’t that what you said?”

Five’s eyes flickered with something raw, something haunted. His jaw clenched as he slowly turned toward you, kneeling beside your body. His hands were shaking, uncharacteristically so, as he pressed them to your wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. "You're not dying," he muttered, almost as if saying it aloud would make it true. “Don’t you dare die on me.”

You could barely keep your eyes open, your breathing shallow and labored, but the sound of his voice—desperate, breaking—kept you anchored. For a second, you wondered if you were hallucinating, if this was some fevered dream brought on by blood loss. But the pain was too real, the cold creeping into your limbs too sharp to be anything but reality. "No... no..", he muttered, as the handler left the room. "I didn't mean to..."; he whispers.

Five’s voice trembled, a sound so foreign to you that it barely registered at first. You blinked through the haze of pain, forcing yourself to focus on him, on the boy—no, the man—who always seemed so invincible, so sure of himself. But now, here he was, on his knees beside you, his mask of indifference shattered.

“I didn’t mean it,” Five whispered again, his voice breaking as his hands pressed harder against your wound. “You weren’t supposed to get hurt. You weren’t supposed to—" He swallowed, his throat constricting as the weight of his own words seemed to crash down on him.

A bitter taste filled your mouth as you tried to speak, but the blood loss made your words slur, your body too weak to move. Even so, you managed to meet his eyes—those piercing blue eyes that had always been so cold, now filled with a desperation you had never seen before.

“Why… did you… follow me?” you rasped, your voice barely a whisper, each word taking more effort than the last.

Five’s eyes flickered with guilt, shame, and something else—something softer, deeper, that made your chest tighten for reasons other than the gunshot wound.

“Because I couldn’t let you go,” he murmured, his voice raw. “Not like this. Not ever.” His hand tightened around yours, his grip trembling as though you might slip away from him at any second. “I thought I could push you away… that I could keep you safe by making you hate me. But all I did was drive you straight into danger. I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

A weak laugh escaped your lips, but it was more of a cough, and it sent a fresh wave of pain through your chest. "Took you… long enough," you muttered, your voice barely audible, but Five heard you. His lips twitched into a sad, bitter smile. “I know,” he said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the blood staining his hands. “I’m an idiot.”

The room around you felt colder, the edges of your vision beginning to blur again as the blood loss took its toll. You felt yourself slipping further away, but Five’s voice kept pulling you back—like a tether to the world you were on the verge of leaving.

"Stay with me," he urged, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with a desperation that you had never heard from him before. "I can fix this. I will fix this. I just need you to hold on a little longer."

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to trust that he could make everything right, that the pain you were feeling wasn’t permanent. But as your body grew colder, it became harder and harder to fight the darkness that was creeping in. “Five…” you whispered, your voice barely a breath, “I don’t… want to leave… you.”

Five’s expression twisted in pain, his eyes burning with unshed tears. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said fiercely, as if sheer force of will could keep you tethered to life. “You’re staying right here with me.”

Five’s hand tightened around yours, as if his sheer grip could tether you to the world and keep the darkness at bay. His usual confidence was gone, replaced by raw desperation that sent a shiver through you, despite the numbness creeping in. You could feel his pulse racing through his fingertips—steady, alive, unlike the faint, weakening beat of your own.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I’m so sorry for everything I said.” His eyes bore into yours, pleading, the cold blue of them softened by the wet sheen of tears he refused to let fall. “You were never a distraction. You were the only thing keeping me sane in all of this chaos.”

His words, laced with guilt and something like fear, hit you harder than the gunshot. You had always known Five cared in his own way, but hearing him say it now, when it might be too late, was like a bittersweet echo in the hollow space between life and death.

You tried to speak, but the pain was too much, your breath too shallow. Your eyelids fluttered, heavy with exhaustion and the creeping cold. The world around you began to blur again, slipping away despite Five’s grip. “No,” he muttered, his voice fierce now. “Stay with me. You’re not going anywhere.” He leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “I won’t let you go.”

You wanted to stay, wanted to fight, but the pull of the darkness was so strong, and the pain so overwhelming. You could feel your consciousness slipping, the world fading away in pieces. But before you could fall into that abyss completely, something shifted—a familiar hum of energy rippled through the air.

Five stiffened beside you, his head snapping up, eyes widening as the blue glow of the briefcase intensified. The air around you crackled with power, time itself seeming to bend and twist as if reality were being rewritten. “I’m going to fix this,” Five murmured, his voice filled with a renewed sense of urgency. “I’ll fix everything. I promise.”

Your vision wavered as you watched him frantically adjust the dials on the briefcase, his fingers moving with a precision only he possessed. The hum grew louder, the light brighter, and then, with a sudden jolt, everything around you warped. Your whole body was sucking up the pain.

The world twisted and bent, the crackling energy from the briefcase tearing at the edges of reality, until suddenly everything snapped back into place. The cold, sterile halls of the Commission vanished, replaced by something softer, warmer. You blinked, your mind disoriented, the sharp, unbearable pain that had gripped your body dulling into an almost distant ache.

Slowly, you became aware of your surroundings. You weren’t lying on the cold floor of the Commission anymore. The familiar scent of old books, faint cologne, and wood polish filled your senses. You were in Five’s room, lying in his bed, the heavy blankets tucked around you. For a moment, you weren’t sure if this was real, or if you were simply dreaming, caught in some strange limbo between life and death. But the warmth was too real, the sound of your own ragged breathing too loud in your ears.

You shifted slightly, the movement sending a wave of soreness through your body. A soft groan escaped your lips as your hand instinctively went to your chest, where the bullet had struck you. But instead of the expected searing pain, your fingers found smooth bandages tightly wrapped around the wound. It was tender, but healing. You were alive.

The realization hit you like a shock, and just as you were about to sit up, you felt a weight beside you on the bed. Turning your head, you saw Five, slumped in a chair pulled up next to the bed, his head resting in his hands, elbows on his knees. His clothes were rumpled, dark circles etched beneath his eyes, and for the first time, he looked… vulnerable. Exhausted.

The tension in his posture, the way his shoulders sagged, told you more than any words ever could. He had saved you—brought you back from the brink of death—and now, after everything, he was sitting there, waiting for you to wake up.

You shifted again, trying to adjust your position, and the small movement made Five glance up. His sharp blue eyes met yours instantly, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The relief that washed over his face was so raw, so palpable, it took your breath away.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but laced with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

You swallowed, your throat dry. “Am I... really here?”

Five stood abruptly, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor. He moved closer to the bed, his expression still guarded but softer, more open than you had ever seen it. "Yes. You're safe. I told you I'd fix it." His voice cracked slightly, betraying the storm of emotions simmering just beneath the surface.

You wanted to say something, anything, but the weight of what had happened hung between you. The argument. The gunshot. The way he had followed you despite everything.

"Five," you began, your voice weak, but he shook his head, cutting you off gently.

"Don’t," he said quietly, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to control himself. "Just... don’t. I don't want to hear an apology, or a thank you. Not after what I did. What I said."

You stared at him, unsure of what to say. The pain of his earlier words still lingered, but seeing him like this—so raw and human—made it hard to hold onto the anger.

“I didn’t mean any of it,” he continued, his voice tight. “I thought if I pushed you away, if I made you hate me, it would be easier to protect you. To keep you out of danger. But I was wrong. I’m always wrong about these things.”

You could hear the guilt, the self-loathing, threaded through his words. And in that moment, it was clear that this was more than just about the argument. This was about everything—about how Five had always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, how he had never known how to let anyone in, how he was terrified of losing the few people he actually cared about.

With effort, you lifted your hand and reached out, fingers brushing against his. "You saved me," you whispered, your voice still weak but steady. "That's all that matters now."

Five stared down at your hand, his lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, you thought he might pull away, retreat back into his usual cold, calculating self. But then, slowly, he entwined his fingers with yours, gripping your hand tightly.

“I almost didn’t,” he admitted, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. “I almost lost you. And I—" He cut himself off, his jaw clenching as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. But you could see it in his eyes, the way they glistened in the dim light. He cared. More than you had ever realized. “You didn’t lose me,” you said, squeezing his hand as best as you could. "I'm right here."

Five’s gaze softened, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a tender, almost absentminded gesture. He stood there for a long moment, just holding your hand, as if he was afraid that if he let go, you might disappear again.

“I’m not going to push you away anymore,” he said finally, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t. Not after this.”

There was a vulnerability in his words that made your chest tighten, but this time it wasn’t from the wound. It was from something deeper, something that had been buried beneath all the anger and fear. You nodded slowly, exhaustion pulling at the edges of your consciousness again, but you fought to stay awake, to hold onto this moment.

“Good,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Because I’m not going anywhere.” Five’s lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smile, though his eyes were still shadowed with worry. "Get some rest," he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over your hand once more before he reluctantly let go. "You need it."

You wanted to protest, to stay awake and talk more, but the warmth of the bed and the comfort of knowing you were safe, that Five was there, watching over you, was too much to resist. Your eyelids grew heavy, and before you knew it, sleep was pulling you under. As you drifted off, you felt the lightest pressure of his hand returning to yours, as if silently promising that he wouldn’t leave your side—not this time.

Hope you guys like it ;)

#smut #request #reader #tua #five #five x reader #five hargreeves #five hargreaves x reader #aesthetic #number five #tua five #five tua #umbrella academy #Hargreeves

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mae-falling-in-may · 2 years ago

Text

My Little Flower | The Darkling x Fem!Reader

I wrote this just after finishing the season 2 of Shadow And Bone, it broke me so like it's a bit of a comfort fic I guess ? Just the way Aleksander was possessive of Alina made me feel things and I'm sorry about this... just a few heads up, I'm no Alina hater (I love her) I just needed to add a bit of tension in this, and also this is the first time I fully write smut AND that I post it on the internet. I'm very self conscious about smut because huh, I'm not the best writer in the world and english is not my first language. I still do hope you'll like it, I had fun writing it !!

Pairing : The Darkling x Fem!Reader

Warnings : very light spoilers, SMUT, jealous reader, kinda possessive!dark!aleksander ? established relationship, claiming, oral sex (f receiving) unprotected sex (protect urselves pls), p in v sex, dom/sub dynamics, creampie, 18+ only MINORS DNI!!!

Summary : Aleksander comes back from the dead, you feel your heart drop when you see him, darker than ever, the scars on his face making you feel weak. He's determined to get the sun summoner, and you're scared that he's drifting from you, but he will show you who you belong to.

Words : 3k

He came back. The one who held you with just one finger, the one who could get you on your knees just with one word. General Kirigan, your General. Hearing what happened in the Fold with the sun summoner and him, broke you. Hell, you didn't know if what happened between you two meant something to him, but you would do anything to make him feel at least something.

My little flower he called you, away from all curious glances. That was the nickname he gave to you, and you held it. You answered it, maybe he called you to have you by his side forever, only for his plans, maybe it was just all an act, but heck, you fell deeply. You fell so deep that nothing would ever make you betray him. You wanted to be with him until you'll be killed in the field, or even just died at his own hands. Whether it was love or a crazy obsession, seeing him alive made your heart much lighter than it was before. You clenched your fists, dangerously planting your nails in your own flesh to keep you from running to him.

His silhouette, his voice, his dark gaze, and his newfound scars, everything about him made your breath hitch. All you could think of right now while he was walking towards other grishas and you, were absolutely disgusting thoughts about how you would go under him to help him relieve himself. You unconsciously held your breath while he was walking towards you. He approached dangerously, all of your body was calling you to be at his service. You gasped for air when he spoke to you.

"My little flower." He whispered, really close to your face so no one could hear him talk. "I'm glad that my most precious Grisha is here."

You didn't manage to form a proper sentence, you were just stuttering words, and Aleksander saw how you were so emotional. You could only whisper the words: "You're alive.", before bursting into tears. He gently took you into his arms and shushed you.

"It's okay, little flower. I am back, and I'll need you more than anything for what we'll accomplish. Come and join me after dinner please ?" You could only nod while letting your tears drop freely.

"I need the Little Saint, you need to locate her, quickly, I want every information you have on her or anyone who's with her, you hear me ?" The tension in the room was heavy, all you could do with your fellow Grishas was to answer "Yes, General." You all waited for him to dismiss every one of you, and with a flick of his hands, he did. They left the room, as you stayed and waited for anything that he could ask you to do. Anything. You heard him shift into his armchair, and when you let yourself stare at him, your mind raced.

She was the one that caused all of this, seeing your General in this state made your heart clench. If only she listened to him, or you had been her, your General wouldn't be suffering like that. A deep cough startled you and your gaze got on Aleksander again, he was sick. You rushed towards him, obviously worried. You kneeled before him, putting a hand on his back and the other one on his knee.

"My General, are you unwell? What happened there ?" The shakiness of your voice betrayed you.

"Flower." He whispered. "I… It's my new power. The nichevo'ya, they're shadow creatures. They defend me when I'm in danger." He locked his eyes into yours, dark and full of fatigue. You felt him drifting off from you. An explosive wave of emotions passed through you when he looked at you. Was it worry? Hatred for the Sun Summoner? Jealousy? Or just everything that you felt for the General was crashing down deep into your being. You gulped, your mind going from one worry to another, then you asked him quietly.

"Is there anything I can do, my General ?" He lowered his head and waited a bit before answering. "I fear that I do not have a solution for my state right now, flower. I just need… The Sun Summoner, Alina…" He stopped himself, what for? You didn't know, but everything collapsed around you. He didn't need you, the nickname he gave you meant nothing. All you could do was make him feel a bit better about this. You'll bring him back Alina, you swore on your life that you'll do anything for him right? Then you'll do it, even though it will hurt more than you admitted.

You stood up, he looked at you, confusion and worry in his eyes. You tried to compose yourself and explained.

"I swore on my life that I'll do anything for you, General, if you want the Sun Summoner, I'll bring her back to you, even if I have to die trying to." You waited for an answer, an approval, anything, he stayed silent. You finally turned to leave the room, the sound of your steps resonating on the walls. You didn't want to leave, you wanted to stay, but hell seeing him like that hurt. You were about to open the door and leave when he stopped you with his voice.

"Flower. Please." You heard him stand up, and slow steps coming towards you. "You're the only one that can help me right now. Are you rejecting me? Your General ?" You felt tears building up again, you didn't know how you could tell him how you feel, having him obsessing over his Little Saint was so painful. But did you really have your right to speak up about it? You were just a Grisha, like any other Grisha here, you weren't her, yet you wanted to be her. You faced him back, letting your tears drop freely over your cheeks.

"How could I reject you when I'm not even yours, General? I know you need her, and I know I'll never be her, I've accepted it. Let me accomplish this for you, my General." You sounded hurt, exhausted, and deeply in love. He was dangerously approaching you by now, and for the first time in months, or hell maybe even years, he spoke your name. Not calling you Flower, like he loved to, just your name. He whispered it, and it felt so good on his lips. He cupped your face with his hand softly making you look at him, he seemed hurt.

"You don't understand. Yes, she is the Sun Summoner, and yes, I need her for every reason I already told you. But, what she is not, and will never be, is my precious little Flower. And you know who this is right? You, you belong to me, and I belong to you. I'll never deny that I wished you were the Sun Summoner, so we could accomplish everything together." Even with this, you couldn't believe him, your mind repeated to you that you meant nothing to him and that you weren't her. Even with his hand on your cheek, you couldn't let yourself breathe for him.

"Please, General, don't make me hope for something that I'm unworthy of." Something seemed to snap inside him when he heard the word "unworthy". He abruptly put his arm around your waist and pushed your body towards him with his hand on your back. The hurt gaze he wore before turned into something different, into something frightening.

"Do not use this word to qualify yourself, my flower. You are way more than that. You're my most precious Grisha, my most precious ally, and my dear, dear, friend." His words were spilled like tasty poison, so dangerous but yet, so good. You couldn't help but whimper under his touch. You knew how Aleksander could be possessive, but you simply refused to let yourself believe you were in his catalog.

Hearing you whimper satisfied him, he let a small smile creep on his face, and he slowly buried his face into your neck. "If you don't believe my words maybe I'll need to show you who you belong to, flower." He kissed your neck, making a path towards your jaw, then your lips. He made sure to dry your tears before kissing you, you sighed into him, your arms making their way to his shoulders. You felt helpless whenever he touched you like this, thinking of nothing more but to please him right now, in this room.

He broke the kiss that left you both breathless, he took a moment to look at you, your eyes, your face, lips, jaw, and neck, and he felt you burning for him. He loves the hold that he had on you. "To bed, without your clothes, please." Even if he would love ripping out your kefta from your body, to expose all of yourself to him, he couldn't, he already had to deal with the million layers of his outfit. So he just followed you to the bed, while you were removing your boots, then your kefta, and then everything that went under it. He was getting rid of his clothing too, but getting distracted by how beautiful you looked for him, his hands stopped doing what he originally wanted to do, and your voice interrupted the silence.

"Do you need help, General ?" You were almost fully naked in front of him, a wave of arousal went through his body, making wearing pants uncomfortable. He nodded at you first, then when you were getting rid of his first few layers of clothes he spoke again.

"Please flower, tonight, only call me by my name. Can you do that ?" You eagerly nodded while you were getting rid of his final upper layer, revealing his scarred torso to you. You let your fingers trail on some of them, wanting to kiss every bit of scars he had on his body. He smiled, loving your admiration and worship, he missed it. He took your wrists in his hand and smiled down at you.

"I know how much you love to worship me, flower, but not yet, you'll do it when I pump my cock deep inside of you. Right now I want to have you at my mercy and show you who this beautiful body belongs to. You hear me ?" You nodded, unable to form more than one word because of his power over you.

"Words, flower." He removed the last bit of clothes that kept you from being naked, exposing you to him. You stuttered "Yes, I understand Aleksander.", that seemed to please him a lot. He pushed you onto the bed, making his way on top of you. He still had his pants on, enjoying the friction of the fabric when his cock was getting bigger with arousal.

"This time it will be me who worships you. I'm going to taste you and make you scream." You whimpered, while he was kissing your neck, making his way painfully slowly toward your breasts. He kissed them softly before trailing down to your stomach, then your hips. He guided you to open your legs for him and found his hands gripping the back of your thighs. He kissed the inside of your thigh before finally making his way to your perfect already wet cunt. You were this wet since the intense kiss you shared earlier, and the more you felt his touch, the more you would be needy for him.

He first lapped your pussy, to take a taste out of it, then completely buried his face into it. You weren't ready, it's been so long since you felt any kind of pleasure down there, you gasped and moaned, already on the verge of screaming. And he was just getting started? You knew you were about to break under him. The obscene noises of him tasting all of you made your head spin. He was eating you out like he wouldn't be able to do it after. The tip of his nose was making friction with your clit, and his tongue inside of you. He groaned under you, you were delicious, and he would not get over how delicious you tasted.

Your moans and the noises he made by tasting you filled the entire room. He was almost tongue-fucking you as you felt your release build-up. You struggled to align proper sentences, just letting out the same words, "Saints, please, Aleksander". He loved how his name sounded on your lips when you were about to come for him, but he would be sure to make you scream it.

"I'm going to make you cum for me, flower. I want you to scream my name when you do. I don't care if anyone hears, they'll just know who you belong to. You're mine, flower."

He then sucked on your clit and took two fingers to pump them inside of you. You screamed at the newfound sensation of his fingers, and your back arched while you were begging for a release. You were so desperate for him and it made his cock ache under the layer of his pants. He wanted to stop right here and bury himself inside of you just to feel you come around him. He sucked your clit even harder and teased your folds with his fingers. His other hand squeezed your thigh as he felt you crumble under his touch. He knew you were close, you were already losing your mind, and the moans you let out were incoherent at this point.

“I know you’re close, flower, cum for me.” You screamed his name while hanging onto the bed sheets. The heat of your orgasm flew all over your body, your back arched and your legs were trembling. The delicious feeling of your release was overwhelming, you soaked Aleksander’s face. He pulled out his fingers slowly and kissed one last time your clit, then your cunt. He straightened up so you could see his face better, his hair was a mess and he was panting. He crushed his lips onto yours hungrily, making you taste the mix of your juices and his spit. You moaned against him, your hands finding their way to his groin. You stroked the length of his cock through the fabric. You wished he was fully naked right now, so you could feel him completely. He hummed into your lips and helped you get rid of his pants.

He broke the kiss to fully remove his clothes, which was a relief to both of you. He felt uncomfortable with the hard-on he had since he had first kissed you. And you, you wanted to please him, to have the taste of his cock on your tongue, to suck him so good so he could not think about anything else but you. But you knew it wasn't part of the plan today. You saw his cock already so hard and ready to be buried inside you. You bit your lip at the thought of it, you haven't had anyone since he left for the Fold with Alina, and god you missed him.

He went back once he was fully naked to kiss the corner of your lips. "I know what's on your mind, flower. You missed me, haven't you ?" He continued to kiss your cheek, your jaw, and your neck while placing himself between your legs. You felt him lightly stroke the tip of his cock on the opening of your pussy which made you moan. "Oh, Saints, yes I've missed you Aleksander." You felt him smile on your neck while caressing your body until his hands found your hips. He faced you once again and looked at you fondly with his dark eyes.

He licked his lips, seeing you desperate for him, he knew you were about to beg for him to fuck you. He didn't even wait for you to say a word that he pumped into you. The feeling and the heat of his cock were oddly overwhelming, and you felt you could cum right here. "I'm gonna fuck you so good, my flower." You couldn't help but moan a please, to indicate that you needed him to move. He smiled and started to thrust into you painfully slowly.

The rhythm he gave was making you feel every inch of his heat inside of you, you were almost trembling. But you wanted more, you begged once again and put your arms around his shoulders. "Please, Aleksander, I need more." Hearing his name falling through your lips while you were begging felt so good. He let out a curse and started to move into you harder and faster. Both of you loved being in each other's arms so you were on the verge of losing your minds.

The room was filled with your moans, the sound of both your skin slapping on each other, Aleksander's light panting while he was thrusting into you, and the obscene wet sounds of his cock going in and out of your soaked cunt. You wanted this moment to last forever, to have Aleksander all for yourself. The sound he made while fucking you was pushing you closer and closer to your release, and he felt it too. "Flower come on my cock with me please ?" You could only nod, overwhelmed by these sensations.

"I want to fill you up, love, can I ?" It was the first time he called you that, you couldn't even process the name you just wanted the both of you to cum. You almost screamed "Yes, please Aleksander.", you were so loud for him, so good to him, you'd never let him go.

The wave of your orgasm reached you when his thrusts became erratic. Your cunt clenched around him as he finally got the release you seek. You felt his hot seed splashing into you, while he reached to kiss you again while filling you completely. You moaned against his mouth, enjoying everything he gave you.

"You're mine, my little flower, mine only."

#shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagine #reader insert #the darkling x reader #the darkling #general kirigan #general kirigan x reader #aleksander kirigan #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova #the darkling smut #ben barnes x reader #ben barnes

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skywalker1dream · 6 months ago

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Obsession in Overdrive

Jenson Button x journalist!reader

note: so I was writing part 2 of web of obsession and I accidentally deleted it, I really don't know how I did it (I want to bang my head to something like dobby banged his head with lamp)

Summary:You are a dedicated and ambitious journalist covering the world of Formula 1. Your latest assignment brings you face-to-face with Jenson Button, a charismatic and skilled driver. However, beneath his charming exterior lies a dark and obsessive personality. As Jenson becomes fixated on you, what starts as innocent professional admiration quickly spirals into a dangerous obsession, leading you into a web of passion, control, and peril. (you will find out that in part two)

Warnings: Im not good with warnings T_T sorry....

The roar of engines and the scent of burning rubber filled the air, the unmistakable ambiance of a Grand Prix weekend. You adjusted your press pass, the laminated card dangling from a lanyard around your neck. This assignment was a dream come true covering the world of Formula 1, where speed and glamour intertwined.

The paddock was alive with activity. Engineers tweaked car settings, team members rushed about with tools and equipment, and the drivers, the stars of this high-octane circus, moved with an air of focused determination. You had been following the sport for years, but being here, amidst the chaos and excitement, was a different experience altogether.

You were here for one reason: an exclusive interview with Jenson Button, the seasoned driver known not just for his skill on the track, but for his charm and charisma off it. He was a favorite among fans and media alike, and getting time with him was a coup for any journalist.

You arrived at the McLaren team’s hospitality suite, a sleek and modern area buzzing with activity. The room was filled with a mix of team personnel, sponsors, and a few journalists, all engaged in animated conversation. The decor was elegant but functional, with the team’s colors prominently displayed.

You spotted Jenson almost immediately. He was deep in conversation with a team engineer, but as soon as he saw you, his face lit up with a smile. He excused himself and walked over, his stride confident and relaxed.

“Ah, you must be [your name]” he greeted, extending a hand. His grip was firm yet gentle, his touch lingering a fraction longer than necessary.

“Yes, thank you for taking the time to speak with me,” you replied, trying to maintain your professional demeanor despite the fluttering in your stomach. He was even more handsome in person, his blue eyes sparkling with a mix of intelligence and mischief.

“Anything for a lovely journalist,” he said, his tone smooth as silk. “Shall we?”

He led you to a quieter corner of the suite, where a small table and two chairs had been set up for the interview. As you settled into your seat, you couldn’t help but notice how his presence seemed to command the space around him. He was effortlessly charming, his smile warm and inviting.

The interview began with the usual pleasantries. Jenson answered your questions with ease, his responses peppered with humor and insight. He spoke about his passion for racing, the challenges of the season, and his hopes for the future. His answers were thoughtful and articulate, revealing a depth of character that went beyond his public persona.

Yet, as the conversation progressed, you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze lingered on you, as if he were trying to memorize every detail of your face. His eyes would occasionally flicker down to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

You shifted in your seat, trying to maintain your composure. This was just another interview, you told yourself, albeit with one of the most charming men you’d ever met. But there was something about the way he looked at you that made your pulse quicken.

“So, [your name],” Jenson said, leaning forward slightly, “what got you into journalism? And more specifically, why Formula 1?”

You smiled, appreciating his genuine interest. “I’ve always loved writing, and I’ve been a fan of motorsports since I was a kid. There’s something about the combination of speed, skill, and strategy that fascinates me. Plus, the stories behind the drivers and teams are incredibly compelling.”

Jenson nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “It’s true, there’s a lot more to this sport than just racing. The dedication, the sacrifices... it’s a whole world unto itself.”

You continued talking, sharing stories and laughing together. Despite the professional nature of the interview, it felt more like a conversation between friends. Jenson had a way of making you feel at ease, his genuine interest and warm demeanor drawing you in.

As the interview came to an end, you thanked Jenson and began to gather your things. “This was great, Jenson. Thank you so much for your time.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” he replied, standing up and extending his hand once more. “I hope we get to do this again soon.”

His hand was warm around yours, and as he held your gaze, you couldn’t help but feel a spark of something more than professional admiration. You quickly pushed the thought aside, reminding yourself of your role and responsibilities.

“Take care, love,” Jenson said, his smile lingering as he watched you leave.

As you walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that your encounter with Jenson Button was just the beginning of something much more complex and intense than a simple interview.

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

Later that evening, you returned to your hotel room, still buzzing from the excitement of the day. You had a lot of work to do transcribing the interview, writing up your notes, and preparing your article. But before you could get started, a knock at the door interrupted your thoughts.

You opened it to find a hotel staff member holding a small, beautifully wrapped box. “Miss [your name] this was left for you at the front desk.”

Surprised, you took the box and thanked him. As you closed the door, curiosity got the better of you. You carefully unwrapped the package, revealing a delicate silver bracelet with a charm in the shape of a racing car. It was exquisite, and clearly expensive.

There was a card inside, written in elegant script: “A token of appreciation. – Jenson.”

Your heart skipped a beat. It was a thoughtful gift, but also oddly personal for someone you’d just met. You slipped the bracelet onto your wrist, admiring how it caught the light. It was beautiful, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it meant something more.

Pushing aside your unease, you sat down at your laptop and began to write. Yet, as you worked, your thoughts kept drifting back toJenson his smile, his charm, and the intensity in his eyes. This was supposed to be just another assignment, but you had a feeling that it was going to be anything but ordinary.

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

Over the next few weeks, you found yourself running into Jenson more frequently. At first, it seemed like coincidence, he’d be at the coffee shop you frequented, or passing by the media center just as you were leaving. Each time, he’d greet you warmly, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

“You again,” you joked one afternoon, unable to hide your smile. “Are you following me, Mr. Button?”

He chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. “Just lucky, I guess. Besides, I enjoy our little chats.”

His attention was flattering, and you couldn’t deny the growing attraction. Yet, beneath the surface, there was something unsettling about his constant presence. It was as if he always knew where you’d be.

One evening, as you left the paddock, you found Jenson waiting by your car. “Let me take you to dinner,” he offered, his tone more commanding than requesting.

“I appreciate the offer, but I have a lot of work to do,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

His smile faltered, a flicker of frustration in his eyes. “Another time then,” he said, but his tone suggested it wasn’t really a question.

_______

The next morning, you received a text from an unknown number: Good morning, [your name]. Hope you have a great day. – Jenson. (-sent from my iphoen) (iykyk)

You stared at the message, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. You hadn’t given him your number, which meant he must have gone out of his way to get it. Part of you was flattered by his persistence, but another part couldn’t shake the feeling of discomfort.

As the days passed, Jenson’s presence in your life grew. He sent you flowers, left small gifts at your hotel, and always seemed to be around. It was becoming harder to focus on your work with him constantly on your mind.

During a press conference, you caught Jenson’s eye from across the room. He was surrounded by reporters, but his gaze was fixed on you. He smiled, a knowing look in his eyes that made your heart race. After the conference, he made his way over to you.

“Can I steal you away for a bit?” he asked, his voice low and intimate.

You hesitated, glancing around at your colleagues who were busy typing up their notes. “I really should finish my article.”

“It’ll only take a minute,” he promised, his hand gently guiding you towards a more secluded area. “I wanted to give you something.”

From his pocket, he pulled out a small, wrapped box. “Another gift?” you asked, your voice tinged with both curiosity and caution.

“Just a little something to remind you of me,” he said with a smile.

You unwrapped the box to find a delicate necklace with a pendant shaped like a steering wheel. It was beautiful, but the personal nature of the gift sent a shiver down your spine.

“Jenson, this is lovely, but you really don’t have to keep giving me things,” you said, trying to sound gracious.

“I want to,” he insisted, his eyes intense. “You’re special, love. I feel a connection with you.”

His words made your heart flutter, but also triggered a warning bell in your mind. “Thank you, Jenson. I appreciate it, really. But I.....I have to get back to work now.”

He nodded, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t giving up. As you walked away, you felt his gaze lingering on you, a constant, almost tangible presence.

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

Later that week, you were sitting in your hotel room, working on your latest article, when your phone buzzed. It was a call from Jenson. You hesitated for a moment before answering.

“Hello?”

“[your name], I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said, his voice smooth and reassuring.

“Not at all. What’s up?”

“I was thinking we could have dinner tonight. There’s a great restaurant not far from your hotel.”

You bit your lip, considering his offer. Part of you wanted to say yes, to enjoy an evening with this captivating man. But another part of you was wary of how quickly things were progressing.

“I don’t know, Jenson. I have a lot of work to do.”

“Come on, just one dinner,” he coaxed. “You have to eat, right? Consider it a break.”

His persistence was hard to resist, and before you knew it, you found yourself agreeing. “Okay, fine. One dinner.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said, a note of triumph in his voice.

That evening, Jenson arrived at your hotel right on time. He looked impeccable, dressed in a tailored suit that accentuated his athletic build. As you walked to the restaurant, he kept the conversation light and engaging, his charm easing some of your apprehension.

The restaurant was elegant and intimate, with soft lighting and a view of the city skyline. Jenson had reserved a private table, away from prying eyes. As you sat down, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness.

Throughout dinner, Jenson was the perfect gentleman. He listened attentively as you talked about your career and passions, sharing stories from his own life that made you laugh and feel at ease. Yet, beneath his charm, there was an intensity in his gaze that made your heart race.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #jenson button x you #jenson button x reader #f1 fic #fanfic #f1 #jenson button

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safely-in-vhagars-belly · 7 months ago

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A little wicked (Dark! Aemond x reader/rhaenyras daughter) really dark aemond. 18+ MDNI

Aemond x reader x Aegon

Tags: Showsetting, au MAJOR SEASON 2 SPOILERS

🔷Summary: After your husband dies, his brother claims his throne and also you.

🔷Author's note: Dark. I don't throw that label around lightly. you know the drill, dead dove? do not eat.

🔷Wordcount :4939

🔷Warnings: Smut, p in v, mention of loss of virginty, dubcon loss, death, misgony, misogny- aemond hates rhaerhae. Dark aemond, gore, blood.

You await your husband’s arrival, back from the battlefield. Today is the Battle of Rook’s rest. A battle that would go down in the History books of Westeros, Essos, all realms that ever were or will be. Unaware to you, of course. You are miles away from the battlefield, preparing for the return of your beloved husband, King Aegon II Targaryen.

You have prayed, for the first time in years, actually. Your mother didn’t believe much in prayer, more in action. You think her relationship with Alicent Hightower forever caused a deep religious wound. Religion is something that reminds your mother too much of her lost friend. So therefore, it wasn’t important in your upbringing.

Soon, you’ll be crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and finally take your rightful place beside Aegon. You have the foolish hope that you, as Rhaenyra's daughter, maybe can mend the wound. Maybe your mother can be swayed to bend the knee, to give up her claim to the throne. If only it was that simple.

You await news. Any news. At first you are positive that Aegon has made it back unaltered. He has to. He is the king, the fierce warrior you know and while he is nowhere as good as Aemond, he has more experience than those Rook Rest soldiers. It has to be enough. He has to be enough.

However, as minutes turn into hours, and the sun and the moon dance and circle one another in the sky, you become immensely worried about the fate of your loved one. You are thankful for when the doors of the throne room are pushed open and Prince Aemond enters, at long last.

Recently, the young Prince switched from dark black leather to green dark leather, to fully show his support for his family. You remind yourself you are a hostage to these people, stolen. The corners of the prince’s lips lift mere inches, as if smiling. Yet he quickly brushes that away, as if he cannot be seen that way.

Cole follows, his face sorrowful and full of pain. The sort of pain you see on a father’s face when he loses a son. You feel your smile die as the world seems to slow down, to fade, and to darken instantly. Cole steps forward.

Aemond walks to you. Your feet rush, but your legs are frozen, causing you to stumble and to almost fall flat on your face. Aemond pretends to walk to you, but instead walks past you, to the big Iron throne that looms over you as a dark curse.

You watch in silence as he sits down, confirming your worst fears. You hear yourself gulp, as tears stream down your face. Your Aegon is no longer alive. King Aemond now sits the throne, and he sits it as if it took him too long to begin with. He smiles down at you, mocking and almost patronizing. Cole speaks, as first. ‘’All hail his grace, King Aemond of house Targaryen, first of his name, king of the Andels, and the first men, Lord of the seven kingdoms, and protector of the realm!’’ The words hit you like blows.

Aemond lifts his chin as all soldiers around you and all knights, servants, everyone with working legs falls down to their knees, respecting and vowing loyalty to their new monarch. Everyone but you, that is. Aemond waits quite a while before he tells everyone to raise again. Likely enjoying everyone on their knees for him, and him alone. As a cat toying with a mouse.

After that the servants are rounded up, to be informed of the King’s fate. ‘’My dear people. It is with great sadness and immense pride, that I announce the death of my brother, King Aegon II. He shall be known to history as King Aegon the Brave, for he slew the traitor Princess Rhaenys. Had it not been for her treasonous acts on battlefield, our king would be alive today.’’ He waits a moment as gasps and relieved words cross the hall. ‘’It is with great pride that I shall now serve you as King, until my younger nephew, Prince Maelor comes of age. You may all now either bend the knee, or remain standing.’’ He gestures to the guards, and on his sign, they all draw their swords. A clear choice.

You watch as the one after the other servant drops to their knees, swearing loyalty to the newly crowned King. After that is done they are all dismissed. ‘’Y/n. Please stay here.’’ The use of just your name makes your hair stand up. It is intimate, almost familiar.

You freeze.

Aemond finally rises from the throne, a smile on his lips. You wait and remain where you are. He does not beckon you closer, so you remain there. He walks closer to you until he is in front of you. He looks at your gown, taking in the details of the bodice. ‘’My condolences on the loss of your husband.’’ He whispers, gently.

You blink back tears. ‘’Can I go home now? We must write to my mother that the war is over. She can come collect her throne.’’ You look over to the ugly iron thing. Aemond chuckles, adoring your naivety and your good righteous heart.

He even reaches out to touch your face, gently caressing it and wiping away a few tears with his thumb. He brings his thumb to his mouth, sucking on it, tasting your tears. You watch, speechless. He grins. ‘’My gentle hearted sweet girl.’’ It sounds like a compliment and also an insult. ‘’I have no intention to stop the war. Your mother will sit on that throne when your brother Lucerys finds his head again. You will leave her in a coffin or when I am dead.’’ You scoff, insulted and step away, ready to leave.

He grabs you firmly by your arms, dragging you closer. You are pinned against his front, where you can still see blood on his shirt. His smirk only grows as you lower your head, avoiding his eye. He lifts your chin, forcing you to look up to him as you silently cry. ‘’I haven’t lost, you see. I have the crown, the throne, and you.’’ He does the unspeakable and leans in for a kiss, leaving a soft peck on your lips. He moans softly against your lips. ‘’My darling, my sweet precious thing.’’ He murmurs.

You give him a weak push against his chest, barely moving him. But it gets the message across. Aegon is not even cold yet. “I’m your brother’s widow!’’ You yell in righteous fury.

He laughs at that, capturing you easily with your hands again, and you hate yourself that you like how warm and fast his hands act. ‘’That means nothing in our family. You are my captive, Lady Strong. Remember? From the moment I first captured you at Storm’s end, until your very last. You are meant to be mine, so you will be.’’ He promises you. He is calm and collected about it as if is stating a fact.

He reminds you of the day when this all started. You don’t want to think back of that day. You tell yourself it is because of Luc, who Aemond fed to his dragon. But it is because of Aegon. You miss Luc, of course, but that wound had time to heal. Aegon’s loss is so sudden and just as painful, but fresh. ‘’I am not yours, you monster!’’ You raise your hand, striking Aemond on his scarred cheek.

He finally acts, grabbing your hands tighter and dragging you close until your noses touch. He is trembling with fury and his one eye is full of hatred, lust, obsession and cold blooded plans. ‘’Striking your king, is a act of treason.’’ He chuckles. ‘’I am allowed to punish you. I could take your hand for this, little lady strong.’’ You huff.

You roll your eyes even. Aemond hates the silent treatment more than any insult you could have hurled at him. Instead of making it clear what he intends, he scoops you up and throws you over his shoulder, marching you back to the empty throne. You kick and slap his back, trying to break free of his iron grip. He places you in the hands of a nearby guard, who all have been silent on this treatment of their rightful princess. Aemond sits on the iron throne and what he does next shocks you.

He grabs you by your hips, bending you over both his knees, as if you don’t weigh anything. He pets your hair lovingly and even gives your shaking body a kiss. ‘’I do this because I love you. You are in luck. You will always be able to defy me.’’ He whispers. ‘’All men who do so will meet horrible ends that Maesters will write about for centuries, but you, my special girl, you will be able to defy, rebel and upset me.’’ He whispers. ‘’Because I enjoy punishing you. And I bet you enjoy being punished.’’ You feel his hands on your butt, as he starts finding the beginning of your gown. You hear the sound of fabric ripping, and panic, bolting on his lap. He simply holds you down tighter, smirking as you begin to whimper. He calmly hums and with one brutal movement, rips your skirts. You remain on his lap, vulnerable and in your small clothes. Aemond sits up straighter, as if he wants to fully take in this view. Embarrassed, you lower your head in his lap, allowing him to caress your hair once more. ‘’Such a beautiful girl. You were wasted on my brother.’’ He speaks. ‘’You belong with me. You always have.’’ He then turns to his guards. ‘’Leave me and the Princess. She will pledge her loyalty to me in a private event.’’ You whimper as you hear iron footsteps leave the room.

When he is alone with you, he pulls your small clothes down fully, yanking them until your ankles, exposing you for all you are. It seems to awaken a certain hunger or desire in him, and he rips your corset and sleeves next. He fully admires your naked body, panting as he looks at you. He seems to calm down and finally he does what he promised. He hits you on your ass, spanking it harshly. You hiss in pain, in disbelief that he is subjecting you to this. ‘’Aemond, stop this.’’ You beg.

‘’You have no right.’’

He scoffs. ‘’I have every right. I am the King now. You were naughty, today. I don’t like naughty girls. Well, not as much as I like a good girl.’’ He says, talking to you as if you are a stupid little girl. Fresh tears fall. ‘’I like naughty good girls, who know what they want. But you aren’t there yet. You aren’t broken enough yet.’’ He says, joyfully as he spanks you. You give soft whimpers.

The spankings only become harsh when you remain silent, so you fake moans and whimpers to please Aemond’s dark desires. He sometimes groans too, as he sees how much damage your body is taking thanks to him, and how you take it.

“Aegon told me something before he died. He told me he never consummated the marriage. Is that true?” You wonder why Aegon told him that.

But it is the truth. You nod. “He knew when we first were forced to lay together I didn't want it.”

Aemond only chuckles to that comment, dealing another hurtful smack, almost as if to punish you for still loving his brother. “He raped plenty of women. I suppose you weren't special enough to make the effort.”

“Aegon loved me.” You argue, and you regret it the moment you’ve said it. Because Aemond slaps so hard that your flesh burns.

He groans now not of arousal but of pure hatred. “He didn't.”

“There's one man for you in this entire world.” You huff at his words.

You are grabbed by the throat, lifted from his lap and forced to stand as he chokes you. You are choked, tears stinging your eyes as he looks at you with the crown slightly slipping from his hairs and his one eye bigger than usual, focused on you, the object of his obsession. You fight for control but lose the fight. “It is me.” He reveals.

“No,’ You croak out weakly. “I can't. You killed my brother-”

He sighs, almost enjoying the view. His cold fingers finger one of your nipples, enjoying the reaction your body gives by hardening for him. He chuckles. “Such a beauty. Now. Defy me again.” You shake your head. He sighs, putting you over his knee again. You whimper against the cruel treatment, feeling the spot he struck. Aemond smirks, challenging you to speak out again. “I ought to keep you around like this. Just as the gods intended you to be. Pure, naked, unspoiled…” He feels the skin he struck. And you feel yourself clench your cunt, ignoring the waterfall he caused down there with all cost. It is true, Aemond is a handsome man. But this is wrong, isn’t it?

“May I please dress?” You ask, wiggling on his lap, enjoying when his thigh briefly rubs your cunt. That hits the spot.

The King laughs. “Such an obedient girl for asking me first.”

“The answer is no, however. You struck me, remember? That is treason.” You are embarrassed to speak. He laughs at that, rubbing your legs, drawing circles and kissing your skin. You ignore the butterflies. You can’t.

‘’Stand.’’ He barks suddenly. You obey, standing on your shaking legs, exposing yourself now fully to him. He leans back in the throne, grinning brightly as he takes in your body, toe to head. ‘’You can defy me as many times as you like. I will gladly put you on my lap and spank you.’’ He whispers. ‘’But if you say something regarding the whore that mothered you, I’m afraid we must do a different type of punishment. Am I clear?’’ You nod, hating how frightened you are.

He softens his face. He beckons you closer. You come closer until you stand in front of throne, your cunt barely touching the iron. ‘’I wish to feel your wares. I must see myself, If you and Aegon kept your word.’’ Without a warning, his fingers sink inside your wetness, inspecting you as you stand on your legs, almost falling over.

‘’Please, make me sit.’’ You beg.

He grins, forcing his finger to go deeper, penetrating you at the right speed. “No, you'll stand, tall and proud. I bet this is just what a dirty bastard like yourself likes. ‘’ It takes a while but sadly, he discovers what is happening. ‘’Oh, just as I suspected. A wet, warm and wonderful little place for my seed to crawl inside of.” You wail at those words, aroused as he fucks slowly, taunting you with his fingers.

“Stop talking as if we are going to -” Your talking is interrupted by a smack on your cunt by his free haunt, causing you to cry out in pain and anticipation.

He glares at you, shaking you as if you aren’t awake yet.

“As if? You think I'd kept you as a pretty cup bearer or something? I plan to make good use of you. Every hole is stuffed, until you can't even crawl forward.” He promises.

“What if I will have a child?” you whisper. ‘’That would complicate your status.’’

He sees that differently, mad with lust and obsession.

“That is part of the fantasy. Breeding you makes me happy. Seeing your belly swell makes me happy. You know why?” He asks, softly patting your belly. You shake your head.

“No.”

He leans in, gesturing vaguely down to his legs.

“It proves my seed is strong, powerful and well. It proves I have the power to make you, a stunning powerful princess to a good for nothing whore, carrying a bastard inside of her womb.” You sniffle, hurt and insulted. “Judging your wet and warm cunt, you have been thinking about me too. Why don't you admit that you want this?”

“Because I loved him. I loved Aegon. That means something to me.”

Aemond growls. “Shame he didn't love you. You know it deep down. He didn't mention you at all when he died-” You push him off you, taking off to the doors, not caring he ripped your gown or your poking breasts begging for touch.

“Where do you think you'll be going?” He demands, his voice booming.

You raise your head as much as a princess and dignity as you can. “To my quarters until you decide to trade me for peace.”

“Peace?” He laughs. Then that laugh dies. “Peace!’ It scares you how quickly it became an almost command. “You have exactly 3 seconds to get over here and to kneel at my feet and to beg me for forgiveness-” You don’t let him finish and take off running. But he is faster.

He simply drags you back by your hair, giving your behind hurtful smacks as he drags you to the throne. ‘’Ungrateful bastard. I can make you my queen.’’ He growls. ‘’Why won’t you accept that you want this? Look how wet you are for me.’’ He thinks as you remain at his feet, sitting there as a dog. ‘’I know something. We must train you, to ensure you are a proper pet.’’ He grins. One of the servants is allowed in, to bring Aemond a piece of rope.

You are worried he is going to tie your hands. But his plans are far worse. He ties the end around your neck, and holds it, as a leash. “Such a stubborn girl.” He chuckles. ‘’Now if you try to run, you’ll feel it.’’

“Please untie my neck.” You whisper, softly.

“Why? You can't behave, clearly. I must make the rules clear somehow.”

He has gone insane.

“Untie my neck, I'm worried I'll choke.”

“You know, when the right person is doing it, choking, taking control of another person's breath, nay, life, can feel…amazing.”

In response you spit at him.

“Spitting at me, you are a vile dirty minded thing, are you not? I bet you just ache for someone to pin you down against the floor and to have his wicked way with you. Don't you, bastard?” He growls, handling you.

“I want Aegon…” You whisper, half a beg and half a prayer.

He almost slams your head against the throne in pure rage. You can tell he is close to losing it. “Why? Why do you want that disgusting raper. You have me. You have all you will ever need.” He says. Then he sniffs your breasts, his long nose and hair disappearing between your breasts. “Fuck, you smell so good. So inviting. I can smell that needy cunny of yours.”

He stands up, keeping the leash in his dominate hand. ‘’I bet if I took my cock out you’d be fucking it before I could even ask you to.’’ He grins. ‘’You are your mother’s daughter after all.’’ To prove his point he lowers his trousers, revealing his manhood to you.

You are caught off guard. You never saw one before and it looks so strange yet familiar. “Look down.” He pushes your head down so you can properly.

It is red and swollen and evil in all ways. You try to glance at Aemond but your eyes are almost glued to his manhood. He snickers amused at your virginal response. “You'd like to feel this down your legs, little bastard?” He asks, and you are shocked when his fingers find your entrance once more, and now your soaked little cunt can’t even handle this. You moan, crying of shame and desire.

Aemond grins, taking it as a sign of encouragement.

“Get on your knees.” you obey, eying his cock. You wonder if it’ll hurt. But part of you wants to just feel good and happy for a moment. “On all fours.” He adds, groaning in frustration.

“What is expected of me?” You whisper soft as you kneel for him in the throne room. Aemond finally leaves his throne, so he may join you.

Silence. “I can't…I'm a princess. My virtue is everything to me-”

He laughs. “I can't wait to fuck you, so you for once and for all will shut up about your prestige and your privileges. You will learn, my sweet that I decide what your worth is now. Now, I am going to ask.”

You shake as his fingers brutally Bury themselves in your untouched tight cunt. “Do you want me to be the bad man today, little Maella? Do you wish to get your cunny raided by me, here, in the throne room, on your knees, as a little dirty harlot?’ You fall to your knees, crying out as the penetrating reaches a hight, as does your pleasure. You touched yourself but never like this. Not like he does. And his dirty naughty talk..

“Do you want to feel my cock take root and to feel me penetrate away at your innocent soft rings as they wrap and tighten around my cock as I take you on the stones, your knees bloody and your vision blurry as I bring you close?’

“Do you want that?”

You begin to doubt and he knows it. So he softens his voice, for show. “It can feel so good, Maella. You know I've won. You know it. You are already naked. You are already kneeling. All I need to do is put my cock……” He parts your legs. He rubs your needy cunt causing friction as you frustrated cry out. “here…’’

You nod pleasure winning. ‘Yes.’’ You say, consenting at last. He does not need long. He drags his finger nails in your hips, bringing you closer to his front. He sits on both his knees, as he slams inside of you, fucking you with a brutal war cry. You gasp as the cock pierces through your maidenhood, ruining you for any other man. Aemond groans in delight at your gasps, fucking you harder for every bit of sound you make.

“Oh, you're deep…” you mutter, a bit foolish.

He chuckles. “You'll handle me just fine. Any woman is a bit as a frightened stag, wishing to bolt off when a man climbs her. It is his task to smooth her back into submission so the ride may be…pleasant.” You wonder if he enjoys it the way you do. But when you hear his grunts and moans you know he does.

“Just as much of a slut as your mother.” He whispers and quickly gives you a kiss to avoid your anger. “Taking it all so well. You're a natural love.”

The fucking reaches a height your innocent body cannot handle, as Aemond comes closer to, and the fucking becomes violent, with him choking you as well now. “Meant and made to be on your knees, cock deep inside of your cunt and getting fucked until you can't crawl out of your bed tomorrow.” You gasp, your cries and soft moans filling the throne room, high on pleasure. “Agree.” He hisses, suddenly. For someone who claims not the care about others, he sure seeks a lot of approval.

You know you must obey. You know it deep down. So you swallow your pride. “Y-yes Aemond.” You say, obediently.

He spits at that idea. “You will call me King Aemond or your Grace.’’ He smacks your ass, sinking a finger deep there too. You buck your hips to him, eager for more.

You need to feel good, more than anything, you need to feel alive. ‘’Aemond, your grace, please..”

That pleases him greatly. “So fast, little girl? This is just the tip of the mountain, dear. There is so much more for you left.” He promises, planting dark desires in your head.

“There is?”

He nods. “Hmm,” He smacks your butt in a playful manner. “This is fun, but this is not the way a baby is made. I must stuff you properly for that. And there's your face…” You turn to face him, cock slightly sliding out of you in the process.

“What of it?” You ask, worried there is something stuck between your teeth.

You aren’t prepared for the answer. “It looks so clean. A nice, white and shimmering substance would look amazing on it. Something like my cum?”

“O, I don't know…” you stutter, foolishly.

You do know. But you won’t tell him that. “That is the beauty of your new life. You no longer need to know. I do. I'd love to see your cunt, breasts, belly, cheeks, chin, butt and hole covered in my cum.” He confesses. It is taking so long.

So you buck your hips to his front, hoping he mounts you soon once more. Aemond merely watches, grinning. “Taking me now, aren't we?”

“I do what you want. Just…give me…” You are at the breaking point. You are close.

Aemond slams inside of you, fucking you up and down the tiles as you scream it out in pleasure and he hisses, likely near too. “This?”

You roar in approval as pleasure explodes and you cry out in a soft voice. Aemond can be heard chuckling. “That's it, beauty. You keep being good, and I'll give you that and more.”

“Please, my King…” you whimper. “I can't…I can't handle it anymore. I need to ..I need it now.”

The King laughs, enjoying your suffering and your pleasure.

“Such a demanding little brat, demanding to come before your king.” The Spanking you get now is not punishment. It brings you pleasure and therefor shame. You nearly whimpered at it, but at the same time you enjoyed the smack on your naked ass.

And he bows your head down, and gives you the one after the other hard rough trust that only raises your pleasure. As the fucking increases, your needs reach a height unfamiliar to you and you stop, waiting for it to fade as you usual do when you touch yourself. Aemond sees this as the moment to strike, fully claiming you with a rough war cry and a trust. You fall down from your pleasure and come, all over his red swollen cock as he rides his own orgasm out on your spent body. The King is not happy yet, and fucks your body two more times after you are done with it.

When he is done, he finally removes the rope. You sit up, watching the tiles you fucked upon, sweaty and stained with your blood. Aemond cheekily grins, dressing himself again quickly. You look around for anything to cover yourself with. He throws his leather bloodied coat your way. ‘’Here. Cover. I don’t wish you to catch a cold.’’ He says. You think back of Aegon. And guilt washes over you.

The door is opened and a soldier rushes inside the room. You attempt to cover yourself but it is too late. ‘’My king.’’ He begins but Aemond does not allow him to finish.

‘’You saw my lady naked.’’ He says, instead of listening to his trusted soldier. The soldier blinks.

‘’I,I didn’t!”’ He quickly blurts out. Aemond does not even bother to explain his motivates, you can only watch as he takes his sword and chops of the head of the soldier. Blood and flesh come free as treat and paint painting the Throne room. You are horrified that Aemond murdered a man for looking at you.

You scream in horror. Aemond walks to you next, sword still dripping with blood. He levels the sword at his lips and takes a lick, before kissing your forehead. ‘’He had to die. Only one eye may look at your body. Mine.’’ He says, kissing you again as if it calms you down. It only makes you panic.

He sighs, taking you back to the throne. He makes you sit but this time there’s no spanking. Only sweet kisses and heartbroken mutters. ‘’What can I ever do to compare to Aegon? I want your love, my love. I want you to weep over my dead corpse.’’ He whispers. ‘’I want you when we marry, to become so madly in love with me, that when they find my corpse on the battlefield, you become mad and consumed with grief and you carve off one of my fingers to keep it close to you and you never think of a marrying another. I want you to die from a broken heart.’’ He whispers. ‘’I offer you the world, my love. It is ours. From Westeros to Essos and from the Dothraki grass sea to the useless kingdom of Dorne. It will fall at our feet, crumbled into dust. Thousands will die at our command, and their bones will become your crown and throne. Their blood will be your gown and their flesh will feed our love. Whoever offends you, shall die first. Let me be your King, and you will never need anyone else again.’’ You know you don’t have a choice. Once you cared about innocents. But you don’t have the luxury to care about them anymore. You must survive.

You play along for now.

Be Aemond’s Queen.

His second in command, the mother of his children, his lover and his bedmate.

To him you will be bow…

At least for now.

One of the days soon coming…

You’re going to take that boy’s crown.

//Not even therapy can fix this im afraid.

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ghostflowerdreams · 1 month ago

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One thing that puzzled me was why the animals weren’t better protected. Just because the monsters were ignoring them didn’t mean they were actually safe. I wasn’t too surprised when the monsters eventually targeted them. I expected the monsters to kill them outright, but instead, they used the animals as bait to lure out the humans.

It makes sense—the monsters aren’t ready for their fun to end. By mostly sparing the animals, they’re extending their entertainment a bit longer, watching how the humans react and deal with their situation. But I imagine that won’t last long. The monsters will eventually get bored once they realize there’s no thrill in hunting weak, starving humans. If that happens, nothing is stopping them from wiping everything out and starting over with a fresh batch of prey.

It seems that Jim and Jade’s actions trigger a shift in town, almost like unlocking "level 2" of a video game, causing the season to change and up the difficulty in survival. Meanwhile, Boyd's actions also unlocked level 2 of the monsters. Knowing now there are worse things out in the forest and that there are consequences for killing one of them, especially antagonizing whatever force controls these monsters.

Then, there's Fatima’s pregnancy, which raises a red flag. She was told that the possibility of getting pregnant was zero. Many women with fertility issues are usually told by doctors that they can’t get pregnant, but in reality the possibilities are just really low and not impossible. Hasn't anyone caught on already that people heal oddly fast in this place? We know it doesn't actually 'cure' people; otherwise, Kenny's dad's dementia and Boyd's Parkinson's wouldn’t still exist. But Ethan's leg was impaled, and within a few days, he was walking around with the help of a stick.

Did Fatima somehow heal enough to get pregnant, or could the beings in control of the town be using her to spawn a new creature—perhaps to replace the one Boyd killed?

As for Tabitha, I don’t think people necessarily have to die to escape the town. There’s something about the lighthouse—often seen as a symbol of hope and not just a source of light—that could be tied to a possible way out. In literature, lighthouses represent guidance and the promise of safety, especially during dark or turbulent times, helping lost souls find their way back home.

Victor found his mother’s body by the faraway tree that led to the lighthouse, which feels significant. It’s possible that his little sister managed to catch up to their mother, and during that time, their mother helped her escape. But when she returned to get Victor, the monsters got to her.

They say that in storytelling, you should never assume a character is gone when their body isn’t shown, as they often return in surprising ways. Maybe his sister has been alive all this time, but is still trapped in that place, or perhaps she really did escape? It’s also possible she got turned into one of the monsters. There are still a lot of unknowns.

#from #from epix #from tv #from tv show #from mgm+#thoughts

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fckmini · 4 months ago

Note

Hii, im new to your blog and I love your work!! I was wondering if you could do a thranduil x fem elf reader who is the princess of nature so she can control nature etc and they could of met when they were younger and they were arranged to marry and fluffy ending please and thank you :))

I hope you like this @chocotacobread ! thank you SO much for requesting and feel free to send in any more that you have! :) im sorry it took so long!

—————————————————————————

Spring - Thranduil x fem elf! Reader romantic fluff

I’m sorry if its too waffly but i wanted to write something pretty!

Thranduil x reader relationship - fluff and romance :)

my masterlist is here - please check out some of my other work if you can!

As always please give me some feedback and please send requests <3

this is written as a part 2 to this request!!

mutuals and ppl I think might be interested: @in-darker-dreams @tolkien-fantasy @the-messy-nessie @blairsanne @aceofatook @lilunoakes @shrimpsthings @the-nerd-procrastinator @khazdith @glorfindelridesagain @therealsomajesticdonki @catnip-and-caprice @blairsanne @leafycasper @ur-gucchi-im-crocs @thelifelemonsgaveyou @emptyspace008 @iactuallyshipeveryone @zemosboy @theelfmaiden @i-did-not-mean-to @gossip-guy-of-middle-earth @catnip-and-caprice

—————————————————————————

It was finally spring. Its arrival had always been a cherished event in the Woodland Realm, and this year was no different. A homely warmth seeped into Thranduil's skin, embracing him tenderly. The royal garden, awash with the tender hues of spring, was alive with the soft whisper of cherry blossoms. The sun’s tender touch enlivened soft petals that danced in the wind. They swirled, fluttering gently to the ground like the delicate brush of eyelashes in the morning. The King stood, a spectator to the seasons, his thoughts drifting back in time.

Many springs ago, this very garden witnessed the first meeting of Thanduil and his beloved wife. It had been an arranged marriage, as is custom for elven royalty. The sun had been gleaming with the same fond brightness as it was now. It cast a golden hue that glittered in the iridescent dew that adorned the grass: nature's pearls. He was waiting with bated breath to meet his betrothed when she floated in. A breath of life. A sigh of sunshine. Ripples of grass blossomed beneath each step she took, leaving a constellation of wildflowers and daisies behind her. The air was thick with pollen, heavy with the promise of new life. Otherworldly, even amongst elves. Her very essence seemed intertwined with the earth, and the elven king had been entranced from that first moment.

“Thranduil,” her voice had been soft, melodic, “it is an honour to meet you.”

“And you, my lady,” he had replied, bowing with a grace befitting a king, though his heart had skittered like that of a newborn deer. His eyes of starlight met hers, the deep hue of the sun at dawn. Sunshine incarnate, flowers bloomed before her, but none more so than the elven king. Her smile made the world itself seem dim, her laugh was purer than the tinkling of a rushing stream. He had worn his finest robes, plaited his silver, moonlight, hair in traditional braids. Yet, hers was ornate beyond compare, decorated with a rainbow of blooms, as opalescent as an aurora.

In that moment, two souls had entwined, as is common in elven life-bonds. Once a sapling, their marriage blossomed into a bond that neither could have anticipated. The famously icy temperament of the king thawed beneath her touch and gaze. He melted before her. Their hands, desperate for the nourishing affection of the other, would reach out, hopeful, longing like ancient roots seeking water. The time in his life before her was but a shadow of a memory, too distant and too dark to recall.

"My King," a loving voice broke his reverie. She approached, eternally radiant, still leaving a trail of blossoming flowers behind her.

"My queen," he replied, his voice thick with warmth and reverence.

She joined him. "It is a beautiful day, is it not?" she asked, her hand slipping into his, fitting perfectly as it always had.

"It is." He replied, their eyes met, twinkling with the same light that had captivated the other all those years ago.

Together, they stood in silence, watching the cherry blossoms continue to dance in the breeze. The soft murmur of spring stirred around them. The garden, once a witness to the beginning of their love, now stands testament to its enduring strength. Its growth, how they had flourished, was much like the nature that his queen so cherished.

As they stood there, enveloped in the beauty of spring, they both knew that their love would continue to bloom, season after season, for all eternity.

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misguidedasgardian · 1 year ago

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The course of Nature, part (2)

First Part

Pairing: Negan x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of Negan’s brutality, cursing, implied coercion and kidnapping, mentions of polygamy, (c’mon guys, everything related to Negan in the Sanctuary), talking of periods and pregnancy, thoughts about abortion, sensitive content regarding pro-choice… SMUT, a soft mommy kink, rather pregnancy kink, a little biting and a little blood, Negan being a horny jackass.

might miss some warnings.

TWD Era: Alexandria, Negan Era, (season 7)

Notes: Seeing Negan saying, “Oh my, look at this little Angel!” and grabbing Judith from her crib did something to me, and here it is

“Why don’t you want to be my wife?” he asked her, amused

“Negan, I know you are like a rabbit or a jackass… you are horny and you hump the first thing you see, but I’m like a cool Eagle, or a wolf… I mate for life” she answered simply. And it was so clever he wasn’t even mad, he chuckled darkly watching her intently, hoping to burn the shape of her body and her face in his mind forever

“You are acting like someday I’m going to get bored of you and just let you leave” he whispered in her ear. He felt her getting nervous, the small hairs on the back of her head standing to attention and goosebumps in her arms. But still she acted like he didn’t cause her incredible fear.

“You might” she whispered

“Believe me, I will not” he answered back

You didn’t want to have anything to do with the other wives of Negan, really, you didn’t want to talk to anyone, you didn’t want to make friends, you just wanted to stay in your room and most importantly, stay fucking alive and not make it worse for your friends in Alexandria

But…

When weeks passed and you didn't get your period. You were quickly losing your mind

It was hard to keep track of the calendar in the fucking zombie apocalypse. All the electronics went to shit… but you guessed that outside in some place of the sactuary, someone might have a fucking clue.

Your period was like a swiss watch, you were never late, it was like clockwork, so you had a sense of when it was coming, so now, you left your room looking frantically for a calendar, or something

The wives seemed surprised to see you, but somehow relieved, since he took you, Negan never left your side, he didn’t spend the night with any of them, you thought they’d be angry, or jealous, but the looks on their faces told you they were grateful, and relieved.

Even though Negan was proud to say he had killed rapists and didn’t tolerate the awful act, he did use coercion to get what he wanted, he used it on you, and probably all of them as well. Yes he did give them a choice but… “Be my wife or I’ll bash yours or your boyfriend's brains” didn’t seem much of a choice to you.

“Hey, we have been wanting to meet you” only two of them approached you, a redhead, and a smaller girl, with dark hair and and bangs, “I’m Frankie, this is Tanya”

“(Y/N)” You answered, “Sorry I was hiding in my room” you explained

“It’s understandable” she drew an apologetic smile. There was an awkward silence, in which they expected you to say something, and all the way around

“I was wondering…” you started, “if any of you had a calendar, or something… a way to tell what day it is?” you explained. They all looked at eachother. The one you knew her name was Frankie took your hand softly and led you to the wall where there was this old calendar

“It’s the 17th” she said softly. You just nodded, confirming your fears, you were late, two fucking weeks late. You drew a shaky breath, tears burning the back of your eyes.

“Shit” you whispered, debating internally if you should share your fears or not

“What’s going on?” she asked you, “you can tell us”

“Yeah” a blonde one that seemed a little out of it also came close to you, “we are so grateful to you” she whispered with a reassuring smile, “For… distracting him…”

“I’m late” you choked out. You heard them gasp loudly, “I don’t know… I’m two weeks late and I feel like shit, I’m probably…”

“pregnant” murmured the blonde one

Frankie must have known how you felt. Maybe they all did. She placed her soft hand on your shoulder to comfort you, and it worked. You draw a shaky breath, wiping the tears with the back of your hand

“What is he going to do?” you asked, “Is he going to… push me down the stairs or something?”

“We don’t know” she whispered, “we are the ones that take care of it” she explained, “he had never express his want to… have kids”

“He is the one that makes sure we use contraceptives” the black haired woman said

“I’ll go with you to the doctor” Frankie said, and you just nodded, “It’s the only way to be sure”. grabbing the hand she offered you tightly, and under the sad eyes of all of Negan’s wives, you left the room.

“I’m terrified” you murmured, when you came face to face with a man you knew they called Fat Joey

“Hey joey” greeted Frankie, and he eyes you both suspiciously

“Negan wouldn’t want you to walk alone” he said, “specially if you are terrified” you wanted to swallow your own words

“We are fine, Fat Joey” Frankie muttered

“Let me escort you” you squeezed her hand, but he walked behind you silently in your journey to the doctor’s office

You managed to shake him off of you in the consult, you closed the door on his face.

“Good morning ladies, what can I do for you?”, this doctor gave you the creeps, but he was the only one around so…

Frankie gave you a reassuring smile, nodding, so you turned to the doctor

“I think I’m late”, you whispered, he looked at you and nodded

“Very well, I have a pregnancy test you could take”

It was the most uncomfortable 5 minutes of your entire life, and you were living in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, go figure

It took less than 10 minutes for the two lines to appear, and you truly felt like you were going to lose it. Frankie didn’t say anything, neither did you, but she hugged you tightly and you hugged her back

“Everything is going to be alright, it’s still early”, she whispered sweetly in your ear, caressing your hair, you only nodded, it was true, it was only a couple of weeks… Frankie looked at the doctor

“Is there anything you could give her?”, she asked. The doctor looked at you and then at her.

“No”

“That’s a lie”, she accused

“Yes”, he said simply

“You have to do something!” you demanded, “Give me something…”

“I’m sorry, I can’t do anything without Negan’s permission”

“WHAT?” you argued, “It’s my body…”

“It’s Negan’s baby” he said seriously, “I can’t do anything or give you anything without him knowing” He perfectly could, but he had clear instructions from Negan, and he valued his own life more than yours.

. . .

Negan knew something was wrong when he passed the lounge where his wives were and they all looked at him in terror.

Did someone die?

Did someone escape? or tried to?

He hadn't punished someone publicly this week, so he knew this wasn’t that. And if someone actually had died, betrayed him or escaped, he would have known by now, so, what was it? He looked directly at Frankie, she averted her gaze, but her eyes looked at the wall to the right. He just nodded, silently, and kept walking until he found himself at your door. He knocked twice, but you didn’t answer, so he just went in.

He found you with your back turned to the door, in a fetal position on the bed

“Hey sunshine” he greeted carefully, and he saw you flinch. You turned, slowly, and he was surprised to see you crying. Did you find out about all the things he had done in Alexandria? No, impossible, “What is going on?” he asked, you were there, in front of him, so you didn’t tried to scape, and you didn’t kill anyone so he wondered what got you so fucking scared of him right now

“I’m sorry” you whispered, “Negan” you called, “I love you” oh how much he could have given to hear you say those words, but the way you say them, it was desperate, you sounded like Amber, you didn’t mean it, in fact, you wanted to calm him down

“What is going on?” he repeated the question, harder this time, making you flinch raising your shoulders and trying to hide between them

“I’m pregnant” you whispered, you dropped the revelation and then you wanted to bend over your own body to protect yourself from him, and that is what kind of broke him. “I’m sorry”

Of all the reactions he may had that you played in your mind, him chuckling and smiling widely wasn’t one of them

“You are not mad?” you asked back, and he shook his head

One of the most scary things about Negan is that he was totally unpredictable, you could never guess what’s coming

In one scenario he grabbed you by the arm and threw you down the stairs, and then made sure to beat you up until there was nothing left inside of you. In another he’d let the doctor get his hands on you, but you never, ever, thought he’d be happy about it

“Aw honey, this is wonderful news!” you jumped when he yelled that, opening his arms in celebration, he never stopped looking at you, “An heir!” he continued, “A little savior, a little Negan or Lucille” you shook in your place when he called his deceased wife’s name

And suddenly, you were more scared.

“A little Lucille?” you muttered, he had told you everything about his late wife, and the thought he might be using you to relive some weird fantasy chilled your bones. Suddenly you felt your eyes wet with tears, and not being able to stop them, fat, bitter tears started running down your cheeks, “No…” you whined. His face dropped when he saw how you started to lose it, you started to hyperventilate

“Hey, sweetheart, I need you to relax”

“You have to talk to the doctor, so he’ll give me something…” you tried to explain

“Why would I do that, baby?” he asked

“I can’t have your baby” you whined, wiping your tears

“Why the hell not?” he asked, this time his face became so serious so fast you shook in fear

“Negan…” you called, expecting him to understand, “please” he softened his gaze on you, with his gloved hand he caressed your cheek as he smiled sweetly at you, but that didn’t calm you, he was unpredictable and you’ll do well in remembering that. He leaned in and kissed you softly, gently, as he was scared of breaking you

“You are going to be an amazing mother sweety” he whispered against your lips and you only whined, “anything you want, everything is yours!” he announced, standing up, “I’ll tell all of them, to bring you anything you could need”

“You are going to let me carry this baby?” you asked

“Of course”, he said simply

“Please Negan”, you whispered, “I can’t bring a child into this world”

“It will have hundreds of people that will take care of him”, he said, “we are in the sanctuary baby”

“Negan please”, you begged, he just say on the edge of the bed, cradling your face with his big hands

“This a good thing baby”, he whispered, leaning in and catching your lips with his

“Negan”, you whined against his lips

“You are going to be such a good mommy”, he purred, abandoning your lips and going down your throat with heated open kisses

And you snapped out of your hornyness, you grabbed his face and pushed him off of you

“Darling..!”

“Fuck off Negan!”, you grunted, but your heated face told him your resolution wouldn’t last long, you were as horny as he was. He smiled wickedly

He knew he had chosen well, you were going to protect that baby with your life, your lioness instincts already kicking in

“C’mon mommy”, he purred, “come to daddy”

“I hate you”, you said, with no conviction in your voice

“No you don’t”

And perhaps that is what was so messed up about all of this

You were scared to death, yes, but you were also… excited

And Negan could see that

He approached you again and held you in his arms, he leaned in and again he kissed you. It was soft at first but then it turned heated, you grabbed him roughly, pulling on the hairs on the back of his neck making him grunt needily

“You like it rough, don’t you?”, he mocked, you didn’t want to talk, you just took his leather jacket and threw it on the floor caresly

Another day he would have make a big fuss about it, but today he knew better

“he leaned over you, wanting to pin you down to the bed, but you didn’t let him, instead you managed to pin him down, straddling him

“Oh baby”, he purred, “or should I say… mommy?”

“Shut up”, you growled, leaning in and kissing him roughly. he immediately responded with teeth and licks of his own, but as you separated from him, you bit his lower lip until blood came up

He whined under you, not pained but horny and almost pathetic, you grind your hips against his own, feeling his cock hardening between you, giving you goosebumps

“Hormones?”, he teased, but you shushed him up, you wanted him, you needed to feel him, you needed to distract yourself from everything that has happening

You almost ripped his pants off of him, making him chuckle, setting himself comfortably on the bed, you stood up to toss your own pants away from you, and then you crawled back over him. HIs greedy hands tossed your upper clothes, and finally he had you naked all to himself. You leaned in and kissed him roughly

“Yes mommy”, he teased, and you couldn’t help but slap him, not hard, and he only smiled wickedly, “I loved this side of you baby”, he purred, placing his hands on your hips

“You are so fucking mean Negan”, you accused, “you misogynistic prick!”, but you couldn't stay angry at him, you leaned in and kissed him before he could make some snarky remark. He responded at the kiss immediately, his greedy hands caressing you all over he could, your thighs, your sides, your hips. You rubbed your pussy against his hard cock, and you couldn’t help it anymore, you needed him.

You used your hand to pumped his thick cock a few times, before impaling yourself with it

“Fuck!”, you cursed at the same time, perhaps Negan was so attracted to you because you both sounded alike sometimes

You started riding him angrily, almost like you wanted to hurt him, but that turned him on even more. You started moving your hips back and forth. and the friction in your clit almost made you loss it

“FUCK THAT’S IT BABY”, he whined, and you gasped, feeling your orgasm build incredibly quickly

“I hate you”, you cried when you cummed

“I know”, he whispered, entertained, letting you fuck him for once, admiring the goddess riding him.

But you rode him until you cummed again, finally making him finish inside of you.

You let yourself fall on top of him, as you both recuperated, he just held you, caressing your naked back

“I mean it”, he gasped

“What?”, you asked back

“I will do anything to protect you”, he promised, “I leave Rick alone, I promise, you will be a great mother, I really believe that”, you smiled, not letting him see it, of course.

. . .

“Arat” the girl was on his side on a second, that determined look in her eyes that Negan liked so much, “If something happens to me… “ he started, and she frowned, like he just spoke treason, “If this world is fucked up and for reason I fucking die and Rick the prick is still alive I want you to do something for me, ok?”

“You want me to kill him Sir?” she asked, and he chuckled

“No, I want you to take (Y/N) to him” he whispered, “without me controlling everything she is in danger, I want you to make sure she comes back to her people”

Damn, being a father does change you and your priorities

He thought with a smirk on his face and a swing of his bat

TAGLIST @neganswoman @nijiru @imvomitting @aleemendoza2425-blog @0vecam @heavenhatesme

#misguidedtwd #negan x reader #negan #negan x you #negan smut #twd negan #the walking dead

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surelysilly · 2 months ago

Note

i love your King Of Hell Danny (superphantom) au and i would greatly (very much) appreciate it if you could talk more about it (King Of Hell Danny) i love his (danny) smug cat energy (smug) in all of your drawing for it (hell is under New Management)

i hope you're ready for this some rambling but ask and you shall receive!!! yes i waited to post this for superphantom week i gotta shill for my own event, y'know :9

So. You want to know more about King of Hell Danny, is it?

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

Well. Well. He's certainly Danny. Or more specifically I've decided as of recent, Dark Danny. I'm waffling on whether he's Dan Dark Danny or just... Phantom sans Plasimus. The latter feels less likely as i try to flesh him out, but you never know with these guys... he does prefer to look like his 14 yr old self though.

But whatever version he is of himself... it's post-TUE, and he hates himself more than anyone is allowed to know.

Not sure exactly how he ended up in the SPNverse (portal probably!), but he'd definitely prefer going back to his own world/dimension in a heavily buried sense of self-flagellation and unreliable narrator-ness.

Everyone is waiting for him there, not here, wherever he is exactly. This implies anyone is left alive, but he never said that. People (Crowley, etc.) just assume so.

and he's the worst lil jerk you could ever meet, at a first, second, and third, glance, anyway.

Smug cat, indeed. He does what he wants, when he wants, how he wants, and taking over Hell felt right. (isn't that where he'd go? he thinks, after learning Hell is actually real.)

he's overpowered for sure, but it also comes from a misconception for what he is. Not a demon, not human, a secret Third Thing: weird ghost.

i like to think most regular ghost counter measures work on him, but no one thinks to try them because that ain't no ghost??? He plays the part really well though, pretending to be a demon (and gets mislabelled a crossroads demon for his red eyes) -- it doesn't bother him to kill people, but he doesn't go out of his way to do it anymore.

KOH!Danny having it out for the Winchesters is a very thoughtless and fun thing, and it would piss him off when they try to summon Crowley, but in all actuality, he'd probably end up begrudgingly working with them or something.

And ultimately betray them.

I also think his goal would be to fuse with Lucifer when he's freed from the Cage. That should give him enough power to bust a hole back to his OG dimension, right?

maybe. Who knows.

You can certainly find him at DIY skateparks across the globe. He's an asshole to anyone and everyone, but god have mercy on anyone looking to cause trouble while he's trying to have a good time (he feels guilty about it, though, having fun -- it's a circle of shame/guilt/fuck it we ball mentality, here for a good time not a long time).

he can 'see' Castiel's wings and if in his presense, will pluck at them because he's annoying like that.

Crowley became his lap dog though, regardless of intial beheadings because... Hell generates a lot of paperwork the way Crowley was running it, and KOH!Danny don't got the time for all of that.

eventually I'm sure someone will figure him out, ghost weaknesses and all, but it's not 1:1 SPNverse ghost: no bones to burn, no records of him being alive ever, etc., but he's definitely solid enough.

i could see a later quest like what the Winchesters did to find Crowley's remains, but they'd spiral down a hole of "where hell did this creature even come from???" and the Men of Letters/Angels/anyone wouldn't know jack about what he even is exactly.

i'm so rusty on SPN though... but those are my cobbled together ideas. I'd place him mid-ish seasons Supernatural (because ive only really seen s4 thru s8...) but i think the 'hijinks' of later seasons could be fun with the seriousness of early, early seasons sprinked in!

#asks #superphantom #superphantomweek2024 #dpxspn #dp x spn #<<< i use these last two tags under vague duress cos im old #hell is under new management au #thank you for asking!!!!

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imaginesfordifferentfandoms · 8 months ago

Text

Spark of Hope

Click here for my masterlist.

Click here to add yourself to my taglist.

Request - @narcissa-of-kaas - Hey there! Could you please do something with Tech for #39 from your prompt list ?💜

Prompt - “I had a nightmare about you and I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” (Set post season 2, pre season 3)

You couldn’t even say how much time had passed since that Force forsaken day. It had been months at best and yet somehow it felt more like years. You had never been able to adjust to a life without Tech, how could you? It was impossible to believe that there had ever been a time where you hadn’t had Tech in your life, hadn’t had him ready at your side rattling facts of, filling silences with knowledge or just sitting together as he tinkered away. Whenever you needed somebody, it was always Tech you turned to.

Then all of a sudden Tech was gone.

You still remembered the day, still remembered watching him fall from the cart, still remembered the heart wrenching scream that escaped you as you could do nothing but watch, only Hunter kept you where you were, stopping you from following after Tech, dragging you against his chest and forcing you to stay on the cart as it sped away from Tech.

You had no memory of leaving, everything since then had passed in a blur and you were certain it was only thanks to Hunter you had managed to make it back to safety.

A day hadn’t passed where you let yourself believe Tech was dead. You couldn’t ever let yourself believe that, the second you did you knew you’d be done. You had to force yourself to keep that small spark of hope that seemed to dim as each day went by.

You spent your days sat on the comm, pleading for hours for Tech to answer you, pleading with him to come back home, to come back to you. Hunter and Wrecker watched on with aching hearts as you refused to be moved, refused to let yourself accept reality.

The loss of Tech was only worsened by the loss of Omega, then Echo left to go help Rex, unable to stand being on the Marauder. You didn’t blame him, some days being on the ship drove you crazy, there were too many memories, too many constant reminders of those that should have been here but weren’t. Some days you couldn’t drag yourself out of bed, the smell of Tech on the sheets lessened with each day he was gone but you had to believe he’d be back one day.

Months had passed since that day and you were startled all of a sudden when the comm came to life, a distress signal that was used by the Batch could be heard. Hunter watched your face fill with relief, with hope. It broke his heart but still it was a code they used, they had to check it out.

You were relieved beyond words to see that Omega and Crosshair were safe and alive and yet you were disappointed. You hated to even admit it to yourself, hated the fact that when you saw the pair your heart dropped because it wasn’t Tech.

It was meant to be Tech.

Nobody blamed you for withdrawing after that, they knew you wanted Tech back. You had felt the spark of hope you had fizzle out, desperately wanting to stay alight but you didn’t know how to keep believing, didn’t know how to carry on without Tech.

It seemed that even though things had gotten better, two members of the Batch were back where they belonged, it was never right. There was constantly an empty space in every room of the Marauder, a silence after somebody said something where you still waited for Tech to talk, there were no longer random projects left out for you to fall over, it wasn’t home without Tech.

You still sat at the comm but your heart was empty as you spoke, you would give anything for a reply.

Then one day it came.

A strange message that consisted of nothing more than a set of coordinates and a cryptic message of ‘pl45’. Suddenly that spark of hope that had gone out weeks ago was back with a mighty flame, pushing out all the darkness and you just knew, it had to be him.

“Hunter!” You called, looking at the coordinates and the message, Plan 45, it was definitely a code the Batch used.

Hunter frowned as he looked at the message, Plan 45 meant mission gone wrong. It was their code, a random one to use but still their code. He wasn’t sure about it, one look at your face and he knew you had gotten your hopes up, he hated that you were going to be left more broken than before, he wasn’t sure you’d recover from this one.

“Y/N,” Hunter sighed softly but you were already shaking your head at him, standing from your seat and pushing past him into the cockpit. “Hey, I want it to be him too!”

“Then let’s go!” You snapped at Hunter, immediately feeling bad. You knew that whilst you hadn’t been coping well with the loss of Tech, without Hunter you probably would have completely lost it months ago. He truly had been your saving grace. “I’m sorry, it’s just…it’s Tech, I know it is.”

Hunter looked at you, his face contorted with sympathy but eventually he nodded, taking a seat in the cockpit as you typed in the coordinates. He didn’t say anything but that was just what you needed, to have Hunter by your side as you went to find Tech.

It had to be Tech.

It had to be.

It took two days to land on the planet the coordinates led to, a planet you didn’t know the name of and was so far off the map. You were sure Tech would have a fact or two about it if he were here.

You had sat on the comm, watching it, willing it to come alive with another message but nothing more came through.

The ship finally landed and you were the first off it, eyes scanning the forest around you, looking for any sign of Tech. The others followed you out of the Marauder, each of them looking around and seeing nothing, knowing it was going to be bad for you when you came to another dead end.

It was Hunter who heard him first, a crunch and snap of twigs under a boot alerted him and he let out a small gasp, feeling Crosshair and Wrecker look at him.

It took a few more moments but Tech appeared from the trees and you felt your legs nearly give out as you looked at him, unable to move.

“Y/N.” Tech breathed out and that was all you needed to force your feet forward, practically falling into his chest and Tech didn’t care how sore his body was he still wrapped his arms around you and held you close.

“You got my message.” He whispered into your hair and you laughed though the noise sounded more like a sob as silent tears made their way down your cheeks.

Tech felt his own eyes well up but he managed to keep the tears contained as he looked past you to his brothers, though a few tears did manage to trickle out as he saw Crosshair looking back at him.

Eventually you managed to pull away and Tech brought his hand to your cheek, brushing away your tears before he leant his forehead against yours.

“I knew you were alive.” You told him, your voice barely audible as you tried to hold back more tears. “I knew you were.”

Tech leaned forward, brushing his lips against yours and you couldn’t stop more tears from falling as you kissed him back, savouring the feeling after doubting if you would ever feel this again.

You never strayed far from Tech when the two of you eventually pulled away and he was embraced by his brothers, each of their eyes watery and a few of their cheeks wet where tears had fallen.

Eventually you all made your way back into the Marauder and Tech excused himself for a much needed sonic. You were reluctant to let him go but watched him leave, assuring yourself he was back.

“I told you.” You said softly as Hunter came to sit next to you. “I told you he was alive.”

Hunter pulled you against his chest, his arm going around your shoulder as he placed a soft kiss to your head.

“He’s alive.” Hunter murmured against your hair, still trying to wrap his mind around it himself.

By the time Tech had left the fresher Hunter had gotten the ship into hyperspace and everyone was sat together. Tech immediately made his way over to you, not wasting any time in pulling you close to him, your hand finding his as the others spoke softly, your thumb stroking over his knuckles in a constant reminder that he was there.

The six of you sat there for hours, Tech filled you in on what had happened since his fall, Omega had excitedly told Tech about her and Crosshair’s daring escape and the rest of the night was spent reliving old memories until you were all yawning.

None of you wanted to pull yourselves out of that moment but the need for sleep was too much and you forced yourselves up and into bed.

You were happy to go to bed though when Tech climbed in after you and pulled you close, the sound of his steady breathing was enough to lull you into an easy sleep, something that you hadn’t been able to do for months, your eyes falling closed feeling warm and overwhelmingly relieved.

It wasn’t until you gasped awake, shivering at the cold air that you knew something wasn’t right. You looked around and felt your heart sink as you realised you were on a cart, Storm Troopers shooting at you from across the way. It wasn’t until you saw Tech running across the rail line that you felt panic build up.

“No.” You whispered to yourself, Omega looking up at you in confusion. “No, he’s alive. I got him back.”

“Um, Hunter, something’s wrong with Y/N.” You heard Omega say but you didn’t pay attention to Hunter calling your name, instead keeping your eyes locked on Tech like your gaze alone could change everything.

“We’ve got three ships inbound.” Hunter said, dragging his gaze from you and back onto the fight.

You shook your head, how many times had you been forced to relive this day? How many times had you been forced to lose Tech? You thought you had him back, you had him back. Was that just a dream, a way to cope with him being gone?

Power came rushing back to the cart, snapping you back to reality and your eyes filled with tears as you watched Tech running back towards the cart, trying to outrun the blaster shots aimed at him.

You could only watch through blurry tear filled eyes as Tech fell from the rail line onto a falling cart, watching as he just about managed to secure himself with his grappling line but there was nowhere for him to go, the cart was falling faster than he could climb.

“Wrecker, get him on board.” Hunter commanded, though the command was filled with underlying worry.

You let out a choked sob, knowing that command wouldn’t be carried out.

“You must sever the connecting hinge. Now!” Tech instructed and you shook your head madly.

“Tech.” You managed to choke out. “Please.”

“Y/N,” You heard Tech sigh and your name falling from his lips had more sobs escaping you. “I’m sorry, my love.”

You watched as he pulled his blaster out and knew what was to come.

“Plan 99.” He said and you screamed as he fired his blaster, only able to watch as he fell, seconds away from blinding following after him only to have Hunter snatch you away from the edge, holding you tightly against his chest as you thrashed madly against him, unsure of what you could do if you managed to get out of his hold but the only thought in your mind was that you wanted Tech.

He couldn’t be dead.

You shot up with a gasp, silent tears falling down your face and sweat clinging to your body as you looked around, assuring yourself you were in the Marauder. Your heart hammered in your chest when you realised you were alone.

Had Tech ever been back?

You forced your body out of bed, of course he was back, he had to be.

Your feet silently carried you through the Marauder, only stopping when you got to the cockpit and you felt a sob escape you when you saw Tech in the pilot’s seat, looking out of the window as you flew through hyperspace.

The noise had Tech turning to face you with a worried look.

“What happened, my love?” The pet name had your mind flashing back to the last thing he said to you but you shook your head, wiping the tears away as best you could.

“I had a nightmare about you,” You told him, watching as his face softened and he made room for you on the chair. “And I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m okay, dear.” He assured you as you sat in the chair, his arm wrapping around you as he held you close, guiding your head to his chest so you could feel his heart beat loud and clear. “I’m alive.”

The words were a reassurance to the both of you as you sat there holding each other in silence whilst you passed through hyperspace, Tech was here.

He was alive and he was going nowhere.

____

Tech Taglist (Click the link in my bio to add yourself!)

@ughhhhfoff, @kashasenpai, @venuskywaker, @bobaprint, @starstruckfluff, @solstraalaa

Thank you so much for reading!❤️

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fangsandfracturedhearts · 11 months ago

Text

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 2: Reunion

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 4.9k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content.

Instinctively, you drop into a crouch as your eyes scour the shadowy tree line. The scent of damp earth fills your lungs, mingling with the pungent, sickly-sweet aroma of powdered iron vine that clings to the air, a reminder of the Gur hunters lurking nearby. You can sense them, hidden in the murky gloom, yet all you see are dark silhouettes merging with the night.

The world around you is alive with the sound of rustling leaves and the distant call of nocturnal creatures, but your focus narrows. You move with practiced precision, each breath deliberate as you mentally catalogue potential hiding spots and escape routes. This alley, with its crumbling brick walls and tangled underbrush, could easily become your tomb.

You test your footing, grinding the toe of your boot into the soft earth. The recent rains have left the ground slick with mud, and you can feel the treacherous squish beneath your feet. One misstep could mean a tumble, a sound that would betray your position to the hunters closing in.

Your senses become razor sharp as the scent of powdered iron vine thickens. It’s almost suffocating, making your eyes water. You blink rapidly, forcing yourself to concentrate. Then, as if the night is holding its breath, you begin to hear it—the rhythmic beating of hearts, thrumming like war drums. Squeezing your eyes shut, you count, straining to discern how many are trailing you.

One, two, three, four, five—six.

Fuck. Too many.

Kneeling behind an abandoned, overturned wagon, you feel the weight of dread settle in your gut. Your mind races through strategies, the adrenaline coursing through you like fire. A head-on assault would be suicide; these Gur are not only seasoned monster hunters but also fuelled by vengeance after the chaos in the temple beneath Szarr Palace.

They inch closer, methodical in their approach. You can feel the air grow heavy with their malice, the thundering resonance of their hearts providing a grim soundtrack to your predicament.

With a deep breath, you begin to move, keeping low to the ground, inching away from your hiding spot. An angled corner ahead offers a glimmer of hope—a chance for cover and, if you’re fortunate, an escape route. Your boots sink into the thick, gelatinous mud, each step producing a squelching sound that echoes like a death knell in the tense silence.

What had Astarion said? Roll your foot down, starting from the heel, one joint at a time. How many joints are in a foot, anyway? You scoff inwardly at the memory. He had attempted to teach you the art of stealth but deemed you hopeless when you struggled to improve your footwork after several lessons. The truth is, you hadn’t put in the effort you should have. The way his brow would furrow in frustration was both amusing and utterly adorable.

Maybe I should have taken those lessons more seriously.

Rounding the corner, you spot a dark figure standing at the fork in the path ahead, a hulking silhouette poised and ready. Your breath catches as more hunters emerge from the long grass, their expressions grim, eyes glinting with malice. The slow, muffled footsteps approaching from behind signal that you’re being herded, their strategy unfolding perfectly.

It’s no surprise they anticipated your movements; they’ve corralled you into this cramped alley, executing a trap with chilling precision. You feel the walls closing in, your options dwindling. Panic surges within you, a primal instinct screaming for flight.

Your gaze darts among your assailants, absorbing the tempest of loathing and disgust that saturates their crazed eyes. You can practically taste the acrid hatred in the air. To them, you are nothing more than an abhorrent monster to be eradicated. Their hearts pound wildly in their chests, a morbidly rhythmic cadence that only amplifies your rising fear.

Steeling yourself, you settle into a defensive stance, grounding your feet against the mud. You reach out to the Weave, inviting its familiar, comforting presence to envelop you. It flows through you like a warm embrace, saturating every fibre of your being, a soothing balm against the chaos around you. The palm of your hand warms as you prepare to cast, spells swirling through your memory, each one a reminder of your power and restraint.

But you’re not here to kill. The thought sends a wave of nausea through you. You refuse to become the monster they think you are.

“Impero tibi.” The words spill from your lips, infused with urgency.

The spell takes hold, and they crumple to the ground, sleeping soundly as a babe, giving you a crucial opening. The remaining hunters react instantly, hurtling themselves toward you with wild shouts of fury.

Speaking the words for Misty Step, you feel your body dissolve into a silvery fog just as a hunter lunges, his sword aiming for your heart. In an instant, you reappear atop a nearby roof, the cool night air brushing against your skin. A few of the hunters stumble back, momentarily taken by surprise at your sudden escape.

Seizing the opportunity, you cast a flurry of spells, incapacitating several hunters before they can regain their composure. You tread a fine line, careful not to kill, even as it complicates your ability to defend yourself. These hunters are victims too, just as you are in your misguided attempt to help Astarion reclaim the joy that was stolen from him long ago.

You shudder at the thought of the countless souls you’ve condemned to suffering, including the Gur's innocent children. You refuse to add more blood to the crimson tide you’re already floundering in.

No more unnecessary bloodshed.

A hunter lunges onto the roof, roaring with rage as he swings his blade. You barely manage to dodge, but the steel tip grazes your snowy skin, slicing a shallow gash diagonally across your chest. The metallic tang of blood fills the air—your blood—saturating the breeze with its coppery scent, a reminder of your vulnerability.

Snarling, fangs bared, you leap to the roof of a nearby small shack, desperate to put some distance between yourself and your pursuer. But as your boots thud against the worn wood shingles, you realize you’ve made a grave error. The shingles are rotten and unstable, shifting beneath your weight. You lose your balance, crashing to your knees as you claw at the splintered wood, searching for anything to grip onto. There’s nothing—just decay.

You tumble off the edge, hitting the boggy ground in a heap.

Before you can recover, the hunters seize you, yanking you to your feet and thrusting your back against the splintered wall of the dilapidated shack. The timber creaks ominously under the pressure, and a cold, razor-sharp dagger presses firmly against your neck. Panic surges through you as a scroll flickers and dissolves in the dim light of the low-hanging crescent moon, shadows dancing like wraiths.

You force yourself to focus, reaching for the Weave, but it eludes you, dissipating like mist in the morning sun. The putrid stench of powdered iron vine and sweat overwhelms your senses, twisting your stomach into knots.

Did they bathe in the stuff? Good Gods.

“Where is your master?” The lead hunter growls, eyes burning with fury.

Your what? Oh…

“I don’t know.” The words slip out, heavy with resignation. They won’t believe you, but it hardly matters; death is inevitable.

“Where is he hiding, spawn!?” The hunter barks, spittle flying from his lips.

Spawn. This is what the so-called hero of Baldur’s Gate has been reduced to.

You struggle against their grip, but their hold tightens, the faint tang of a Giant’s Strength potion lingering in the air around them. Trying to escape would be futile; they’ve prepared well, having hunted you with knowledge and intent. You shouldn’t have expected anything less.

Frustration bubbles over, and you bare your fangs. “Did I stutter? I said, I don’t fucking know!”

How long have the Gur been tailing you, hoping you’d lead them back to him? Why can’t they find him without you? In the last few weeks spent together, Astarion had barely concealed his identity; he was a man who turned heads wherever he went, his very presence a magnet for attention.

The truth lingers heavy in the air—these hunters, blinded by rage and vengeance, are drawing closer, and your time is running out.

Maybe he left Baldur’s Gate?

The thought strikes a mournful chord within your soul, echoing a bittersweet melody. There’s a small comfort in the belief that he is nearby, even if he remains unseen and untouched. On some nights, when the moon hangs high and the stars twinkle like distant candles, you gaze up and find solace in knowing he’s out there somewhere beneath the same vast cosmic canopy.

“Kill her. She either can’t or won’t give him up. She’s useless to us.”

The hunter nods, a ghoulish smile stretching across their face as they draw the stake from their hip. A strange wave of relief washes over you at the prospect of your own demise—no more fear, no more pain, no more gnawing hunger. It sounds so peaceful. Your eyelashes flutter as you close your eyes in resignation, preparing yourself for the final blow.

Will it hurt? You’ve never seen a vampire staked before. Is it a slow demise, like the sun devouring you layer by layer, or a quick end? Will there even be a body left behind, or will you simply burst into ash?

The whispering hiss of a blade being drawn reaches your ears just before one of the Gur holding you lets out a sharp yelp. Their fingernails dig painfully into your skin as their hand is wrenched from your arm.

“What was that?” The hunter shouts, breath ragged with confusion.

“I don’t know! I didn’t see any—” Their voice trails off, fading into a frightened murmur that dissipates into the gathering shadows.

You squirm, desperate to shake off the grip holding you against the wall. Panic surges through you as the remaining hunter lunges forward, stake aimed directly at your heart. Their eyes bulge with terror, darting about wildly. As the stake draws nearer, you instinctively squeeze your eyes shut.

A fitting end to my sad story, if nothing else.

Suddenly, a gust of cool air sweeps across your face, and the force pinning you to the wall is yanked away. You stagger forward, arms flailing as you strive to regain your balance.

What in the Hells?

Your eyes snap open in astonishment. Silvery moonlight spills over alabaster skin, illuminating the chiseled features of Astarion’s face. A gentle breeze carries the all-too-familiar fragrance of him, sending your heart racing.

He grips the hunter by the neck, lifting them off the ground with an effortless grace. The hunter kicks and thrashes, desperation written all over their contorted face. Rasping gurgles escape their throat as Astarion tightens his hold, slowly squeezing the life out of them.

“Please, don’t!” you whimper, panic lacing your voice.

Crimson eyes flash in the moonlight, locking onto yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. Gods, he’s even more beautiful than you remember.

He sneers at you for just a moment before closing his eyes, cocking his head slightly, as if bracing himself for something painful. In a fluid motion, Astarion hurls the Gur into the wall with a resounding thud. The hunter collapses, unconscious but alive, their body a crumpled heap at the base of the shack.

You finally exhale a shaky breath of relief, but it’s short-lived. A searing pain radiates from your abdomen, sending muddled black orbs dancing in your vision.

Looking down, you see the stake protruding ominously from your side. The hunter didn’t hit their mark, but they hadn’t completely missed, either. A tightness constricts your chest as panic begins to rise.

Without thinking, you yank the stake free. It tears from your body with a sickening squelch, leaving a gaping wound behind. Blood pools around your feet, the sticky warmth soaking into the ground. The stake slips from your trembling fingers, clattering to the floor.

You press your palm against your side, glancing up to meet Astarion’s gaze as your vision starts to narrow.

“… Astarion?”

Dizziness washes over you like a tide, and your knees buckle. The last sensation you register is Astarion’s arms wrapping around you, his voice a sweet melody before darkness envelops you.

Awareness flickers in and out like a candle caught in a draft as you slowly begin to regain consciousness. Your eyelashes flutter, and a herculean effort is required to pry your eyes open. They feel weighted, as though shackled to your skull, and part sluggishly. Blurred shapes loom in the dimness, twisting and undulating in rhythm with the relentless pounding in your head.

Where am I? What in the Nine Hells happened? Focus… I need to focus.

A nauseating drumming reverberates between your ears, making concentration an uphill battle. Vague snippets of memories begin to surface, clasping together piece by piece, the jagged edges of recollection cutting into your thoughts.

Shadowheart.

The forest.

Hunger—all-consuming, insatiable hunger.

The sickly-sweet scent of powdered iron vine.

The Gur.

Dismay floods through you, a tidal wave of panic, and you leap from the confines of the large, four-poster bed. Agony radiates from your side, searing through your nerves like fire, igniting each fiber of your being. Your legs buckle beneath you, knees colliding painfully with the chilled floor. Trembling, you grit your teeth, fighting back a cry as the stabbing pain momentarily overwhelms you. As the agony subsides, your vision begins to sharpen, the chamber gradually coming into focus.

No... No, it can’t be...

A handful of candles flicker, casting a warm glow that struggles to penetrate the oppressive darkness. The room is grand, lavishly decorated with opulent furnishings, yet it feels emptier than a hollow echo. Despite the extravagance, you would recognize this place anywhere.

The Crimson Palace.

Pushing yourself off the floor demands more effort than you’d like to admit, leaving you lightheaded and disoriented. Chilly air caresses your skin, and it dawns on you that you’re clad only in undergarments, bandages snugly wrapped around your chest and side. A hot flush of embarrassment erupts within you, rising like a rogue wave. If your skin could redden, you’re certain you’d be as crimson as Karlach.

Your eyes scan the room, landing on a clean robe laid out neatly on a nearby chair. Grateful for the modesty it offers, you slip it on, the fabric soothing against your skin. The floorboards creak underfoot as you clumsily attempt to tiptoe toward the closed door, your heart racing with a mix of anxiety and determination.

I really should have been a better student.

The door hinges emit a soft whimper as you carefully ease it open. Peeking through the small crack, relief washes over you to find the adjoining hallway devoid of any lurking threats. You step forward cautiously, each footfall a delicate negotiation with the ever-present faintness that caresses the edges of your consciousness, making your balance precarious. The faded wooden floorboards groan beneath you, their voices a mocking chorus to your struggle.

Voices drift into earshot as you approach the end of the hallway, starting as a distorted murmur before sharpening into clarity. Instinct howls within you, urging you to flee, but you recognize that voice.

Shadowheart.

“She’s coming home with me!” Shadowheart bristles, her tone laced with tangible agitation.

Astarion’s voice, in contrast, is a velvety dulcet that sends shivers down your spine. “Don’t be foolish. She’s not safe with you, nor are you with her.”

Shadowheart crosses her arms, shaking her head in disbelief. “Are you seriously asking me to just... just leave her here with the likes of you?! Did the ritual rob you of your intelligence as well as your soul, Astarion?”

“Come now.” His words are honeyed, draped in a beguiling tone you know all too well. “Don’t play stupid, my dear. The Gur will stop at nothing to capture and kill her. She’s not safe with you any longer. Surely, you want what’s best for her, don’t you? I can keep her safe.”

“Safe?” Shadowheart snorts, exasperation clear in her voice. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

A flicker of anger flashes across Astarion’s features, and he slams his fist onto a nearby desk, the echo reverberating through the air. “She had a choice!” He snaps defensively, voice tinged with a desperation that pulls at your heart.

“Tell yourself whatever lies you wish, Astarion.” Shadowheart’s smirk is triumphant, clearly relishing the effect she has on him. “It doesn’t change the facts.”

“Do shine your divine illumination on these ‘facts’ for me,” he retorts, the sarcasm dripping from his words.

Her eyebrow arches, clearly unfazed. “Now who’s playing stupid?”

The tension crackles in the air like electricity, and you inch closer, straining to hear more, heart racing at the thought of being the center of this escalating confrontation.

You try to make sense of it all, but the haze of confusion still clings to your mind. A mix of dread and hope churns in your stomach as you weigh your options. You could burst into the room, confront Astarion, and demand answers. Or you could slip back into the shadows and hope for an opportunity to escape.

But Shadowheart. You cannot leave her here with him. “She stays!” Astarion growls, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder, threatening to unleash a storm.

Shadowheart plants her feet firmly, hands on her hips, projecting defiance as boldly as a lioness defending her cubs. “Over my dead body.”

“Well…” Astarion’s fingers glide to his chin thoughtfully, a sly smile creeping across his lips like shadows in a dimly lit room. “Why didn’t you say so? That can certainly be arranged.”

They’re so engrossed in their escalating quarrel that they fail to notice you standing in the wide archway of the study, a silent observer caught in the undercurrents of their tension.

It’s hard to believe we were all friends once.

“Will you two give it a rest? Good Gods!” You interject, frustration bubbling to the surface like boiling water.

Startled, their heads snap towards you in unison, like two predatory beasts drawn to an unexpected sound. Shadowheart’s eyes widen, flooding with relief at the sight of you. She rushes forward, arms enveloping you in a gentle hug that feels both comforting and disconcerting. Your thoughts whirl with the troubling temptation to bite her. Your body stiffens uncomfortably, fists clenching as your nails dig deep into your palms, battling the appalling desire to sink your fangs into her lovely, tender neck.

I won’t do it. I won’t!

Shadowheart notices your discomfort almost instantly and releases you, stepping back with her hands raised in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry. I forget myself.”

You muster a tight smile, but it feels fragile. “It’s okay.”

Astarion’s voice cuts through the moment with unsettling bluntness. “You’re bleeding all over my new rug,” he remarks, his tone aloof, lips pursed in faux disapproval. “Again.”

“What?”

His gaze drifts down to your midsection, and following his stare, you see a wet maroon stain blossoming on the front of your robe. Blood drips onto the plush rug from the hem, swaying around your ankles like a dancer caught in a mournful waltz.

Shadowheart digs into her bag, her movements quick and purposeful, and tosses you a healing potion. “Your wounds were too dire for me to heal completely, I’m afraid.”

You grimace as you bring the vial to your lips, the syrupy liquid sliding down your throat like molten tar. Healing potions, like all potions, have never been particularly palatable, but since your transformation into a spawn, everything tastes like ash—except for blood, of course.

As the potion begins to take effect, the pain blissfully recedes, settling into a dull throb, but it doesn’t completely vanish, lingering like an unwelcome guest. You cringe as you swallow the last drops, the sickly-sweet residue clinging to your tongue. “How did you find me?”

Shadowheart glances back at Astarion, who stands casually, arms crossed, exuding an air of boredom that belies the danger lurking just beneath his surface. Your bewilderment must be evident on your face.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, darling,” he drawls, amusement dancing in his eyes like flickering candle flames. “I am more than capable of seeking out assistance when I choose. I am many things, but a healer is not one of them.”

Shadowheart shakes her head, rolling her eyes with a huff. “I was as surprised as you are when he showed up. I very nearly plunged a stake through his ribs right then and there.”

“You would have died in the attempt,” he replies nonchalantly, a dark, malicious smile spreading across his face like the encroaching shadows of dusk.

Blazing with the red-hot fury of the Hells, Shadowheart glares at him, her eyes sharp enough to slice through steel. He revels in the discomfort he creates, the snicker of delight escaping his lips like a snake uncoiling.

Despite her fiery demeanor, exhaustion clings to Shadowheart like a heavy cloak. Dark, puffy bags form beneath her eyes, betraying the sleepless night she’s endured—likely spent tending to you while enduring Astarion’s endless taunts. You can’t help but want to pull her away from him, away from the danger that lies coiled within his charm. He doesn’t take kindly to being challenged, and those who dare often find themselves facing dire consequences.

Your defiance has earned you many nights in the kennels during the months you’ve lived here; you were never as obedient as he expected you to be.

“You look exhausted, Shadowheart.” You wield your silver tongue, hoping to persuade her to leave. It’s the only way you can think of to ensure her safety. “You should go home and rest.”

Her brows knit together, a slight furrow marring her otherwise determined expression, jaw clenching as she glances between you and Astarion. The apprehension in her gaze is palpable; she’s afraid to leave you alone with him.

I’m scared, too.

You try to mask the fear gnawing at you, plastering on the most soothing smile you can muster, though it feels like a frail mask over a tempest. “I’ll be right behind you.”

If he allows me to leave.

She sighs heavily, the sound escaping her lips like a soft autumn breeze rustling through fallen leaves. “Fine, but I expect to see you later, and if I don’t…” Her voice trails off as she turns to Astarion, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a thundercloud ready to burst. “I’ll kill you, Astarion, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

“It would definitely be the last thing you attempt,” he replies, a smirk dancing on his lips, delighting in her threats as if they were the finest of wines. He bows shallowly, a mockery of elegance. “It was lovely seeing you again, flower.”

With a final exasperated grumble, Shadowheart stalks down the hall, her silhouette disappearing like a flickering candle in the wind, leaving you alone with Astarion, whose gaze settles on you with a hawkish intensity. It feels like the weight of his stare could crush stone, and you shuffle your feet under his probing glare, wishing for the ground to swallow you whole.

He is truly a sight to behold. The yellow candlelight flits and flickers in the deep scarlet hue of his irises, casting an almost otherworldly glow that seems to dance in tandem with the shadows lurking in the corners of the room. Astarion holds himself with an elegant confidence, each movement precise, commanding attention like a maestro conducting a symphony. It’s no wonder so many unfortunate souls have met their grim fate after making the mistake of falling for him, mesmerized by his masterfully executed masquerade.

Just as I did.

But as you look at the man standing before you, there is something hauntingly different about him. Astarion’s face is still as beautiful as you remember, every sharp angle and delicate curve accentuated by the warm flicker of candlelight, yet it feels as if you’re gazing at a reflection warped by rippling water. His eyes, once cold and calculating, are now emotive, shimmering with a depth of red that speaks of hidden desires and unspoken, you almost can’t even think the word, but you think you see pain. They draw you in like a moth to a flame, stirring a mix of longing and dread within you.

You squint, trying to reconcile the familiar with the unfamiliar. What happened to him? This man looks like Astarion—his tousled silver hair catching the light like spun moonbeams, his smile still bearing that tantalizing hint of mischief—but there’s an unsettling softness in his gaze that wasn’t there before. It’s as if the polished façade he once wore with such confidence has cracked, allowing glimpses of something more raw and vulnerable to seep through.

A flicker of confusion dances in your mind. Could this truly be the same man who had once held you in thrall, locked you in your room, took you to the kennels like a naughty pup? The differences are subtle yet profound, like shadows shifting in the corners of your vision.

You find yourself captivated yet cautious, drawn to the complexity that now envelops him. Is this the Astarion you knew, or is it merely a mirage crafted by your own desperate hopes? Your heart races, a tumultuous storm of emotions swirling within. What lies beneath this surface? There’s perhaps a flicker of emotion portrayed in his features, a glimmer of humanity peeking through the cracks of his polished façade.

Questions tumble through your thoughts, each one heavier than the last. It’s as if you’re looking at a masterpiece that has been altered—brush strokes of pain and longing layering over the vibrant colours of charm and seduction. As he inches closer, the familiar tension electrifies the air, yet it feels different, charged with a vulnerability that leaves you off balance. The sweet, bitter scent of nostalgia lingers between you, and for a moment, you wonder if you can reach out and touch the remnants of the past, or if it will only burn your fingertips.

With a deep breath, you swallow the uncertainty, your heart caught in a net of intrigue. Who is he now, really?

Even though fear runs like drifting ice through your veins, you find his presence oddly comforting. You desire nothing more than to run into his arms, to feel the warmth of his embrace wrapping around you like a protective cocoon, safe from the horrors of the world outside.

How many nights alone did you spend, tears slipping silently down your cheeks like raindrops on a windowpane, missing him? You prayed to any God who might listen, longing for him to knock on your door, to reclaim you from the abyss. How often did you dream of running back to him, begging for his love like a lost child seeking solace?

Too many. Far too many nights spent in childish fantasies that twisted like vines around your heart.

This isn’t my Astarion—not anymore.

A mournful sigh escapes your lips, thick and heavy as you swallow the lump in your throat, blinking away the tears that threaten to spill like raindrops from a stormy sky.

“Positively elated to see me, I see,” Astarion purrs, his voice deep and alluring as he takes a step closer, closing the distance.

You instinctively take a step back, the instinct to flee clashing violently with the yearning to run into his arms. It’s an odd sensation, this simultaneous pull towards him and away from him, as if you’re trapped in a web of conflicting emotions. Astarion raises his hands in a gesture of feigned innocence, his expression momentarily shifting to one of remorse, but it vanishes so quickly that you question whether it was ever real or merely a trick your mind conjured in its desperation.

“Why?” Your voice emerges as a barely audible, timid whisper.

His brows knit together in confusion, a frown etching lines into his flawless skin. “You’re going to have to be more specific. Why what?”

“Why save me?” The question hangs in the air, heavy and laden with uncertainty.

Astarion leans forward slightly, curiosity mingling with something darker in his gaze. “Would you have preferred the alternative, darling? Should I have just let those vile Gur put you down?”

“Yes,” you say bleakly, the word falling from your lips like a stone dropped into a still pond, sending ripples of disbelief through the room.

There had been a serene kind of peace in that thought, a whispered promise that your suffering would finally end. It would have been a merciful reprieve from the nightmare you are trapped in, an escape from the swirling chaos of your life.

His eyes widen, surprise etching itself across his features, the shock hitting him like a blow. A wave of disquiet washes over him, and he straightens, staring at you as if seeing a ghost. He seems uncertain how to respond, and a torrent of almost imperceptible emotions flicker across his face in rapid succession, each one a fleeting glimpse of the turmoil beneath his carefully constructed mask. But as quickly as they appear, they vanish, replaced by the cold stone veneer he wears so expertly.

“You die when I let you.”

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

AO3 [Crossposted]

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