#it's wild that i feel like too much even with half of me staying hidden away from absolutely everyone

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗠𝗜𝗗𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧, 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗦 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗬𝗢𝗨 - two mafia! charles leclerc x fem! reader ( angst ) series summary . . . after preparing your whole life to be married off to a mafia boss, you now have the difficult task of figuring out your new marriage and life, ensuring they don't turn out to be miserable.

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II, Good Morning Starshine . . . It’s hard to shake the feeling of stepping into a game where the rules are still unclear. The house is vast, echoing with unspoken histories, and each step feels like a quiet negotiation with the space( 1.4k words ) content warning . . . ( x )

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sunlight filters through the curtains, spilling warm streaks of gold across the grand room. You blink against the light, sitting up slowly, only to glance down at the mess beside you. Charles lies sprawled on the bed, soft snores escaping his lips, his hair a wild mess against the pillow. The sight tugs at something soft inside you, and you almost smile before his hand darts out, wrapping lazily around your arm.

“Don’t,” he mutters, voice thick with sleep, pulling you back toward the warmth of his chest.

You pause, torn between staying and slipping away to explore. The pull of the house wins out. You gently try to pry his grip loose, only for him to groan in protest and tug you back again. He huffs, burying his face in your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You can feel him take a long, deliberate inhale.

“Are you selling me?” You ask. The Monegasque simply answers with a nod in his sleepy stat, taking another deep wiff..

“Stop sniffing me, Charles,” you murmur, your voice low but amused. “I already smell like you, don’t make it weirder.”

His response is a half-awake grumble and a tightening of his grip. It’s only when his breathing slows again—deep, steady, unmistakably asleep—that you seize the chance to slip away.

The house is silent as you step into the hallway, pulling the robe around you more snugly. Each step echoes faintly in the vast space, the sheer size of it almost overwhelming. But you’re not just wandering aimlessly; no, this is reconnaissance. Every hidden security camera, every discreetly reinforced window, even the strange, too-perfect panel on the wall that might be a trap door—you catalog it all. A mental map starts forming, weak points and retreat routes tucked neatly into the back of your mind.

Your fingers trail lightly along the railing as you approach the grand staircase. A quick mental calculation tells you this would be a good spot to stage a diversion—or a disaster. You glance back down the hallway, your thoughts flickering to Charles. 

There’s a fine line between settling in and claiming territory, but you’ve never been one to play passive.

The sharp chime of the doorbell pulls you from your thoughts. You make your way to the grand double doors, tying the waist string of your robe as you go. When you open the door, you’re greeted by a few maid being ushered in by your younger brother. The women don’t waste anytime going into the kitchen to start on breakfast, leaving to give Kimi an empty look.

“You don’t miss me?” He asks, giving you his weirdly cheerful smiles.

“Not yet,” you sigh.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Breakfast is already spread out on the dining table when you join them. Charles sits at the head, his sharp eyes darting between you and Kimi, his confusion obvious but unspoken. You take the seat to Charles’s right, and Kimi settles beside you—not in front of you, which you note amused. Id he want to sit beside you, or keep away from Charles. The maids quietly move around the room, serving freshly baked bread and perfectly folded omelettes, the kind of luxury that still feels a little too much.

Midway through comseing the meal, Arthur makes his entrance. He strides in, his shirt slightly wrinkled, running a hand through his hair as he mumbles an apology. “Sorry for being late,” he says, taking the seat across from you, next to Charles.

The quiet tension in the room is almost amusing. You can feel Kimi glancing at you from the corner of his eye, his usual bluntness barely contained. Charles sips his coffee, looking like he’s waiting for a shoe to drop. 

When breakfast wraps up, Kimi stands to leave, ushering the maids out ahead of him. As he reaches the door, you catch him by the arm, pulling him aside. “We’ll talk soon,” you say softly, just loud enough for him to hear. “Don’t worry so much.”

“Are you sure you’re safe here?” His voice is low, edged with concern, his words aimed at you but not subtle enough to escape Charles’s notice.

You tilt your head, your fingers tapping the edge of your mug thoughtfully. “Kimi,” you start, your voice calm but firm, “I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. And you—you need to focus on our family’s future. One of us has to be there.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his jaw tightens. You know he wants to argue, to remind you of all the reasons he doesn’t trust this arrangement. But he couldn’t do anything.

He looks at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before nodding.

You watch him from a few steps away, arms crossed loosely over your chest, a small smirk tugging at your lips. He’s so polite, your little brother. Too polite for this world. But as the last of the maids begins to step out, you catch sight of Mary. She’s younger, probably around Kimi’s age, with wide eyes that dart between you and the exit like she’s afraid she’s forgotten something important.

“Mary,” you call, your voice steady but not harsh. She freezes mid-step, turning back to you.

“Yes, Madame?”

“You always wanted to live in Monaco, didn’t you?” You wave her over casually, as though you hadn’t just thrown her entire morning into question.

Her cheeks flush pink, and her lips part in surprise. She nods quickly, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her apron. “Yes, Madame.”

You tilt your head toward your side. “Stay.”

Mary’s eyes flick to Kimi for a moment, as if asking for permission, but he just shrugs with an easygoing grin. “Looks like you’ve got a new boss, Mary,” he jokes lightly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

Mary nods again, the nervousness on her face shifting into something closer to excitement. She takes a few steps back toward you, standing quietly at your side, as though waiting for her next instruction.

After breakfast, the air in the room shifts—less familial, more businesslike. Charles leads you to the sitting room, where Arthur waits, hands clasped behind his back, his blondish hair catching the sunlight streaming through the tall windows. He looks every inch the younger version of his brother, though there’s a calmness in his demeanor that Charles’s sharper edges lack.

Charles doesn’t bother with small talk. “Arthur will be your right hand in every operation,” he says, his tone leaving no room for debate. “If there’s something you need to know, he’ll provide it. And if there’s a decision to be made, he’ll be by your side.”

Arthur nods once, his gaze settling on you with quiet amusement, though it’s clear he’s sizing you up. You meet his steady stare with one of your own, calm and unflinching. You’ve been through enough to know this moment isn’t about him—it’s about you.

“I look forward to seeing what you bring to the table, Arthur,” you say, your tone measured, yet carrying the weight of someone who’s already decided she belongs here.

Arthur’s lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile, and he inclines his head slightly. “Likewise,” he replies, his voice as smooth and even as his demeanor.

Charles watches the exchange with a tight smile, pleased with the unspoken agreement between the two of you. His confidence in your ability to step into this role is as unshakable as the foundation of the villa itself, and the weight of it presses down on you just a little. But you don’t let it show.

As Charles moves to take his leave, Arthur shifts slightly, his stance still relaxed but more personal now. “So,” he starts, his voice light yet curious, “any idea what you’ll do today?”

Your gaze sweeps the room, landing on the grand yet cluttered surroundings. A house this big carries more than just history—it carries the weight of someone else’s preferences, someone else’s life. That wouldn’t do. You gesture vaguely around you. “This place needs to be cleaned up. A fresh start.”

Arthur follows your line of sight, nodding in agreement. “Makes sense. I’ll hang around,” he says easily, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Call for me if you need anything.”

There’s no condescension in his tone, no questioning of your authority, just a simple, straightforward offer. It’s almost refreshing.

“Don’t go too far,” you reply, half a warning, half a tease.

Arthur smirks, giving you a small salute before stepping back, leaving you to start shaping the villa—and your role in this world—on your terms.

[exospherethoughts]

There's way too much stuff in my head, I want to rip it all out and beat it to a pulp so I can breathe.

I'm remaking my résumé so it looks nicer and has all my updated info on it, but now I just feel pathetic. I've done so little, I have no publications, I have no real job experience, I don't actually know shit about physics, I'm slow and stupid, and my brain/body are too fucked up to handle a 9-5 job. I don't know what I'm doing and I don't think I can finish this degree (much less get a doctorate) and I don't know what I'm going to do once I'm out of university.

I wish I could talk to you, just to feel less alone and vent and get a (virtual) hug. But trying to be open and honest with you when you respond once or twice a week has really been messing with me. I know you're insistent that you do want me around, but idk, if I want someone around then I *want* to talk to them, so I tend to respond almost daily. Your excuse of not liking texting doesn't make any sense to me considering that you were happy to text back and forth for hours on end while you were still here. I hate texting too, so I lean towards calls for staying in touch over distance with people, but even that seems to be too much for you. So I'm sorry, but I'm struggling to believe you really want me in your life as more than just some acquaintance. And right now I cannot spare the energy to try and handle how awful that makes me feel, I'm too preoccupied trying to handle being around my parents 24/7, so it's easier to just stop talking to you. As much as I miss you, this way I can't end up saying anything I shouldn't. Besides, people like me better when I'm quiet. Quiet me is good me. Then I can't be a drag. I know I'm always too much. I know. Especially now with this almost two-month long depressive episode that's continuing to get worse, and the stuff with my parents, and the OCD, and my physical health problems, and the anorexia relapse, and how bad the cutting urges have been getting, and and and and. I'm really fucked up and I break everything and everyone I touch. Even the things that make me happy are too much, I get too excited about music, I care too much about twenty one pilots lore and music, I'm too invested in crosswords, I have too many stuffed animals, I really do love music too much, I care too much about certain books, it just goes on. My dad always tells me I need to learn to be more concise because nobody will want to listen to so many useless and irrelevant details, they'll just zone out and get bored. Quiet me is better me. Maybe if I'm quiet and stop talking about myself then I'll stop being such a nuisance. People will like being around me more. I don't think I know a single person who overshares more than I do. I hate myself so much for it. Time to disappear again? Just not physically this time, only mentally, and this time it'll be intentional instead of whatever the fuck happened for all of 2022/2023.

[lovebugism]

"get up, you're snoring and i can't hear the movie." "then turn it up..." "so you can yell at me for waking you up? no!" "you woke me up anyway!" THIS is so Eddie coded

anon, you're so right. this IS so eddie coded. hope you like it!! — the one where eddie wants to spend time with you, even when he's so so tired (fluff, miscommunication, established relationship, 1.3k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

Empire Strikes Back plays on the tiny television across the room, blurry through static and mostly unwatched.

The swelling score fills the small living room as Han Solo weaves through an active asteroid field. Green lasers from enemy TIE fighters light up the dark room in varying shades of vivid neon. The only source of light in the whole trailer comes from the glowing television screen. 

As the smuggler leads the Millennium Flacon to safety on a foreign planet, Harrison Ford mumbles beneath his breath — “Yeah, that’ll do nicely.” You’re forced to imagine the deep baritone of the man’s honeyed voice with Eddie snoring through the entire scene.

The Munson boy was known for being a loudmouth every other hour of the day, so it only made sense that he couldn’t stay quiet in his sleep. You never minded it, though. You found it quite endearing, actually. Though maybe not when his heavy breaths are billowing directly in your ear.

Eddie was the one who wanted to have a movie night, after all. Between your studies and his shifts at the car shop, the two of you were lucky to have a day to yourselves. This night together was the first one you’ve had without interruption in a week. 

Well, it was supposed to be, anyway.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Princess Leia frets as Eddie breathes in a soft snore. 

With the way he’s holding you — his arm thrown over your middle, pressing you intently to his chest so the two of you could fit on the small couch — his warm exhale fans across the shell of your ear. He nuzzles his nose against the skin there, taunting you with his cuteness.

Adorable, and so unaware.

“Yeah, me too—” Han quips, though it’s drowned out by a louder snore.

Tired and half-annoyed, you elbow the boy in the ribs — gently until he starts to stir. 

He groans and holds you tighter. You can imagine his scrunched features halfway hidden beneath his wild, curly hair. “Hm… What is it?” he grumbles in an inaudible slur. 

“You’re snoring,” you grouse with a dramatic pout furrowing your brows. “I can’t hear the movie.”

Eddie huffs. He’s almost as annoyed as you are now, displeased that you woke him up just to tell him that. His limbs grow heavy with sleep all over again. He hugs you tighter to him and smells your floral body wash when he buries his face against the side of yours. 

The ends of his hair tickle your neck. You fight back a shiver.

“Just turn it up,” he mumbles.

“So you can yell at me for waking you up?” you retort in a scoff.

Eddie exhales a faint laugh into your ear. It’s a much prettier sound than his semi-aggressive snores. “You woke me up anyway!”

“Because I can’t hear the stupid movie— the movie that you wanted to watch, by the way.”

You expect him to meet your quip with one of his own. Like he always does. Your relationship was practically built on petty banter and accompanied kisses. So when he responds with a strangely sincere apology, you’re quite visibly perplexed.

“I’m sorry, babe, I just…” he cuts himself off with yawn — a big one that squints his eyes and takes several long moments to get out. You feel his chest deflate with the heavy exhale. “…I’m just tired. I had to cover for Wayne and ended up working, like, twelve hours. I’m pretty sure my arms are made of jello now.”

He laughs his exhaustion off while you melt for him.

You grow suddenly heavy with a mixture of adoration and guilt. With pinched-together brows, you twist on the cushion until you’re on your back and staring up at the sleepy boy.

Half of his face is shadowed by the night, while the other half glows with the flickering scenes from the fuzzy television. 

As you expected, his hair is wild and his eyes are heavy and his cheeks are puffy with sleep. The day had certainly done a number on your pretty boy.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you ask, much softer than you’d been just moments before.

He shrugs one shoulder with jutted pink lips, jostling you softly. Despite his fatigue, his chocolate eyes sparkle down at you.

“‘Cause it was my idea. And you were super excited about it… And also I thought I could stay awake,” he rambles, then scrunches the bridge of his nose. “I think I might’ve been wrong about that one.”

You twist on the cushions again, facing him more and melting with him effortlessly. He slides one arm behind your head and clutches your thigh with the other when you swing it over his hip. His gaze flits between yours as a smile pulls at your lips. 

“You were very, very wrong, Eddie Munson,” you lilt and smooth the palm of your hand over his jaw. “Here I thought, you were just getting bored of me.”

He snorts a bitter laugh, unamused by your silly half-joke. “Never,” he assures right before closing the short distance between you and pressing his lips to yours. 

He tastes like buttered popcorn, sweet soda, and much needed sleep.

It’s a languid peck — innocent and unwavering. A slotting of his mouth with yours and a lingering there for several moments.

When he pulls away from you, you mutter, “Do you want me to leave?”

His chin jerks back as though you’d just said something so inane that he can't help but be shocked by it. His dark eyes go wide accordingly, face lighting up in flickering shades of white and blue from the television screen. 

“Why would you even ask me that?” he wonders, taking full offense to your harmless inquiry.

“‘Cause you’re tired,” you answer with a quiet laugh. “And I want you to sleep.”

“I can sleep just fine right here.”

“No, you can’t! I’ll fall off the edge!”

“Not like this, you can’t—” he assures before maneuvering you all over again. 

He keeps his firm hold on you as he wriggles on the couch cushions. He twists until he’s lying on his back and his head is propped up on the arm of the sofa.

You’re lying on top of him completely, legs slotted between both of his, torso pressed intently against his own, and forearms above his shoulders to hold yourself up.

He exhales sharply through his nose when he finally settles, beaming up at you right after. He's visibly tired but looks like sunshine anyway. He’s too in love with you not to wear it all over his face.

“See? Is this perfect or what?”

“I’ll crush you,” you answer with a laugh, knowing if you rested your full weight on him, he’d have a much harder time being so comfortable.

“What a sweet, sweet way to go,” Eddie singsongs in a whimsical sigh.

“You’re such an idiot,” you giggle, shaking your head down at him. 

You brush the tip of your nose over the bridge of his for a moment before kissing him again. It’s deeper than the peck from before, but no less innocuous — lips clicking sweetly when you part from him.

You huff and wedge yourself between his side and the couch cushion so you can relax without halfway suffocating him.

You hold him like a teddy bear while he slides an arm over your back, curling his free one behind his head in a makeshift pillow. He tilts his chin downward and smiles when he watches you smush your cheek against his chest.

“Tired?” he hums quietly to you.

You shake your head in response even though your bones ache with the sort of exhaustion only a college student could know. Your eyelids grow suddenly heavy. Blinking becomes a chore.

“No,” you answer. Your words come out slurred in a terribly hidden yawn. “Are you?”

He shakes his head, slow and lazy. His eyes flutter shut a second later. Yours aren’t open to see it, anyway.

“Nope,” he says, popping the p.

Neither of you is entirely sure who fell asleep first — only that the movie played on without you that night.

You’ll spend breakfast bickering about who stayed awake the longest, between bowls of cereal and morning kisses alike.

[k-dokja]

TW: Death, death, death. | Content: Lilia Vanrouge, the reader is female, a fae noble.

Author's Note: I know vaguely of the next chapter but only enough to throw some information in, not anything spoiler. Needless to say, this is not canon-compliant because I know nothing about the Diasomnia chapter. The idea came to me in a fever dream and it's a "random bullshit go" creation.

You can see death.

Not the spirits, everyone can see the spirits of death. Ghosts and wraiths roam your world, sometimes long after their time for departure and they are seen as a little more than a nuisance. Nothing is special about being able to see the dead, but you can do more than that.

You can see the time of death.

The exact moment before it sinks into a person, the final scene of their life before there is nothing left. It is a foresight if you can call it that, and it is something you have possessed since you were young.

You often thought of it as nothing but strange imagery back then. Children are easy to get spooked and their imagination runs wild when left unchecked. At least, that was what you believed until you saw your grandmother get run over by a carriage. Your mother, who had been the only one you confided in, turned to you and looked at you with pure terror.

Since then, she asked you to tell no one else about these visions. Even if people know about this power, what you see in them needs to be held inside until you, too, lie in your grave. Your mother’s wisdom has never failed you before.

Until now, it hasn’t failed you either.

The blessing of clairvoyance among the faeries is a whimsical one. Oftentimes, it overwhelms people by surprise and disorients them momentarily. You don’t have that luxury, however. You see the death of the person the moment you meet their eyes. The images replay in your head until you see nothing but their blood and bones. The warmth of their innards spills over your hands, everything feels soft and wet and—

You grow to be conscious of eye contact. It is better for you to face it to never be taken by surprise, but sometimes, you don’t see someone withering away on their bed, surrounded by loved ones. You see battles and the people who will fight in it. There is no peace, even when left to your own company. Because when you look in the mirror, you see the very same for you that you saw for everyone else.

The bitter end. The final minute. The last breath.

Yours is marred by raspberry red and the carnage breaking out in the distance. You're enveloped by warmth and there is something hot and wet on your cheeks. Salty when tasted and you knew it was tears. You don't remember much else about it, avoidance was the better alternative to going mad with worries.

All you know is that it'd happen in a fight and fights rage on everywhere now under the turmoil of war.

That’s why you stay away from the frontline, never mind your magic reserve. It is in everyone’s best interest that you don’t waste your life out there. Even though, sometimes, you believe it might have been a good outcome for the life you lived. Better to die for a purpose than to spend your time confined behind the castle walls.

At least, you believed that until you met him.

“I’ve always wondered what the Marchioness’s reclusive daughter looked like.”

You remember the day you met him. Even while strapped in his armour, his face hidden behind a menacing mask, he failed to pose an intimidating figure. Had he possessed a few inches taller maybe it would've been more effective. Not that it mattered when whatever danger he had to offer was not for you.

"And now you've seen her," you smiled genially, "I do hope I live up to whatever expectation you have in mind."

He angled away from you with the grace of a snake waiting to strike. "No, not really," he said, "you are more... beautiful than I expected, I was half-waiting for a hermit and half-hoping for nothing at all."

"Why nothing at all?" You asked.

There was a smile in his voice when he leaned forward. Even five steps away from you, he felt impossibly close. "Because that'd mean the Marchioness's lying, that'd have been interesting."

You snorted, "My apologies for disappointing, then."

"I think I prefer this," he laughed, "far better to see a beautiful woman than any alternative."

His comment put a coy smile on your face. "See, you've been doing nothing but praising my appearance since you showed up but hide yours behind a mask. I don't see how it is fair when I can't even see your face to return your compliment."

His laughter rang again. You decided it was not an unpleasant sound to hear. If anything, you like it better when it is not muffled. "My sincerest apologies for this misstep," he said as he lifted up the mask, "I'm afraid too long of a time on the battlefield had impaired my social grace. I pray you keep this error of mine to your heart and speak not of it to Her Majesty, lest she scold me again for my unintended slight."

He unequipped the mask. You saw his eyes. Everything clicked into place. Raspberry red had never been more foreboding than when it was on him. You should have known from the hair, the magenta which grew blurred in your vision. But you didn't, because you never wanted to remember, never wanted to know.

You saw it, too. The moment of his own death. Everyone was the same, he'd not be an anomaly. "Lilia Vanrouge, at your service," he smiled charmingly but all you could see was red. The red of his death, the red of your blood, the red of the battlefield.

Your throat went dry and your fist clenched on your gown.

You will love him. You will be the death of him.

That will not do.

[mercy-thompson-fanfiction]

Leah and Bran's conversation after the events of Wild Sign

A/N: I had this one already drafted and just never posted it because I literally hate how much I find Bran fascinating as a concept. Like, we all recognize that he did technically do this twice that we know of right? Anyways, he's devolving and I think we can all agree that's fine. ETA: link at bottom to AO3

“You love me.”  The words felt wrong on her tongue. It came out so much flatter and emotionless than she had meant for it to, but she was tired. 

The weight of two centuries being closed off and held at arms length was bone-crushing. Two centuries. Two hundred years she had felt nothing and now even something that should have felt normal—would have felt normal to any other mated werewolf—felt like a tsunami.

“You only want to apologize because I remember.” Everything in her wanted to turn away, but something was forcing her to stay with her feet planted firmly where they were. 

He was thinking too much if he wasn’t responding, gauging her reaction and trying to analyze the best possible outcome. That was what he did always, though usually he was quicker. 

“Unless you refuse to even give me that.”  

“Greatly wronged,” was what he had said, “I don’t want to lose you”.  Manipulation at its finest, he never would apologize. 

There was so much to unpack and Leah didn’t quite think she had the energy for it. She had remembered nothing until that split-second moment of death. Then she had known and it felt as if she’d never failed to know. Like her body had always remembered even if she had not always been able to recall it.  Confessing to her then would have given her power. Admitting he had done wrong would have been too kind. 

I love you.  The only one she could remember loving before these last few days. 

“I don’t forgive you.”  

It was ridiculous. It was against her character. The tears in her eyes clouding her vision betrayed her insecurities more than anything else did. The embrace he met her with wasn’t kind or loving, it wasn’t there for comfort. It was a restraint because she had punched him, half unaware of when she’d made the decision to even swing. 

“I deserved that.” His agreement wasn’t helping, it only made her feel undeniably insane. 

Even in his grip, she couldn’t stop. She shoved at him, only vaguely aware of her own voice. 

Screaming. She was screaming and most of it wasn’t actual language, just noise for the sake of an outlet. The other bits and pieces were senseless—thoughts crossing her mind too fast to process. She screamed because he had stolen her chance at peace, because his children hated her, because he had made her feel less than, because he had ruined her. She felt ruined. There was no way to leave, even if she did want to. He had manipulated her then and he was using her now, using her own emotions against her. Using his feelings which he had kept hidden under lock and key to make her happier. 

She wasn’t happier. 

He had been in the doorway, hadn’t passed into the room at all initially.  She had crossed into his space and hit him and he’d grabbed her and squeezed, catching her hands between them where she was still pushing even as he stepped into the room and slid down the wall until they were in a heap on the floor. 

The tears hadn’t stopped, traitorous fiends, and what few words were still tumbling out of her mouth didn’t even make sense to her. There was no attempt at hushing her, just acceptance or maybe resignation.  

Once, very early on, she remembered him telling her that there was no way he could hurt her. His wolf wouldn’t let him.  Bullshit, she bit him to stop herself because she was making a ruckus and embarrassing herself but neither his his nor the taste of his blood made her recoil. It did give her enough satisfaction, however, to draw a trembling breath before she fell limp altogether in his arms and rested her forehead on his now-bloodied shoulder.

“You hurt me.”

“I recognize that,” He was still agreeing with her and that alone was unnatural at best. “If you would like me to, I will do better.”

If she would like? She wasn’t very sure what she’d like, but that seemed an appropriate starting place. He should do better, should have been doing better this entire time if he thought she was worthy of his affection and appreciation. 

Because she’d said it was love, what she felt from him, but was it? Was it anything more than recognition that she was good at her job, at her role as his mate. 

“You have every reason to doubt me—“

She moved her hand from its place between their bodies to touch a finger to his lips and closed her eyes. Her body was still shaking, her head still on his shoulder. She should move, there wasn’t really a world where she wanted to wake up and actually have the conversation they needed to have. Right now, she needed to unpack it all. 

Alone.

“That is…understandable. I can give you a day to think about it.”

One day to unpack two centuries of abuses. 

How generous. 

[linnitheo]

Beneath the Smile

Joel x Y/N Fanfiction

Y/N POV

The air in my apartment was still. Too still. The kind of quiet that felt heavy, suffocating, as though something unseen was lurking just beyond the shadows. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, even though I was alone. I glanced at my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen. It had been days since I last saw Joel. Days since he had started acting… strange.

I had known Joel for years—ever since we met at the precinct where he worked as a cop. He was the kind of guy who kept his emotions hidden behind a calm, cool exterior, but he was kind. Dependable. Someone you could trust with your life. We had been close for a long time, skirting the edges of something more than friendship. But lately, there was something different about him. Something that sent a chill down my spine every time I saw him.

It started with the small things—odd comments, distant stares, and then there was the smile. That eerie, unnerving smile that didn’t reach his eyes. It was like his face had become a mask, hiding something dark beneath it.

I shook my head, trying to push the unsettling thoughts away. Maybe it was just the stress of his job, the cases he worked on—especially that last one. I had overheard bits and pieces of it, some weird chain of suicides, people claiming to see something before they died. It sounded insane, but Joel had been different ever since.

My phone buzzed, snapping me out of my thoughts. It was Joel. A message.

“I need to see you.”

There was no explanation, no reassurance, just those four words. A shiver ran down my spine, but I texted back quickly.

“Come over. I’ll be here.”

Joel POV

I sat in the car outside Y/N’s apartment, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. My heart pounded in my chest, the rhythm erratic, as if something inside me was trying to crawl out, take control. It had been days since I’d felt like myself, since I’d felt human. Ever since I saw it—the thing that shouldn’t exist, the thing that was now haunting me.

It started after that damned case. Rose… poor Rose. She had been a friend, a colleague. I couldn’t get the image of her face out of my mind—the way she smiled before she died, like she was relieved, like it was all part of some sick joke only she understood.

And then it happened to me. I saw it.

I glanced in the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see the thing lurking behind me, its twisted grin hovering just above my shoulder. But there was nothing. Not this time. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could outrun it.

Y/N was the only person I could think of. The only person I trusted. She didn’t know what was happening to me, and I didn’t want to drag her into this nightmare, but I couldn’t stay away. I needed her.

Taking a deep breath, I got out of the car and headed up to her apartment, each step feeling heavier than the last. When I reached her door, I hesitated, my hand hovering over the doorknob. Could I really do this? Could I really expose her to the horror that had taken over my life?

I knocked, the sound sharp in the silence of the hallway.

The door opened almost immediately, and there she was. Y/N. Her eyes widened in concern when she saw me, her soft features creased with worry.

“Joel… you look terrible,” she said, her voice full of concern, but she stepped aside, letting me in without hesitation.

I stepped into the apartment, the familiar scent of her space calming me, if only for a moment. But the darkness was still there, lingering just beneath the surface, waiting to claw its way out.

Y/N POV

The moment Joel stepped into my apartment, I knew something was wrong. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in days. His skin was pale, his eyes sunken, and there was a wildness about him that made my heart ache with worry.

“Joel, what’s going on? You’re scaring me,” I said softly, trying to reach out to him, but he stepped back, avoiding my touch.

“I can’t… I don’t know how to explain it,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, his voice low and shaky. “It’s like… there’s something following me. Something I can’t get rid of.”

I frowned, stepping closer to him despite the warning bells going off in my head. “What do you mean? Is someone threatening you?”

He shook his head, that eerie smile tugging at the corner of his lips for just a second before vanishing, like he was fighting it. “It’s not someone. It’s… something. I’ve been seeing things, Y/N. Things I can’t explain. And I—”

Suddenly, he grabbed my hand, his grip tight, desperate. “I don’t know how long I have left before it… before it gets me.”

His words sent a cold chill through me. “Joel, you’re not making sense. What’s going to get you?”

Before he could answer, he flinched, his gaze darting to the corner of the room. His eyes widened in terror, but when I turned to look, there was nothing there. Just empty space.

“Joel?” My voice trembled, fear creeping into my chest.

He pulled his hand away from mine, backing up until his back hit the wall. His breathing grew ragged, his eyes locked on something invisible. Then, slowly, that twisted, unnatural smile spread across his face again—only this time, it didn’t go away.

“Joel, stop,” I whispered, my heart pounding in my chest. “You’re scaring me.”

But he didn’t respond. His eyes were glassy now, fixed on something I couldn’t see, and that smile… it wasn’t his. It didn’t belong to him. It was like something else had taken over.

Joel POV

I could feel it. It was inside me now. Crawling under my skin, twisting my thoughts, making me see things that weren’t there—or maybe they were there, but not for her to see. I didn’t want to smile. I didn’t want to show her the thing that had been haunting me, but I couldn’t stop it.

I looked at Y/N, my heart breaking. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I was losing control. The smile—it wasn’t mine anymore. It was its.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice barely my own. “I didn’t mean to bring this to you.”

She took a cautious step toward me, her eyes wide with fear but filled with determination. “Joel, we can get help. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Help? There was no help for me. Not now. Not when it had its claws deep inside me. But maybe… maybe I could keep her safe. Maybe I could keep the thing from getting to her.

I grabbed her shoulders, pulling her close, my voice urgent. “You need to leave. Get out of here. Don’t come back.”

She shook her head, her hands gripping my arms. “No, Joel, I’m not leaving you like this. We can figure this out.”

The thing inside me laughed, a low, hollow sound that echoed in my head. It was getting stronger, its influence suffocating. I could feel my body betraying me, moving against my will. My hands dropped to my sides, and I took a step back.

“No,” I said, my voice trembling. “It’s too late.”

Y/N POV

Panic gripped my chest as I watched Joel, his body rigid, his face twisted in that horrifying smile. It wasn’t him anymore. I could feel it. Something dark, something evil had taken hold of him, and I didn’t know how to fight it.

“Joel, please,” I begged, my voice breaking. “You’re stronger than this. You can fight it.”

But his eyes… his eyes weren’t his anymore. They were empty, cold. The warmth that I had known in him for so long was gone, replaced by something monstrous. His lips parted, but the words that came out weren’t his own.

“It wants you too,” he said, his voice low, taunting. “You can’t run from it.”

My heart raced, fear clawing at my throat. I wanted to run, to scream, but I couldn’t leave him like this. Not Joel. Not the man I loved.

Suddenly, the lights flickered, plunging the room into momentary darkness. When they came back on, Joel was standing unnervingly close, his face inches from mine, that haunting smile stretched impossibly wide across his lips.

“You should have left when you had the chance,” he whispered, his breath cold against my skin.

I stumbled back, my heart pounding in my ears. The room felt like it was closing in, the shadows creeping closer, swallowing us both.

And then, just as quickly as it had started, Joel’s body went slack. The smile disappeared. He collapsed to the floor, his chest heaving as he fought to regain control.

“Y/N…,” he gasped, his voice weak. “I’m… sorry.”

But I knew. Deep down, I knew this wasn’t over. The thing wasn’t gone. It was lurking, waiting, and it wouldn’t stop until it had taken everything.

Joel POV

I felt the darkness

slipping back, retreating for now, but I knew it would return. It always did. Y/N was crouched beside me, her hand on my shoulder, tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered again, my voice hoarse. “I couldn’t stop it.”

She shook her head, wiping away a tear. “We’ll find a way. We’ll figure this out.”

But I didn’t believe her. How could I? The thing inside me was getting stronger. It had taken Rose. It had taken others. And soon, it would take me too.

As I looked up at her, the last remnants of control slipping from my grasp, I forced one final smile—a real smile. One that was mine.

“Run,” I whispered, before the darkness swallowed me whole.

Y/N POV

His smile—it was real for a split second, before that twisted, eerie grin took over again. And this time, I knew there was nothing I could do.

I backed away slowly, my heart breaking as I watched the man I loved disappear behind a mask of evil.

And then, I turned and ran.

But I could still feel it. The smile. Watching. Waiting.

And I knew, deep down, that it would never let me go.

End

[explorersaremadeofhope]

Ahem! So for the Fan Fic Writer Asks: 2, 3, 5, 10, 12, 17 (hehehehe), 25, 26 (hahaha), 27 and 29! 😇

[guy grabbing startled cat meme] YOU!

okay, fiiiiiine (thank you 😂💖)

2. Do you read/reread your own fics? honestly, not that much? it depends a little on how i feel about them. if i'm satisfied with them, i might. but often rereading my own stuff makes me realise there's a bunch of small stuff i would like to change with hindsight, so it's easier not to. 😂

3. What's your favorite fic that you've written? damn. i guess it might be some of my earliest terror stuff, anchor up to me or and stay awhile. personally i don't really... have favourites very much, i see good bits and flawed bits in everything, but those were fun to write and people were extremely kind about them when i posted them, so that was a lot of fun overall!

5. What's a fic idea you've had that you will never write? so many. most of them, probably. that said i don't like to fully give up on an idea! but i have several fitzier gdocs sitting around that'll never go anywhere, including: half-epistolary modern au where jfj sends postcards to francis from around the world (initially to annoy him) over years while francis dates, gets engaged to, then splits up with sophia, and james globetrots to avoid his own loneliness, until they gradually become friends and then get together

rest of these under a cut, god damn

10. Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting? not really, i think. or if so, only positively. i've gotten some super lovely comments on some of my fics, and i never really expect that, so it's always a happy surprise. and a couple of them have got podfic, which is also absolutely wild to me.

12. Do you have a playlist for your current WIP/s? sorry, no! i have a shittonne of character playlists, but i don't tend to make playlists for fics!

17. - already answered!

25. Have you ever upset yourself with your own writing? actually, no! i don't think that's ever happened. but i don't tend to write very heavy angst either.

26. Is there something you've written that you would never want your family to see? i mean.. most of it? don't get me wrong, my mum is great and knows that i've written fanfiction since i was a teenager, but the idea of showing anyone in my family my writing is embarrassing as hell lmao, that shit's private

29. Share a bit from a fic you'll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. rip, there are so many to choose from. here's some disembodied angst of james ross missing his boyfriend!

---

he steps outside and tilts his face up into the chill breeze. the night is clear, the air sharp with a late january cold snap. overhead, millions of pinheads of light flicker and twinkle against the black, occasionally winking out of existence as a cloud drifts across the heavens, carried by winds far stronger than the gentle stirring of air which cools his cheeks. the grounds are quiet, deep and dark and still in the early evening. a dusting of snow covers everything. it is new, and as yet unbroken by any human tread, reflecting the light of the moon like a fresh sheet of paper. against it the leafless trees and the shadows cast by the light streaming from the windows behind him are black as pitch. 

his hands soon begin to ache – he has not brought his gloves. he puts them into his pockets. it is not terribly cold – when he glanced at it, the thermometer which he has had mounted beside the window read 23 degrees. unusual for england, certainly, but not true cold. nothing to speak of, really. his feet begin to go numb in his shoes, but it is not too bad; not yet. 

idly, he picks out orion, then auriga, following it down into taurus. canis major, half hidden by a tree, is yet easy, sirius clear as a beacon. turning toward the north, there is ursa major, then the northern cross – cassiopeia takes him a few moments, but he finds it at last, almost directly overhead. 

are we looking at the same stars? 

they’ll be up all night and all day, now, these same constellations; circling tirelessly about the central axis, never dipping from sight.

“i say, what on earth are you doing out here?” 

[mixtapenumber16]

Day 19: Dumaguete Dreams and Donut Delights (ง ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ง

Hey internet void,

Dumaguete, here I come! Well, technically, I'm already here, but the thrill hasn't sunk in completely. Maybe it's the adrenaline rush from leaving the house at a crazy 2 am, way too pumped to catch the first bus. Let's just say sleep wasn't exactly on the agenda this morning.

By 6 am, I was practically bursting through the bus doors, greeted by the sweet, humid Dumaguete air. It felt like a warm hug after the air-conditioned bus ride. First stop: check-in at this amazing resort-ish place I found. It's got these adorable little huts nestled amongst lush greenery, and the sound of birds chirping is already a huge win in my book.

The real adventure began after I ditched my backpack (and the remnants of a very questionable bus-stop breakfast) for a morning of airgun fun. Turns out, I'm a surprisingly decent shot! Even managed to snag a respectable position in the competition they were holding. Not first place, but hey, who needs bragging rights when you've got bragging skills, right?

After lunch, I decided to indulge in a classic movie marathon. Deadpool and Wolverine, anyone? Let me tell you, internet void, that was a cinematic experience and a half. No spoilers, obviously, but let's just say it was a wild ride filled with action, humor, and enough sass to fuel a small army.

Now, as the sun dips below the horizon (and after a refreshing beer, because vacation!), I'm finding myself reflecting. There's a part of me that can't help but overthink things, you know the drill. But here's the thing: being in Dumaguete, a place so far removed from the daily grind, has a strange calming effect. It's like a physical distance translates to a mental one, a much-needed separation from the anxieties that usually swirl around my head.

Maybe it's the gentle breeze rustling the leaves, or the sound of distant laughter carried on the warm air. Maybe it's the promise of new experiences and a break from routine. Whatever it is, I'm feeling a sense of peace I haven't felt in a long time.

Speaking of breaks from routine, tomorrow's agenda includes indulging in the most important part of any island getaway: donut exploration! I've heard whispers of legendary donut shops hidden around town, and you better believe I'm on a mission to find them all. Consider this a quest for sugary enlightenment, internet void.

Until then, stay tuned for updates on my donut escapades and any other adventures this beautiful island throws my way. Here's to new beginnings, delicious pastries, and a much-needed escape from the ordinary.

P.S. Thanks again, internet void, for being the silent listener I always need. You're the best (and only) audience a girl could ask for.

[chidoroki]

182 Days of TPN - Day 123

Chapter 123: "An Important Choice"

Yesterday I mentioned that if I was reading the manga around the time the previous ch was released that I would be so eager for Ray's answer, but I would've never imagined him to be so blunt and admitting his uncertainty like this. It's hilarious to me now of course but I wonder if I would've been let down initially if I had patiently waited a whole week just to hear him be like "eh, I dunno."

I'm always so harsh on Norman's plan and how it'll result it wiping out all the demons when I forget that the promise Emma has in mind will essentially have the same effect.. oops. With all the children raised in farms crossing over to the human world with no more traveling between worlds, the demons would've just degenerated on their own. Although, would that really knock them out? Surely they can eat other things aside from humans to stay alive right? They would just revert back to a more wild state of mind. I dunno. No need to wonder about it too hard with evil blood ex machina.

Ray throws me through a total loop with his honesty, like yeah he's typically the one who has no issue telling the truth to others, but it's done in such comedic and unexpected ways during this chapter that I can't help but love him more because of it.

Thank you anime for being faithful with the above mentioned panels.

Poor Emma is completely caught off guard by his answers too. She was expecting Ray to give her some clarity as usual and yet he's giving us a whole lot of nothing. In his defense though, it is quite the troublesome problem to find a reasonable solution to that would please Emma's standards. Both sub & dub are fun in this little bit too, especially with Ray's "nopes." (I'm adding the scene here again, for funsies.)

To this day I still believe Emma listened to his advice a bit too well here and that's how she was able to keep her emotions and the consequences of the reward so well hidden whenever it was brought up after the new promise was made and when it was time to cross over to the human world.

I'm fairy certain I brought this up last chapter (I dunno, it's been a long day when I'm actually writing this out and I'm lazy to check myself), but I still love the dark shadows that Ray has during half of this conversation. It's kinda ironic because it's not like he's trying to lead Emma to make some grave mistake or persuade her into choosing something she's not 100% okay with; he's genuinely trying to help her make the right choice, so despite shadows typically being used to show ill intent, evil or make us suspicious about something or someone, it couldn't be farther from the truth here and I kinda like it.

Naturally I love that he even admits to knowing her so well, and yet despite Emma's no-violence-please-only-happiness wish requiring more brain power to figure out they could even accomplish both sides coexisting, he still wants to help find a solution for her to ease the burden in her heart and mind. And I love that about him. I love many things about Ray. Is it obvious yet?

His has own opinion but respects hers so much more and that fills me with many soft feelings. Also, YES! The head pat! Still kinda sad the anime left it out but I still love their version of this scene very much.

Bro the fire and determination came back into her eyes instantly.

At this point of the anime train-wreck, I'll take any moment that resembles the manga, even with simple actions like this.

Anime missed this small, surprised Emma though and that's a bummer for me personally. She's cute.

I know Emma's ideals and doubts made her hesitate in voicing her refusal of Norman's plan the day before, but I also wanna believe another part of it wasn't because it was concerning Norman, but because her entire family was in the room at the time and they all seemed to be thrilled with the idea, so she opted to stay quiet to not ruin the mood. And I gotta say, I prefer that second panel of Ray in manga as well. He just looks real good there.

Anime gets a win for the way Ray looks at her here though. I have a love-dislike relationship with the adaption if you couldn't already tell. It's amusing to witness.

Ray's had one too many parents lie to him, so thankfully the demon parents are spared from being added to that list.

Oh honey, do I have some great news for you!

The way Emma gets so excited over him considering her plan is so precious! And Ray better play the lotto when he gets to the human world because that one in a billion chance eventually becomes a reality.

And yet regardless of the incredibly low chances and all the dangers that may come along with going against the annihilation, he still chooses to put his trust into Emma for her and their demon parents. He's amazing. He deserves many head pats.

With all the RE focus during this chapter, I often forget these three show up towards the very end. My bad.

Such a proper introduction. What lovely adult raised them so wonderfully, hm? And yes I appreciate that the anime remembered to include Barbara's little slip up and Vincent correcting her as well.

Let the interrogation begin! Ray has already resigned to his fate. Another detail I tend to forget is Cislo's piercings. I wonder why that's so uncommon with the kids. Probably because they've been living att the farms for the majority of their lives, but I definitely feel like a handful of them would at least enjoy having earrings now that their sorta kinda free. (I fully support the idea of the fullscore trio getting a matching set.)

Favorite panel/moment:

With how much I rambled on, you can imagine just how much I enjoy this entire chapter. I could literally pick out almost any panel and declare it my favorite, but OF COURSE these lines of Ray's live rent free in my head. Even the light banter at the end to close out the balcony scene is adorable. He just has so much trust, faith and respect for Emma that I honestly will never get over it. Everyone deserves someone who supports you in life to such a great extent!!

The biggest change of this scene is obviously the location but I can never be mad about that when I absolutely LOVE how it allowed us to get this beautiful sunrise!

"Here we have our girl lost within her own mind and feeling completely alone due to her ideals, then BAM! Ray listens to her concerns, lends his assistance by thinking through a different course of action that would ease her wavering heart and restores some of her usual optimistic attitude. My boy literally helps our girl out of the dark and shined light on her mood/plan and that’s absolute perfection." - me freaking out during s2ep6.

It was such a genius addition and I will always get super emotional whenever I watch this scene back, like how perfectly poetic could you possibly get??

[adeliethevilsimp]

So like this started out as my self-insert and my want of a male yandere character and it just spiralled out of control

So if you want to hear my nerd it out then be my guest xD

I start out designing my yuu from the line Rook said to you when you max his affection levels. It was something like he felt such a thrill with yuu because it was such a comfortable space he wanted to spill everything. he likes the danger so much that he wants to keep coming back

From what I also always know about the MC I felt about MC I feel like he would be someone very open-minded and accommodating. Also because Rook like calling Yuu a trickster(I think you can see which one of the two people is my favs) I also did some research on trickster archetype and i decided my Yuu will also be a shapeshifting human because i can but he cannot use magic otherwise. Since he can really shape shift into anything he really does not care about the society restricted mind set on a lot of things and norms. Also it will play into the dichotomy of his personality. Also i do like to play into the idea in the game story Vil is like a beast tamer some sort by beating all the non human students up(they started it tho) and they just listened to him

but you know i also want him to be a freak

(I just like to read up on biology so i may be totally wrong)

He usually appear as a pigeon or an owl.

The pigeon and the owl is the dichotomy of his character. Pigeon is one of the first avian species to be domesticated by human. sweet and loving and gentle. Until your especially male pigeon imprinted on you then they sometimes get aggressive. The owl is the silent killer of the night. Some people have kept them as pets but tbh they are never really tamed. Like crows and other wild birds. Sometimes people see them as source of knowledge and wisdom and I thought it will go quite well with the theme he like to know things and he is very curious. Owl sometimes can imitate other sounds too

He would be very gentle and affirmative with people. He will forever be there if you want to talk to him if you want to. He will never judge you. However without you knowing he will remember all the interaction and the secret you tell him as well. He will be confidential always until he has some reason to threaten you with or he has some ulterior motive.

LIke you dont touch his hidden Vil stash without his permission that will give him reason to torment you psychologically

His demeanour is very genuine. One thing he do is he will not lie to you but he will speak of half truths. He likes the bond forged but he just like his knowledge better until he have someone he really really really likes. Then the curiosity almost blend with the need to be with them and create an obsession. He will occasionally stalk people in his animal forms to study them.

Rook will always know if the animal is just a shapeshift Yuu always with some weird creepy reason like everytime you transformed into the pigeon the length of the feather stays the same. I think Yuu will be fascinated by this man and they will be stalking buddies in my head canon. Rook will be holding a telescope or something to his eyes while Yuu speed draws and write down everything he sees.

He will be really obedient to the people he like too. He will do anything Rook and Vil asked of him. Even if he gets reprimanded by Vil he will have this happy aura around him. His obedience is not infinite and he is not above betraying the one he loves as long as they can be together. Again, his current obedience does not mean he is really tamed. The two aspects of his personality coexist in him in a very weird way. He is the person who has both

"I am happy he like me so much." and

"It is great he see me this way. It is good to have his trust so I can use that in the future to get even closer to him" these types of manipulative thoughts in his mind in the same time.

I thought he will implement advice from Vil to make himself more presentable. He would even put on heels to impress him (just to have Vil say he should find his own identity or something i think) but he does also enjoy heels in some way. like he does not have to look up so much to Vil if he is in his heels. He can admire him more easily like this.

He have a Vil stash with all the drawings he drew of Vil. Some when Vil is sleeping. He drew those when he is on the tree outside of his window.

I do have headcanon he will transform into a white pigeon just to appear in front of Vil's window in the morning. At first he will just admire him quietly because he want Vil to like him. Once Vil start petting the bird he will start to knock on his window very politely to let him in for chest rubs and pets. Vil will not know that was Yuu. but he gets confused sometimes why Yuu show up the morning run with bruises on his forehead(because he sometimes accidentally bump into the window because he was distracted by his queen's beauty. Yes he is a simp like that)

I thought he will also wear gloves all the times like Jade and Rook because in a subtle way he keeps the distance and he want the touch with the person he loves and the stash to be special. He only touch them and the stash with his bare hands. It is always a thing very intimate to him. He also likes feet and heels very much. He also is quite sadistic on the inside and he likes bondage. All these things are only known if you are really really really close with him

All of his nails are perfectly manicured and pedicured just because of Vil's off hand comment about Grim. His talent is speed draw(and i guess shape shift). There is a ongoing joke on the campus, the XYZ animal you see is Yuu. He does not mind people know he can do that but he will hide vulnerable information like if he gets injured in any form he is in he has to stay like that for a while for the injury to heal before he can use the shapeshift thing again. He likes to read, observe, learn, and research about anything but mostly biology and people. He is definitely in the science club but he will help out anything Vil ask him to too. He likes meat and grains as his food and he does not like vegetables too much. He is quite smart but only above mediocre in any lessons because he spent majority of his time stalking and studying about other things. Rather than entirely focusing on his work. He stalks Rook and Vil the most obviously because they are his favourite people.

I kind give him a long hair so one day when his relationship with Vil grew and he asked Vil for a makeover and let Vil cut it short

Overall I like this guy very much and he kind of is too cool for me to self-insert into now but I still like him

[lychniis]

Heres a whole grab bag for that tag game: every tenth question >:3c

you're really putting me up to this huh-

10 - do you work on multiple wips or stick to one fic at a time?

multiple. i will chose any route that will eventually fuck me up because my brain has many idea and wants to write n o w. i do have casual fics at the side that i don't feel half as pressured to update...they're more of 'writing practice' in a sense.

20 - do you prefer writing AUs or canon fics?

b o t h. you cannot make me chose, i shall chose both, they're both my babies, my babygirls. but i do like diverging from canon sometimes, even though it's mostly unintentional at first ( with genshin's lore being far from complete ).

30 - how much do you edit your fics?  do you edit as you write or wait until you finish the first draft?

the sole reason why memory took as long as it did was because i edit as i write. i mostly finish the first draft, but if the length o the fic is longer, i tend to edit as i write it down. it saves time having to scour an entire document for errors since my attention span is non existent XD.

40 - what is your favorite world that you’ve created for a fic?

...for fanfics, i'd say it's what i have in store for memory ( there's one chapter with a hidden market run by scam artist apsaras and it is glorious XD ).

for original fics, it would have to be the 'small city with no name' from my original concept 'and here the city ends'. the place is set right on top of a seraphim graveyard with a creepy magic wood and one eldritch subdimension created from a collective hivemind and the souls of dead animals.

the wild hunt is also a thing in said fic. i always entertained the idea of tired dad gwyn ap nudd whose wild hunt is now posing as a motorcycle gang with the onset of urbanization. ( you know all about it, moth- )

50 - how would you describe your writing style?

inconsistent. a lot of people say it's poetic, but i say it's inconsistent. sometimes it's short and snappy. sometimes it's flowery. sometimes it's descriptive...there's a lot going on, chief. but i'd like to find one that i'm comfy with writing soon though.

60 - in [insert fic], what inspired the idea for the plot?

i had to hunt you down in discord for this. hmmmm, okay so it's a funny story. i like listening to carl sagan's talks on the universe, even if i don't understand a few concepts. he always has something really cool and philosophical to say, y'know?

anyway, this was actually a favorite quote of his, and after some research, i did read up about how the base elements were created and scattered through supernovas, and how our atoms were made from old stars.

and my brain went "lol, imagine getting yote into genshin and spouting this out, your partner would be so confusion' and since it was a little past diluc's birthday, i mulled over the idea of a reader who misses their home world and it went nuts from there.

70 - are you subscribed to any writers on AO3?

yes, quite a few. you're my first XD.

80 - free space - asker can come up with any writing or fic-related question they want!

i will forever stay loyal to li.

but xiao is one, along with diluc ( i like my boys angsty sometimes too ). amongst the girls, shenhe is a definitely because of her very straight laced, deadpan attitude as well as ei XD ( i actually have a wip featuring ei in the works ).

i am interested in writing capitano and itto ( since simp for one and covet the other ). wanderer is also growing on me so him too XD.

in demon slayer, it's kyojuro. definitely kyojuro along with sanemi and inosuke.

ask game

[faerievampling]

Killing Time

Chapter 15: Orchestra Discordia

pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire Bride Tav (female reader)

word count: 5.7k

warnings: 18+. mention of past assault. symptoms of ptsd and behaviors described. anxiety. Suicidal thoughts. mental health warning overall with this one. PiV. Cunnilingus. Vaginal fingering.

Link to Ao3

Killing Time Masterlist

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Astarion’s secrets are spilling out of his hands, frantically trying to keep you in his grasp as you squirm away. You need to think, but you hardly can between Astarion’s hold on you and Lae’zel’s wild bursts of transparent thought. Your senses are being spread thin: you can feel the weight of Astarion’s aura as if it’s trying to absorb you whole. Lae’zel’s thoughts fill your head, but they seem to strangely coincide with your thoughts of Geldon Moth’s words about your husband's misdeeds: how he killed your past lovers, bringing you unwarranted heartbreak. 

“Darling, my love, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” Astarion pleads with you, refusing to let you go. 

“She isn’t angry about the spawn anymore, Lord Astarion.” Angel’s words catch Astarion off guard just enough to where you slip from his grasp, darting across the camp. You can see the indecision in Astarion’s body language, as he can’t seem to decide if he wants to lunge at you or Angel; he ultimately stays put. 

“Shit,” Lae’zel curses as Astarion is yelling at Angel to shut his mouth; Lae’zel’s mind is frantic, and you try to stay out, but she’s so transparent her thoughts nearly fall out of her head: she thinks about the letters, the ones she found in Astarion’s office during your captivity – the ones she’s hoping neither of you know about, specifically concerning her finding them.

“Ah, you’re also wrong, you beautiful space elf!” Angel directs to Lae’zel, giving her a wink. “She's not mad about those letters either.”

“What letters?” You ask, looking between the three: Lae’zel has a look of shock on her face, her pointed ears almost flattening under your intense gaze. Her eyes dart over to Astarion, who looks back at her with such malice you fear he may react violently. But he whips his head back at you, his eyes and aura blazing red hot. Angel’s gone, and you don’t realize he’s standing behind you until the others are looking over your shoulder. You know just how much Angel is enjoying this debacle considering he directly provoked it. You want to confront him, but that would need to happen later. 

“Astarion?” You ask, but he’s silent for some time. It begins to feel like a staring contest, two vampires locked in a quarreled gaze. You can hear the quick thumping of his heart: he’s nervous.

“Vampires are far too patient” Angel murmurs to himself behind you after some time.

“It was a long time ago, Tav,” Astarion says slowly, his voice a low growl.

You feel Angel’s hand gently brush your hair away from your shoulder. You don’t react, your eyes glued on your husband.

“Tell him what’s on your mind,” Angel whispers to you.

“The lovers. Our past lovers, Astarion. And whatever the hells else I don’t know about.” You pause. “I didn’t even know how fragile our world is – our whole empire. You didn’t think to tell me that? Maybe that is important for me to know?”

Astarion’s expression does not shift, but you do see the turn in his aura: shame. You half expect Astarion to demand privacy, but it truthfully didn’t matter anymore; Angel would know regardless, and Lae’zel is trusted. 

“And now, an army of spawn? Hidden letters?” You say, almost laughing a bit, at the sheer concept of hidden letters and an army of spawn. “And Moth. He told me you killed them.”

You can’t help but think of how Moth promised to never take the drow from you. You see the rarity of a vampire in your mind: alive, fucking you gently, more tender than Moth ever did, all for you to have gruesomely killed him. Death had been a mercy for him, but you wonder if you could have eased his pain more. “There were many I cried for, one in particular that Moth mentioned.”

You don’t even know who you’re speaking of, because all you can think about is the drow when you think of ‘past lovers’. But Astarion’s reaction tells you that he knows too well who you mean.

“You don’t even remember his name, Tav…”Astarion begins. You feel layers to this: not only are you realizing your husband has lied to you, but Geldon Moth was telling the truth, and this only works to upset you further. What other truths did Moth tell you about yourself?

You don’t care about the lovers Astarion murdered: not now, anyway. And you hardly care about whatever the letters say: it's likely written in text you can’t even read anymore. And the spawn – no. This is about the fact of the secrets, the lies, the ways he kept your mind away from anything but him: that control. It isn’t like you don’t know your husband is controlling, but far more so than you understood. You just didn’t think Astarion could ever be the cause of your pain. But after a nearly inconceivable amount of time being married to Astarion Ancunín (being his adoration, his greatest desire, his obsession) you know there isn't anything he wouldn't do to ensure that you are his for eternity.

“But I remember the pain,” You say with ill confidence, interrupting him. You begin to smell Angel’s signature scent of fresh grass and ocean. It’s so faint that you almost don’t notice it. “At least I think I do.”

“Oh,” Angel whispers behind you, sounding melancholy. You know he’s absorbing your every thought, and you realize he may be trying to soothe you with his scent – or manipulate you. The issue is you can’t tell which is which anymore, from Angel or Astarion. Angel had helped you, certainly, but you had saved yourself from the flames of the Moth estate. And Astarion…

Your heart has long dropped to your gut. There is almost a whirring in your chest, some stir of – you don’t even know what. It feels hollow, and you can’t help but put your palm over where your dead heart is. You don’t remember what it feels like for it to beat, but you know it’s there. Why does it feel so empty right now?

“I-I don't feel good,” You say, your eyes darting to the sky. The sun is up, now, and you step away from the shade of camp, basking in warm rays. You see a vision: a flicker of the sword, edged between stone and soot, nearly just below your feet. 

You feel Astarion’s presence behind you. He’s close, but he doesn’t touch you. The gentle thrum of his heart can be heard by you, and you try to shake it off. “You know I did all of those things for us.”

After just a beat, “Look at me, my love.” His voice is stern, and you don’t want to listen – you want to defy. You are fucking tired of listening to others, and you’re angry Astarion would hurt you so: not entirely surprised, but angry. You think of how he’s withheld spoken words of love from you for so long, using everything he could to keep you submitted to him, just as he did with the letters, the lovers; your mind swims with the possibilities of Astarion’s further unknown misdeeds.

“Tav.” He becomes desperate, his voice rugged and rough; it makes you feel even lower. You turn, facing your breathtaking husband. He looks so gorgeous in the sunlight, and his aura is practically jumping at you. His curls are messy, sprawling about in a way that makes him look rogue. His scarlet eyes lock with yours, and you see it in his very soul: you know how deeply he desires you, how much this pains him.

Your inner turmoil coils around your heart as Astarion evenly pleads with you. “We should finish what we need to do here, and then we can go home. I’ll tell you everything, anything you want to know.”

The influence of Angel’s sight leads your gaze over Astarion’s shoulder where Angel stands in the foreground. He appears to be quite sad, twirling the ends of his hair in his thick fingers as the two of you make eye contact. You quickly focus back on Astarion, silently cursing a pouting Angel. 

You don’t know how long it is before you answer, but you know Astarion is right. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Astarion asks, his tone hopeful, his hand outstretched towards you. You take it, and he gives you a small smile in response: but you can’t reciprocate.

You blink, shaking your head. “I’ve never hidden anything from you, Astarion. Ever. My mind has been yours since the moment you made me. But you’ve…”

Your memories come flooding back to you, and they are so vivid, it almost feels like you’re having a vision: but they are just memories, here to torment you despite whatever it is you were doing just before. You think about all the times Astarion called you his spawn, putting you below him with his words, refusing to tell his godsdamned wife he loves her. 

“No more talking. Call your spawn, husband, and let’s finish this.”

Astarion’s mask falters for just a moment before he relents. 

****

“I want it,” You whine, Angel keeping his hands on your shoulders as Astarion’s spawn retrieves the sword from the stone: you seem to be the only one so affected by the sword, your fingers twitching at just the thought of wielding it…

“It’s all up in your head 'cause you keep thinking about it. Just stop!” Angel replies; far easier said than done, but what the hells does Angel know, anyway?

The entrance to the Underdark is just under your feet; this feels surreal to you as you carefully enter on a bridge of rubble. It’s a strange place, the Underdark: everywhere you look, there is glowing light amidst darkness, but it doesn’t cover up the scent of decay and rot. You seem to be in an ancient temple. You’re unable to place whichever god it was built for as your knowledge of the culture of the under-races is quite limited. 

“Your knowledge on most things is, like, not much. You know that?” Angel murmurs to you, his thick fingers pressing against your skin. You desperately want him to let go, because you want nothing more than to rip the sword from the fumbling spawn’s grasp, freeing it yourself, before reaping. “Ugh. I’d rather you think about your usual stuff, like drinking blood, Astarion’s cock, oh, mine too of course.”

“Enough,” Lae’zel says, looking at to Angel. “Why is it that you want this corrupted treasure?”

You can hear the smile on Angel’s face. “Power.”

Lae’zel’s eyes flicker over to yours, meeting them: you know she’s worried about Angel’s involvement in your life, and what this means for the future. Astarion only watches, keeping his distance as he stares holes into Angel. You would have trouble ignoring the slightly frightening nature of Astarion’s aura if it hadn’t been for the all-consuming sword: his aura, black and red and pink, muddled and quite large, is doing what it can to make its way to you even from across the room. It unsettles you not to know what he’s thinking or how he’s explicitly feeling; seeing only a visual makes you even more unsure of your footing.

The moment the sword is freed from its stony prison by two faceless spawns, Angel hands you over to Astarion, who very tentatively puts his hands on your shoulder, just as Angel had. But his grip is greater than firm, and you think he may not realize how hard he’s grabbing you. 

Angel glances over at you before waving his hands over the sword, and whatever he does next greatly relaxes you, the tension in your body easing up. You half-expect Astarion to relax as well, but his grip doesn’t ease. Instead, one hand moves to the back of your neck.

“Wonderful! I’ll be able to summon them to my domain, now,” Angel smiles triumphantly. You see his eyes dart over to Astarion, the tension greatly rising between the two. Lae’zel also seems to notice, appearing even more uneasy than she had before.

“‘Summon them?’” You say, repeating his phrase, signaling you don’t know what the hells he’s talking about.

“‘To my domain,’ yes, beautiful. You always have an open invitation, Tav~”

“What purpose does the son of Lastai have for souls?” Lae’zel inquires suspiciously. 

“Ascension,” Astarion says, his voice deadpan. One of his hands trails down your arm, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. “Trying to craft your fortune, Angel?”

Angel, ignoring Astarion’s words, gives Astarion his most dashing smile before turning to you. You see a flash of discomfort overcome him, but it ends so quickly you hardly know if it was ever there. “I won’t be sacrificing them or anything. They’ll be happy with me, so don’t worry about it. But I know that you won’t, beautiful. You have way too much goin’ on up there as it is.”

Angel means to say more, you can tell, but he promptly disappears, blowing you a kiss before vanishing, leaving you in the ruins of the temple. Astarion plants a kiss on the crown of your head, pressing his nose to your scalp before releasing you. You travel back in silence, trudging through the ruins and wilderness once more, finding your way back to your portal point. You ignore the spawn, the ones Astarion commands to stay in the Underdark until nightfall: Angel only extended some veil of protection over them while he was still here, and his powers left with him. Fucking Angel. 

****

You and Astarion return to your bedroom after seeing Lae’zel off upon arriving at your palace; you and Astarion help each other get your armor off, not bothering to call for the maids. Even through this, the two of you work in the quiet, only the crackling of the fire filling the room. Even your new bathing ritual is hushed more so than usual. Astarion washes you first, taking his time with your hair: unable to work it out during camp, it’s still tangled from your fleshly activities of fucking and fighting. Astarion gently brushes out every knot to perfection. You nearly lose yourself to his touch as he massages your scalp, his fingertips pressing little in circles, making your entire body shiver.

His touch is peace, for now, and you can’t help but want to enjoy it, grasping onto semblances of comfort and trust. You want it, so badly.

Once it’s his turn, you feel compelled to help him: to touch his curls, his soft skin, to be close to his beating heart. But Astarion makes quick work of his wash as you dry off, slipping on a deep purple robe. It’s better this way: his touch is electrifying in a way you can’t seem to handle. It makes you feel like something inside of you is wrong. It’s wrong and bad.

“I’m going to sit in the library for a bit. Alone,” You say, looking back at him before opening the door to your bedroom. Astarion’s aura makes your gut twist, causing you to grip the doorknob so tightly you fear you may bend the material. You force yourself to take a deep breath. pain. fear. love. 

“I really would prefer you to stay here,” Astarion’s voice is low. “After everything you’ve been through, we’ve been through, you really shouldn’t leave my side.”

You attempt to lighten the mood. “Tell me what threat could be waiting for me in the library, Astarion.”

“Papercuts,” Astarion moves closer to you, pulling you into an embrace. His colors change, the red hues turning pink, the black dissipating: as if you are the sickness and the cure. His hand moves to cup your breast, giving you a seductive smile. “A very serious threat.”

Astarion’s hands begin to roam your body, goosebumps covering your exposed skin. You feel your cunt involuntarily contract as your core begins to build with pressure. The scent of your arousal is already in the air, the needy thing that you are – even your fangs ache for him. His eyes are lidded, and you feel him press his torso to you. His cock is already hard, gently grinding into you. 

His expression softens as his palm slips between your robes, moving to cup your naked sex. His hand is warm between your legs. “I think there’s something else you need, my love.”

You can’t help but whimper as your body reacts to his practiced touch. Astarion unties your robe before you can react, exposing your body to him; he sweeps his eyes over you slowly, leaving you feeling a bit embarrassed at his inspection. 

“I think you need me,” Astarion whispers as he slips a finger between your folds, feeling the buildup of your slick desire. His finger teases the seam of your cunt, making you tremble when the pad of his thumb grazes your puffy clitoris, already swollen from anticipation. “You need me to take your pain away. You need me inside of you.”

Grabbing you by the waist, Astarion’s lips crash into yours as he leads you to your bed, your robe left on the floor. You can’t help but accept his advances when his tongue tastes so sweet. His palms fervently grip the curve of your hips, caressing your body as if you were something new to explore. Two thousand years and the passion of the bedroom never died – this is what those bards should write about, you think.

“Mm,” Astarion lets a moan escape his lips before deepening the kiss. Once you’re on your back, Astarion’s lips are gentle on you, peppering over your face and neck, trailing saliva along the shell of your ear, as if he can’t get enough of your taste. 

“I’ll make it right, my love,” Astarion whispers, his voice smooth and deep in your ear, causing pulsations at your core. You let yourself enjoy it, moaning as Astarion tugs at your pebbled nipple. He gently pulls at your other breast before sliding his hand down your belly, bringing his hand back between your legs. His touch makes you feel tingly down to your toes. The warmth of his hand feels like home; maybe he’s right, you think. Maybe all you need is him.

“My wife,” Astarion whispers. “My savior…”

Astarion moves between your legs, and you can see how excited he is: his cock is as hard as ever, looking almost painful as clear liquid pools at his tip. His eyes are heavy but alert, his lips parted as his other hand moves to your knee. He parts your legs, spreading you open to reveal your pink, wet core to him. 

“Fuck,” Astarion curses, his hand moving to part your folds: using his finger and thumb, he exposes you fully, even pulling back the little hood of your clitoris. “You’re exquisite. So beautiful, pink…pretty, my sweet girl.” Astarion’s eyes are glued to your core, speaking to her rather than you. 

“Star…” You say, shifting away from him just a little. You’re more than aware he can see all your scars, especially the ones you rather he didn’t.

“You don't need to shy around me, my love,” He says gently, but his face is stern. He gives you an intense look before dipping his head and placing the sweetest, most sincere kiss on your entrance. He flutters his lashes at you as he brings his lips to your swollen nub, circling your sensitive, pretty pearl with his tongue and lips. 

You can’t help but deeply sigh, falling in love with Astarion’s tongue all over again as he deeply kisses your swollen folds. Placing his nose on the top of your mound, Astarion inhales the scent of your arousal. 

Running the bridge of his nose along your sensitive lips, you can’t help the squeak that slips out of you, girlish and needy. His lips feel incredible on your wet core; it has been so long since he’s made love to you with his mouth, and Moth was rarely concerned for your pleasure.

This line of thought becomes a trap for you, thinking about Geldon Moth and his large, rather frightening claws gripping your body, tearing into your flesh. With this, your mind starts to drift from you entirely. You think about how you wished for Astarion to save you, how he had vowed to protect you for eternity. You just can’t help it: his secrets, his lies, the pain, his finger sliding between your tight walls, only for your cunt to pull him deeper: you feel ashamed taking him so effortlessly. His nimble fingers are gentle, only pushing inside of you to the second knuckle, despite your body’s slick protests for more. Why are you always so pliant when the memories of the past dance in your skull? They are a macabre reenactment of your torture. Not to mention all these feelings. The more complicated ones, the ones that make you feel bad – was it not below you to waste your time with them? 

For a moment, disgust washes over you so harshly it makes you want to tear yourself apart. Your mind jumps to your moments with Moth and the drow, when you took at the same time with ease: they were practiced, and Moth relentlessly mocked you for your lewd, reactive body. 

One thing is certain: your mind is all over the place, and you must search for something to bring you back together. Closing your eyes, you remind yourself of the one truly tangible thing Astarion has that Moth and the drow didn’t: life. His life sustains you: his life is what allowed you to walk in the sun, to make your spawn – even your resilience to Moth’s torture was because of Astarion’s bloodline. His blessing. Had it not been so, you would still be there, slowly rotting, a pleasure slave for eternity.

“Astarion,” you whisper, your voice coming out husky, surprising even you: you didn’t realize how badly you want him. 

“Yes?” Astarion is already drunk on your kisses. His lids are heavy. In his hazy state, you put your hands on his chest, urging him to roll over, placing yourself on top. Astarion hesitates for a moment, the look in his eyes presenting a brief challenge.

“I want to bite you,” You say, your voice as tantalizing as can be as your hand traces down to his thigh, moving between his legs. “Right here.”

You do want to be close to him – to be intimate with him; you think maybe it will help you forgive and get over some of those bad feelings. You just want everything to go back to the way it was, at this point.

And with your words of seduction, Astarion gives up his power play, relenting to you as he eagerly positions himself for comfort. Idly, he pops his finger into his mouth, sucking at your juices, drooling at the taste of you. You move between his legs, your eyes glued to the length of his fully hard cock: long, thick, you can see the blue of his veins bulging from smooth, pink skin. His tip, so swollen and pinker than the rest, throbs for you. His entire groin twitches at your inspection, more clear liquid flowing from his tip. He is rather cute like this, you think.

Astarion spreads his legs, pulling a knee up to give you easier access to his smooth, pale thigh. His skin is so perfect, entirely unmarked save for the scars on his back. This makes you all too aware of your marred nakedness.

“See what you do to me, Tav?” Astarion asks, the desperation thick in his voice; his heart is racing, His eyebrows knit together, and he’s showing his fangs to you in a mix of carnal desire and aggression, begging you to take charge of his pleasure. He’s wrapped a hand around his shaft, gently stroking his sensitive foreskin, shifting his hips as he grinds into himself. His other hand moves to caress your face; you close your eyes, allowing yourself to fall into the warmth of his palm. Before you know it, you’ve buried your face in his thigh; you tease him with the tip of your nose, dragging it along his smooth skin before finding the perfect spot to slide your fangs in.

Astarion gasps as you pierce his flesh, losing yourself in his delicious essence. His blood is so sweet, thick like honey on the tongue, and it’s as if this is what you’ve been missing. You drink from him for some time, slowly letting his rich essence hit your tongue, savoring every sip. You lazily stroke his cock, your hand gliding over his shaft with ease. 

“My love – please,” He is a whimpering mess beneath you, his body trembling at your every touch. His thigh is so tender, and he twitches at every lick, every kiss like you are lightning. The tip of his cock weeps precome, the clear, sticky liquid becoming your lubricant as you work out all those little noises of him.

You finally release yourself when you feel Astarion go slack beneath you. You know you’ve taken too much blood from him, but he would regenerate quickly; when you pull away to inspect your master, you can see the pink rising back to his cheeks, his powerful ascendant body making quick work of his blood loss. The puncture wounds close up, unlike the ones that litter your body or your face, never to heal. Damaged property. 

The two of you look deeply into each other's eyes; Astarion’s looking at you reverently, his pupils blown wide, sweat dripping from his brow. “You really want me, Astarion?”

You know the answer to your question is a resounding yes by the way his cock still twitches in your palm. But you hardly feel like Astarion’s beautiful consort, anymore: more like a pathetic, wounded animal; you feel lower just thinking this way. 

“Of course. Yes. Tav, darling, you are the only thing –” Astarion proclaims, words failing him as he can see the discontent in your features. He struggles to answer as all his blood seems to reside in his painfully hard cock; his brain is hazy, but his eyes are desperate. “I told you so long ago that you complete me. You are my everything. And that has always been true. I love you more than the sun.  I love you more than life itself.”

His words provoke something within you. You feel a surging run through your body as you straddle him, feeling your heart drop down to your core. Astarion sits up, his arms wrapping around your back as he settles you on his lap. His cock rests just between your spread folds, making you only hungrier for him. You want him inside you: take my pain away, Astarion.

For one thing, his blood is just never enough and you always want more. And his body: it drives you mad. His perfect skin, so smooth and hairless despite his masculine build – a stunning elf. One that you love so much, you just want to eat him whole. Maybe if you consume his heart, it will make up for his lies, his control, his manipulations, and his refusal to verbally share his love for so long, gods has he been selfish with you.

You take his jaw in your hand, and with the other, you harshly pull back his hair, now forcing him to your attention: he had freely given it to you, but now, you won’t let him rescind it. It is your time to be selfish with him.

“Tell me you’re mine,” You say, your voice coming out quiet and cold. 

Astarion doesn’t hesitate. His cock is so hard it aches, and he’s irritated at your relentless teasing, you can tell. You’re grinding your slick folds down his shaft as he speaks. “I’m yours – ah..”

“Tell me you love me.” You hardly realize you’re crying until you taste the salt of your tears. Astarion kisses them, his warm hands feverishly groping your naked body. You don’t want to do this to him, but you can’t help it when you bring your hand down to his neck, freeing his curls from your grasp. You squeeze. Astarion isn’t afraid by any means, but you can tell your motions surprise him. 

But you know he loves it. “I love you, Tav.”

You push Astarion onto his back. Bending over, your tears are dripping down your cheek onto Astarion’s face. You realize he’s crying, too, and your tears are mixing on his chin. You’re looking right into his scarlet eyes, and he truly has nowhere to run: he must accept your pain fully, and join in it with you.

But why? Why must I take him with me? Am I truly any better, if I punish him? “Tell me again,” you say as you’ve made up your mind. 

“I love you!” Astarion almost sounds breathless. His face is twisted with desperation; you realize you may be hurting him as you gently kiss his lips, but your twisted affections are interrupted by a sob as you begin to fall apart. 

“Again! Tell me!” You can’t hold it in, anymore, and Astarion is scrambling. The two of you are still entirely naked, but your passions now reside within rather than in the flesh.

“I love you, I love you, I love you…”Astarion murmurs these words over and over as your lips trail over his face, and his ears but your sobs interrupt your work. You’ve collapsed in his arms, your chest violently heaving as you struggle to catch a breath. You cry like this for some time, expecting to feel some sort of relief, but your pain only builds. Has it been there this whole time, left to fester? 

“Why?” You keep asking, and you know Astarion knows what you mean.

Why would you hurt me like this?

How could you let me be taken?

How could you not protect me?

You suddenly feel quite angry, your emotional attack turning into a tantrum. “You promised! You swore to protect me!”

“Tav!” 

You start hitting Astarion’s chest, your frustrations surging from your arms, your fists meeting his sternum with every sob. Your violence reminds you of Moth, of his dying gurgles, of how you couldn’t stop hitting him, either. The thought just upsets you further. Astarion permits your behavior for only a few moments before he takes your wrists in his hand; the two of you are locked in a struggle. He forces you below him, but not without difficulty: you are strong and truly fighting against him now. You can tell this surprises him because you have the upper hand for just a moment when a surge of radiant light comes from within you, burning him to the touch. His hold on you wavers for just a moment before his hands are back on you, throwing his thigh over you to cage you beneath him.

“I hate you! I hate you!” You manage to yell through your sobs, hoping this hurts him the most. “I hate you!”

Astarion holds your wrists above your head, his hand firm on your neck, his lips crashing violently into yours as he brings you into a kiss. He’s rough with you, his teeth cutting into the pad of your bottom lip, drawing blood. You feel your crimson pool down your chin as Astarion laps at it hungrily, kissing and licking and sucking at your skin, leaving more bites and nips in their wake. When he releases you, Astarion’s eyes are wild, filled with tears that streak his face, bloody fangs bared as he looks down at you. 

“Don’t. Don't you ever say that again! You don’t mean that.” Astarion’s words are harsh, but his tone flounders. His tears continue to fall, mixing with the blood on his jaw, making pretty tears of pink down his throat. Astarion’s hands become forceful with your body once more, signaling he means to take you, even if it’s against your will: but his display of dominance falters, his heart becoming too big for his chest, as if he just came to realize how he was acting. Releasing your neck, he studies your face before wearily resting his forehead on your chest, pushing the crown of his head beneath your chin. “You can’t mean that.”

You can only cry in response, begging him to let you go; but his aura and the look that was in his eyes for a moment, you aren’t sure if he will. But Astarion wearily relents, reigning himself in, pushing himself off the bed as he frustratingly targets his inner turmoil at himself, balling his hands into fists. You smell freshly drawn blood, watching as it drips from his palms, straight onto the floor. 

Seeing his blood pooled, even if it was only a few drops, makes you stir inside. You know you must leave: you have to leave, lest you attack him. Right now, you would love nothing more than to utterly lay ravage onto him, biting and nipping and sucking and feeding; fucking. A full-on desecration of your beautiful husband, earning your sweet revenge, your dominance, your power. You can feel your mouth salivate, your stomach twisting with that dark hunger as your upset grows. You wipe your cheeks, nearly slapping your tears away as you feel your sight leading you over to the door: even Angel is urging you to run from this. Your desire for power can’t be accounted for by anything but something disturbed within you: your sick mind, that inner beast that seems to feel bigger each day. You’re cursing at yourself as you jump out of bed, hastily throwing on a robe before storming out the door. You feel only heartache and loathing as you retreat to one of the libraries in your estate. You’ve torn it apart before you even realize it, clawing the wood, shredding spines, creating a wake of chaos. You don’t stop until you realize you’ve knocked over one of the decanters of wine, where your attention is quickly directed. 

Sitting on the floor amidst the ruined library, you drink straight from the bottle, not bothering to prepare yourself a glass; you are far past that, gulping down your rage, pain, all your confliction. You find an intact daybed in a deep nook of the library; curling up with the wine bottle, you hold yourself, allowing the sun’s rays to hit your skin as you drift off into a dreamless slumber. 

[webhead3345]

Hero of the Dunes AU

(Ao3)

Link travels through the woods without a weapon, and then finds himself roped into a business deal

Chapter 4: The Worth of a Weapon

The first night out in the wild was… an adventure to say the least. Link was embarrassed that nothing actually happened.

He had been so prepared all night to be ambushed by the mysterious woman who attacked him in the Soul Temple, or to be jumped by monsters that every creaking branch and movement set his nerves on edge all over again.

It didn’t help that the roots and rocks and fallen branches of the area were always too close, despite the way he’d cleared out his sleeping area just the way he and Rift used to when they would stay outside to sleep on clear nights.

He hardly slept at all, and when the sun finally rose he dragged himself off of the ground and stared at the nearby stream in distaste for the morning.

Still, he washed up as well as he could before checking his rupee pouch for the millionth time just to make sure his little pink crystal was still hidden inside.

 Still there, right where I left it. Why does a part of me feel like it should’ve all been a dream? 

He sighed and pushed to his feet, much less enthusiastic for the day with the way his eyes burned.

When he reached the road, the grunting snuffles of monsters stopped him in his tracks. He backtracked into the bushes and peeked through the leaves.

Three bokoblins stood on the road, snuffling and pacing as though they were waiting for something.

 Voice said they’d be hunting me. 

The same thought from his sleepless night turned his blood to ice. They were waiting for him.

He clenched his teeth and backed further away. Foolish to know of such danger and not being a weapon of some kind… not that he had the rupees to afford something as expensive as a sword anyway.

Even his hunting bow or slingshot would be better than nothing at all.

His gaze caught on a good sized stick and he snatched it off the ground, deftly snapping off the unruly branches that would slow any attacks he was forced to make with the branch.

 This’ll have to do. Just have to hope I don’t run into any monsters. 

He crouched and worked his way quietly through the undergrowth, avoiding the road but still moving in the same direction.

He would make it to Kakariko today. There wouldn’t be any monsters in the town, so at least until he set out for the temple, he’d be safe.

Maybe he could find some weapon he could afford while he was there.

He grimaced even as he had the thought. His rupee pouch was notably light.

 Great. 

Link ducked behind a tree trunk just before the bokoblin in the bushes ahead turned to face his direction. His heart pounded in his chest and his head ached.

If he was out here in the open much longer, the monsters were bound to find him. Blocking the path to the village as they were, they were setting a trap where the moment he was spotted they could call an army down on his head.

He pressed a hand to his temple and worried his lower lip. Papa and Rift were always playing strategy games with him, half the adventures he and his brother pretended to go on involved battles and soldiers. He should be able to figure something out…

 If they’re trying to block me out of the town, then the bokoblins could be spread throughout the entirety of the forest. There may be no way around… 

That of course was the main issue, seeing as his weaponless state made avoid and evade the best tactics he could think of.

He shifted and pressed his back harder against the tree. He had to get to Kakariko, and he didn’t want a mob of monsters following him there.

He looked down at his feet where the stick in his hand dug into the earth near his toes. A few pebbles and stones scattered along the forest floor along with fallen branches and sprouting plants.

An idea popped into his head.

It was probably stupid. It was probably dangerous.

He leaned around the tree to peer at the bokoblin again, marking its location, then he knelt cautiously to pick up a small handful of stones.

 Mama’d kill me if she knew what I was about to do.  Without more thought on the matter than that, Link lobbed the handful into the green just beyond his hiding spot.

The bokoblin spun around like its whole body had been tugged.

Link ducked further behind the tree at the scattering of the pebbles. He clutched his branch tight and lifted it off the ground, holding it at the ready.

The bokoblin was moving toward him. Or more accurately, toward the noise he’d made beyond his hiding spot.

Link held his breath to keep the sound at bay in the pressing tension.

A second ticked by. Then another.

Then the bokoblin’s body came into view, sniffing at the air beyond his tree and completely clueless of the danger hiding just a foot away.

Link swung.

The monster only had a second to recognize the movement to its side as a threat before it was  thwacked  painfully over the head.

It grunted as its body fell limp to the floor. Link dropped down to check it over for weapons, but only found a small rusted dagger.

He grit his teeth, but he took it all the same.  Better than nothing. 

His heart pounded in his head. Told him to run, that monsters would be on his trail in seconds, even if his mind knew he’d successfully—and more importantly  quietly  —dealt with the threat.

Still he ended up jogging the rest of the way to the village. His head pounded with his lack of sleep and his exertion, but he stepped into the safe streets of Kakariko at last and his shoulders slumped in relief at the sight.

He’d only visited Kakariko on occasions, usually for festivals. Their neighboring town was much larger than their own. Booths lined one street, while carnival games that ran year round showed their tempting offers on brightly painted signs.

An inn and a grocery shop both hung their signs close to the entrance of the village, and there was so much space and likely a lot of traffic passing through this way, that he wouldn’t be surprised if there were two more on the other side of town.

The sound of cuccos drifted through the air along with the low and constant murmur of conversation.

He hesitated near the inn, but it was still light out, and… he pressed his fingers over his rupee pouch, but no more had magically appeared at his need.

Nevermind. Weapons were more important anyway.

He marched past the signs and toward the merchant alley instead, pausing at the sheer  volume  of booths. He’d expected it to be less on a regular day rather than a carnival, and while traffic was decreased, it wasn’t as much as he’d expected.

Kakariko was just all around huge.

A part of him wanted to explore. To go and try out the games and see what he could win. He kept himself on track instead, examining the stalls as he passed and shaking his head when pushy salesmen tried to draw him to their wares that he definitely  didn’t need .

He paused at a surprising stall. Every shelf had a different kind of adventure supply and he stared wide-eyed at the sword and shield on display.

“Oh, hello!” The merchant said, slapping his hands on his desk and standing from his stool. “I see you’ve taken an interest in my wares!”

His excitement was equal to Link’s surprise at finding such a young man running the shop. By how he worded it, it didn’t really sound like he was looking over it for his parents, but he couldn’t be older than Link himself, and he was barely  technically  considered an adult at fifteen as it was.

“Do you see something that interests you? Something to your liking? We’re running a great sale today, if you’re interested!” A loose strand of dark hair that was otherwise all pulled back fell into his face and he quickly swiped it away. “Everything I have to offer is the best quality and you won’t be disappointed if you invest in some of my adventurer’s gear! All of it is dearly important for the life of a traveler in this increasingly dangerous time!”

Link pressed his lips together. The onslaught of words and sales pitches were making his headache worse, much like the merchants constant shouting volume, like he was talking to a crowd and not the single civilian within ten feet of his particular stall.

“Have a look at this sling! It’s all the rage with young travelers these days. Good enough to keep bokoblins away while keeping a safe distance yourself!” He swung the sling in mock circles over his head a few times before he set it down and gestured wildly at the shelf behind him. “Or- or I’ve got bottles imported from the Gerudo Desert itself! Sturdy and reliable, the glass has been formed to perfection and will hold anything you need!”

“How much for your sword?” Link asked when the merchant paused to search out another item.

“My sword?” The merchant’s eyes bugged and he spun to look at it before looking at Link again, running his eyes from head to foot as if sizing him up. “You want a  sword?” He blinked precisely three times and didn’t wait for Link to answer before he slapped his cheek and started up again. “Well of course you want a sword! And who wouldn’t, seeing this fine craftsmanship? It was forged for a knight and gifted to me after a very trying experience and though I do hold it close to my heart, I would be willing to part with it for an even two hundred rupees.”

“Two hun-“ Link’s eyes blew wide and he took an involuntary step back as his face burned. He knew for a fact he didn’t have more than twenty, if even that.

The merchant definitely noticed the reaction. He cringed and turned to look at Link full on again. “I really can’t sell it for less or I’d try to lower the price for you. Maybe something else might interest you instead…?”

Link mutely pointed toward the sling, his face burning. Two hundred rupees! He knew swords were expensive, but he’d never tried to buy one himself. His family could live off of that for a whole season!

The merchant set the sling back onto the counter and his smile was a little less oppressively wide this time. “Fifty rupees for you, my friend.”

By the way he said it, it was a lower price than usual. His ears tingled with the heat of embarrassment. He couldn’t afford any of this! “Ah, um, thanks. I-I don’t think I need it after all.” He ducked his head and turned to go.

That’s what he got for staring. He wasted the merchant’s time and got his own hopes up for nothing. He couldn’t even afford a little sling! Stealth and branches were going to be his best friends from now on, it seemed.

“Wait! Come back a second!”

He turned at the merchant’s voice to find the boy leaning over his desk and beckoning him back with both hands.

That was honestly worse. Link cringed and glanced around at the people passing by and giving them strange looks. He hurried back to the adventure merchant’s stall just to get him to stop making a scene.

“I can tell you have a particular need,” the merchant said, lowering his voice and losing the salesman smile he had been wearing before. “I’d like to help if I could, but I really can’t be parting with my wares for less than they’re worth.”

 Then why did you call me back here? To humiliate me all over again? 

“However, if you really are the adventuring type like you…” he notably avoided looking at Link’s clothes. “…look, then maybe we can strike a deal.”

Link blinked at him. “What kind of deal?”

The merchant waved a hand back at his stall. “I’m always on the look out for rare or pretty items I might be able to sell. If you’re short on rupees, I’d be willing to trade some of my goods for something of equal or greater value. Something you can’t use but  I  can sell.”

Link’s fingers dug into the fabric of his rupee pouch, finding the delicate form of the Soul’s Voice inside. “I… don’t have anything like that to trade.”

The merchant twisted his lips, but he was persistent, Link would give him that. “But you are going on an adventure, right?”

Link hesitated before nodding.

“Then surely you’ll have things to trade soon enough! I have a need for a supplier, so I’d be happy to take you on if you can bring me things worth my time.”

Link shifted on his feet. “And then I could trade for the weapons?”

“You have my word!” The merchant pressed a hand to his heart and raised the other over his head. “It’s just good business, after all!” Then he scrambled back from the table and set the sling on it between them again. “As a matter of fact, as a show of my good faith in you and your willingness to accept my deal, I’d be willing to give you this sling as a loan, just until you bring me something to trade of the same worth.”

“How could you be sure I wouldn’t just take it and leave?”

The merchant raised his eyebrows at him, but there wasn’t so much mirth in his eyes when he said the next words for Link to believe he was really joking. “I travel all around Hyrule, and even some other lands. It wouldn’t be a hard matter to hunt you down and take what is mine.”

Link stared at him until the boy broke a smile and held the sling out for him. “Deal?”

Link swallowed. His family’s debts were already piling up, and fifty rupees was no small sum.

But if there was anything Papa taught him, it was that a weapon or defense of some kind was crucial when heading into dangerous territory. With all the monsters he’d seen around, looking for him, could he really afford not to take the sling?

He found himself making the exchange and returning the merchant’s smile hesitantly. “Deal.”

[alheria]

Fresh wind on a hot day (6/9)

-Luca, you are scaring me. -Jim sighed heavily, looking at the shockingly empty fridge containing only beer, a half-empty jug of milk and some Chinese leftovers. -I was gone only three days, what the hell do you eat while I’m not here?

-Coffee, cereal and takeaway. -the older man shrugged, not even briefly gazing up from the newspaper. -I was fine before you moved in, will be fine when you move out.

-How are you still alive?! -Street shook his head in disbelief. To be fair, he used to be like that, not caring about food too much, but ever since he started spending time at Buck’s, who enjoyed cooking, realised that eating properly is a game changer in terms of physical and mental health. -Also, there is no more cereal, I checked.

-Oh, good to know. -nodded the other officer. -Write it down on the list.

There was no list. Jim quickly found some post-it notes and made one, with a little more items than just “cereal” on it. He felt a little guilty for often leaving his best friend alone, and as much as considering moving in with the firefighter. It somehow wasn’t right, despite them having a strictly platonic relationship. Like if he was abandoning his family, even though it was obvious one day their living arrangement would change.

Possibly soon.

They were talking, hypothetically, about Street slowly merging into Buck’s apartment. Which seemed too fast, after barely four months of dating, however not that unreasonable. So while he thought about permanently staying with his partner, the Omega began to fill the designated closet space, one clothing piece at the time. This activity was actually forcing him to visit the Alpha more frequently, since his current household had severe laundry issues. He actually had to go there after today’s shift, having no clean shirts anymore.

The shift the two cops were nearly late for, neither watching the clock, thinking the other one was keeping track. And they were lucky because the team had to roll only five minutes after starting the work day.

There was a bust of a human trafficking ring in progress, planned in detail by the PD, although a last minute development have occurred, when once on the move, they found a strange tunnel coming from the target facility and realised the group on some point had built a few escape routes that were not an original part of the building, therefore weren’t on the blueprints. Which meant they needed more people than anticipated to cover all exits.

Jim was “fortunate” to get himself a creepy ass underground corridor lightened by flickering bulbs. He slowly walked down the makeshift stairs, and cautiously continued forward, unsure what’s waiting at the end, hoping the passage is not too long ‘cause it made him feel like he’s in some horror game.

The officer passed a corner, instantly noticing an oddly placed curtain covering the left side. Before he managed to inspect it, a large man came flying through it, rage clear in his wild eyes as he hit the opposite wall. The perp ran straight into the first shot, crushing the cop under his significant weight as he attacked him. Gun dropped somewhere on the floor above his head, too far to reach without being able to move as strong hands firmly grabbed his neck, holding him in place. Struggling with oxygen deprivation, Street did the only thing he could think of, punched the gunshot wound on the man’s shoulder, who immediately screamed in pain and backed off abruptly. Aware it might be his only chance, he threw himself in the gun’s direction. This movement did, however, leave him on full display. The assailant noticed a perfect opening and instinctively bit the Omega’s exposed nape. Then fell down lifelessly onto Jim’s chest when a bullet pierced his brain.

Completely ignoring the sharp, pulsating pain, and the whole situation in general, like on autopilot, the officer got up, wiped his face and calmly pushed forward to continue his job. He cleared the small room hidden behind the curtain, crossed the very long corridor to its end, and eventually left the building where half of his team was already waiting, done with their routes. Street joined them quietly, feeling too nauseous to talk. Deacon was the first to look at him, his eyes instantly went wide open.

-Street, what happened?! -he shouted, hastily approaching his blood-covered teammate and anxiously checking him for any visible injuries while he stood there absently as his mind began to drift away. -Oh god. Oh fuck no. I need some help over here!

From there, everything went a little foggy. Someone grabbed his arm and pulled towards the ambulance, where he got sat down, several raised voices surrounded him uncomfortably tight. He couldn’t understand a word though, sounds blended in together, overpowered by his heart pounding extremely loud whilst the brain fought hard not to panic.

A stranger bit him. Again.

But this time, it was so much worse because in addition to losing a chunk of dignity, he entirely lost Buck’s scent, which got replaced with a sickening stench belonging to that dead motherfucker.

It felt unbearably wrong to not have that familiar fragrance linger on his skin, as if he was suddenly naked, completely exposed to this dangerous world roamed by vicious predators. Not only that, he couldn’t stop wondering what his partner will say when he smells a different Alpha on him, sees the forced mark.

The painful mark a paramedic was now gently cleaning, observed carefully by the whole squad. Luca seemed to be holding his hand, and it helped to take the edge off, bring the muted senses back with a comforting touch. He was really lucky to have such caring teammates, who didn’t mind he was a bit more vulnerable than most of them. Other teams weren’t so understanding, from what he’s heard.

-Street, you good to walk? -Chris asked softly once the medic gave a green light. She was quite shaken up knowing her closest friend got hurt in this nightmarish way for a second time in his life. It shouldn't have taken place even once.

-Yeah. All good. -he nodded, letting Luca assist him with getting up onto slightly wobbly legs, which, thank the heavens, somehow managed to reach their vehicle.

During the ride back no one was in a mood to talk, so they stayed silent. Neither of them really knew what to say to not make things any worse until they entered the armory and Hondo finally spoke up.

-Jim, go home. -he ordered.

-I'm fine. I just need a minute to calm down. -Street disagreed, heavily sitting down on the bench, his knees too weak to keep standing.

-You got attacked, it's not fine, take the rest of the day off. -demanded the squad leader, his mind already made up. “No” was not a viable answer. Not today.

-I can work, it's fine! -the officer hissed through a clenched jaw. -No biggie. -he whispered, hiding his spinning head in shaking hands, a nauseous wave hitting him once again.

He wasn’t fine.

The wound sting, heart raced, lungs rejected air, and skin itched as if he was covered in dust. He felt dirty. And angry at himself too, because he should’ve been more careful or wear a stupid neck guard or just bond with his Alpha already, so he never loses his scent again. What a fucking disgrace it was, being branded like some cheap piece of meat.

-Can you give us a moment alone? -Chris asked in the background, and everyone seemed to obediently leave the room, aware there is nothing they can do. She then sat down next to her best friend and reassuringly squeezed his shaking thigh. -Jim, being through this before, you know the drill better than anyone else. The smell is not going to go away anytime soon, and will mess you up too much to think about anything else. Buck is not working today, have him sort it out for you, it's gonna take only a few minutes, and you'll be all good to return tomorrow. Do you want me to call him to pick you up?

Chris was right. There is no way he could keep going like this, and a solution was extremely simple, now that he got blessed with an amazing Alpha boyfriend.

-N-no. I'll drive. -Street sighed, trying to muster strength to get up when a painful realisation hit him once again. -He bit me Chris…that motherfucker…oh god…it's so disgusting…fuck, I need some fresh air. -he groaned, and quickly left the building, with no intention of returning.

That nasty smell had to go.

---

The call Buck unexpectedly got from Chris a few hours after he woke up to enjoy his day off, boiled the blood in his veins. He expected pretty much anything to happen to his boyfriend working such a dangerous job, but certainly not being bitten by some random piece of shit.

Waiting for Street's arrival, his Alpha instincts were restless as he anxiously paced around the kitchen. There was no way to predict what to expect. It was a second time occurrence, thus the affected man would either know how to deal with the emotional toll right away or get inevitably crushed by both old and fresh trauma. So when the door finally opened, and the extremely pale Omega slowly appeared, still wearing work clothes and looking like someone died, his heart dropped to the ground at this miserable sight.

-Jim…-Buck started talking, but didn’t get to finish. The officer hastily crossed the distance between them and wrapped himself around the concerned firefighter, who quickly crushed his partner in a tight embrace. For a few seconds he shook violently before the sense of security ceased the tremor. It was awful to see that usually strong, high-spirited person in such bad shape, but at least he was back home, safe. -I’m so sorry sweetheart. -he murmured, pressing a lengthy kiss to the short strands.

And that’s when it hit him.

The smell.

Ever since they began seeing each-other more often, his own scent started mixing with Street’s, creating a very unique, amazing fragrance. It was a natural biological reaction, signalising that an Omega is in a relation with an Alpha, thus is not currently “on the market”. If the pair wasn’t bonded, this would fade after a few days of being apart or could be instantly removed by someone else putting their mark. Like in Jim’s case.

The attacker’s stench was truly repulsive, immediately made Buck feel nauseous, while the anger at being unable to sense himself on his boyfriend clouded his view. He hoped the fucker who did that was dead.

-Can you make it stop? -the cop asked quietly, his voice so weak it broke the firefighter’s aching heart. The Alpha calmed down right away, brought back to reality by intense distress. This was not about him. Someone incredibly dear to him was suffering, helping them was an absolute priority.

-Of course. Of course, I can. -he whispered softly, showering Jim’s head with tender kisses, trailing them down towards the injured neck. Buck didn’t necessarily want to look at that but had no choice, gently removed the dressing, and froze, raw fury ignited in his chest at the shocking sight. The bite was deep, horribly bruised, surely painful, and so, so wrong. Not wasting any more time, he bit into the disinfectant tasting flesh, quickly leaving a second, even deeper mark over the horrific proof of violation.

Despite the sharp pain it caused, Street relaxed momentarily, feeling the disgusting smell slowly evaporate from the veins, get forcefully replaced by that beautiful warmth, and familiar affection. His whole body went numb, if strong arms didn’t support him, he would’ve probably fallen to the ground, overwhelmed by the rapid changes to his system.

They didn’t move for a good ten minutes, silently enjoying themselves while the disrupted emotions steadily returned to somewhat normal levels, considering the gruesome circumstances.

-Better? -wondered the Alpha, loosening the hold enough to look into his partner’s slightly glossy eyes. He wasn’t ready to let go completely, not yet.

-A little. -the Omega nodded before resting his cheek on the taller man’s shoulder, loudly inhaling the comforting fragrance. -I still feel his hands on me. -he added, cold palms sneaking under the hem of the firefighter’s shirt, making him shiver at the chilly touch when they moved around, stealing heat and caressing the shivering skin. Suggestively.

-That can be helped too. -Buck hummed, capturing Jim’s lips in a passionate kiss. Oh, how he loved their coping mechanism was sex. Talking about trauma and issues always seemed way easier after having a rushed, hot intercourse. As the tongues danced, he swiftly guided them towards the couch, neither interested in going upstairs. He sat down, pulling the officer down to kneel over him on the soft cushions. They quickly got rid of the upper clothing, bodies warming up impossibly fast. The Alpha skilfully unbuckled the belt and freed the growing bulge to the cop’s satisfaction, who moaned prettily into their joined mouths before having to part for much-needed air.

-Please just fuck me already. -Street huffed, brushing through his boyfriend’s hair while they looked each-other in the eyes, gazes foggy with arousal, hearts racing. Buck’s dick instantly hardened hearing that desperate request amplified by the sole sight of this unbelievably sexy man panting heavily as he begged to be fucked.

-Yessir. -the firefighter growled, tugging on the open pants, which soon met the floor, promptly followed by soaked underwear. Seeing the large, twitching in anticipation cock, he couldn’t stop himself from steadying those sturdy hips and licking that beautiful shaft, causing the Omega to whine loudly in pleasant surprise. -I’m sorry baby, can’t fuck you just yet. -he grinned mischievously before grabbing that beautiful penis, and swallowing it nearly whole.

The sound Jim made must’ve been surely heard in the entire building. It was so erotic, Buck’s mind glitched for a second when it went straight to his neglected dick. Somehow, this turned out to be the most challenging blowjob in history, listening to his partner’s shameless moans, he was on the verge of coming in his sweatpants, completely untouched. Too impatient to get some action, but not breaking the merciless rhythm, the Alpha reached between those muscular cheeks and pushed one finger inside the older man. He almost choked to death once Street spilled deep in his throat, cursing fiercely as a powerful orgasm rolled through his body.

-How dare you disregard your elders! -hissed the officer the moment his senses returned, making the firefighter laugh.

-I’m not sorry. -Buck smiled, leaning up to steal a quick peck off his boyfriend’s unamused face. -But don’t worry, I’ll lose my mind if I’m not inside you in the next sixty seconds. -he added, and not waiting on any response, swiftly shifted their positions. The Omega got pushed onto the couch’s backrest, his naked ass on perfect display, admired by the abnormally horny Alpha from his spot right behind. He hastily removed the annoying clothing and in one smooth move buried himself in the wet hole.

Pressed into those warm, smooth insides, Buck could clearly see the overlapping marks as the cop’s neck bent when he bit the cushion to muffle the euphoric scream. It was infuriating, seeing his precious baby violated in such a barbaric way. Not needing to think about this, his hand squeezed the nape before he started thrusting to cover the unpleasant view. This gesture forced out a loud whimper from Jim, for whom being touched in this exact place by his Alpha felt absolutely heavenly, despite the stinging pain.

-Harder. -he demanded, voice muffled by the couch. The firefighter wasn’t sure if the request referred to neck pressure or the penetration, so he put more effort into both those things, earning himself a series of ecstatic moans driving him crazy. -Harder! -Street barked, and Buck obediently delivered. He was literally lying on his partner at this point, brutally fucking into the tight ass, and nearly suffocating him with his clenched palm. Somehow, regardless of being in this animalistic state, the Alpha remembered they are, in fact, having sex in the living room, and managed to grab the pulsating tip in time, preventing it from ruining the couch once the orgasm hit them simultaneously.

The release was so intense, their brains shut off temporarily whilst burning bodies vibrated, overpowered by raw pleasure for what truly felt like hours. Exhausted beyond reason, the couple barely had any energy to separate, although knowing well enough they needed a shower asap, they dragged themselves to the bathroom to sit on the floor under the warm spray in hope to recover sometime soon.

Not wanting to risk infection, before leaving the steaming bathroom Buck insisted on disinfecting the open wound and putting a new dressing. His heart was heavy as he did so, but seeing Jim in a good mood -ranting something about Luca dying from starvation- made the experience a little easier. Which didn’t mean the officer was doing perfectly fine, the tough subject of him getting assaulted had to be eventually addressed, preferably today.

-I think we should talk about it. -he said, sitting on the bed and watching half-naked Street search the closet for an already worn, nicely scented hoodie. He’d always wear his Alpha’s clothes after having a shitty day. Adorable, however slightly concerning that it was a habit. -What do you think?

The Omega didn’t respond right away, he put on the chosen hoodie, approached his partner and pushed him on his back, so he could lie down next to him, their hands joined on Buck’s chest.

-I wish we didn’t have to. But I guess bottling up feelings is not the best idea. -the cop sighed, eyes focused on the ceiling. -It was the most terrifying thing that has ever happened to me. -he revealed, squeezing the larger palm a bit firmer before continuing. -Scarier than the academy incident for sure, because when that perp bit me, I killed him just so you know, and the adrenaline ran out, I realised I couldn’t breathe. There was this horrendous, rotten smell all over me, and not a trace of you. It truly frightened me. Your scent disappeared, and it was so wrong I nearly lost my mind, it felt like I cheated on you somehow, still feels that way to be honest. You have no idea how relieved I am to sense it again, to have my invisible comfort and safty back. -Jim concluded, turning his head sideways to look at his boyfriend, who absently stared at the ceiling in an attempt to not get emotional over the painful statement. -Buck…are you less angry now?

-What? -the firefighter frowned, confused by the odd question.

-Earlier, you kissed my head and got really angry for a moment there. -clarified the officer. -It was the smell, wasn’t it? You were furious I let some stranger mark your property.

-You’re not my property. -the Alpha reminded sternly. He hated when Street used that term to describe himself. -And you certainly didn't let him do it on purpose.

-I’m your Omega, it’s the same thing. -the older man shrugged nonchalantly.

-No, it’s not. -Buck barked before taking a deep breath to calm down. -But you’re right, partially, at least. I was mad that someone bit you, but not because it hurt my ego or something. It's just…when I couldn’t smell myself on you, it felt like a break-up. You always smell like me, Jim, always. So when you suddenly stopped…it, um, frightened me, because I know losing you would break my soul. There isn't even a word in existence describing how much you mean to me right now. More than anyone else, to be honest. I don't want to lose you. I can't lose you. -he whispered. unable to hide those strong feelings anymore. -You're my everything. -added, finally turning towards his partner, who gazed at him strangely.

The long silence that followed, despite the unbroken eye contact and their hands still holding tight, made him wonder if perhaps he shouldn't have said anything. And then, Jim spoke:

-I think I’m in love with you.

The firefighter instantly froze in shock. Love? No...this was not happening. This could not be happening. People do not confess to him. In every previous relationship he was the one putting major emotional effort, not the other way around. Why the hell was he being confessed to?! He should be doing that! It was great of course, he desperately wanted to be loved, but being disappointed so many times already, he stopped considering it a valid possibility a long while ago. Perhaps he was hallucinating. Or dreaming. Or finally losing his mind. Or all of that. There was simply no way the most perfect for him person he wanted to spend his whole life with just said they were in love with him, because that’s a crazy thing to say. Insane even.

-Nah, forget that. -Street shook his head, bringing his boyfriend back from spiralling into madness. -I don’t think, I am in love with you.

And oh, Buck’s heart exploded with pure joy.

-That’s good. -he smiled, happy tears clouding his sight. -That’s actually very good, because I am definitely in love with you too.

[maggicktouched]

She followed the elder witch into the back and brushed the hair back out of her face where it had frayed out of her braids. The locks were gnarled and starting to feel greasy, but she hadn't exactly had the time to properly do her hair. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd actually stopped for a proper bath, and cleansing spells only did so much. There wasn't much to be done for that.

"I'm--" She cut herself off, debating on whether or not to let the lie that was on the tip of her tongue loose. It felt completely unnatural to tell the truth after so many years of lying. Even her appearance was a deception. Under a half dozen glamour spells her skin was covered in tattoos. The scars of her adult life, the ones that hadn't been forcibly removed by magic at her mother's will, were hidden too, and even a handful of piercings. Anything that would have made her too recognizable. Like a name.

"Beck." She relented, forcing the truth from between her teeth only because it felt so profoundly shitty to lie to someone who just saved your ass. "Beck Tandy... That probably doesn't mean much of anything to you."

It did among her people. Everyone knew the Becks and the Tandys, and just about all of them knew the wild, wayward daughter that had lost her young father, had defied her mother until her dying breath, and had fled from her family. But her sort of witches were no where near the only sort of witches. It was possible that her name meant nothing here.

She perched herself on the edge of an empty table and sighed. "And I don't know his name. I don't know anything about him. Just that he's better than the last few bounty hunters my brother has sent after me. I've been trying to ditch him for weeks----and I'm good at ditching people. Maybe if he stays out a few hours I can get ahead of him..."

maggicktouched​:

She had so many questions. It’d been a long time since she’d had such an open conversation with another witch, better yet a stranger. When was the last time she’d even talked to a friend? Months. Probably closer to a year ago. Talking to anyone put them at risk. As much as she wanted to believe her brother when he’d said he only wanted to bring her home—to keep her safe—she had seen just how far her family would go to bring her to heel before. No matter how many promises Fenris made, no matter how much he assured her that he was not their mother, when she closed her eyes she could still smell rot and hear the choked, blood curdling screams of Dawnbreaker as she was hung from the tree. She had seen what the Wolf King did to his enemies. She’d seen the blood in his teeth and the wild hunger in his eyes. Whoever—whatever—he was now, he wasn’t the little boy who had learned healing spells three years ahead of his class to mend her broken body after their mother’s abuse. 

It wasn’t his fault, what he became, but she still couldn’t take the risk of going home anymore.

Beck’s legs wobbled a bit as she stood up. They were weak with exhaustion that she didn’t dare show. Tired was another thing she could never afford to be. Movement was survival. 

What was that old line? She thought to herself. From the book with the rabbits. “If they catch you, they’ll kill you, but first they must catch you.”

Suddenly she didn’t feel so sick at the prospect of letting her hand slip. For four long years she’d had her freedom. Maybe it was spent running, maybe some nights the wilderness was cold, maybe she often went hungry, but she was alive and she was free. No one was going to take that from her.

The cork twisted against her thumb and popped, falling soundlessly to the tile floor below. She passed in one swift motion, bumping shoulders with a tall, black haired woman carrying a fresh, steaming mug of coffee. Just a few drops. That was all she put in, hiding her ill intent behind an embarrassed smile and a flurry of apologies that the other woman brushed off. They parted, and no one was the wiser. Before she could even get back to the counter where the elder witch waited, she heard a thump and the rattle of silverware as the man slumped over onto his table in a deep sleep.

“Thanks again.” She slid the remainder of the potion across the counter back in the direction of the kind witch. Something between a smile and a grimace overcame her face. “I owe you. A lot. This one got a lot closer to dragging me back to Sweden by my hair than anyone has in a long time.”

“Oh that’ll leave a bruise,” Hilda observed to herself as she watched the potion take effect. Thankfully, there weren’t too many people in the shop, and definitely not any that were going to pay attention to a man who’d suddenly loss consciousness over his order. He’d be out for quite some time, even longer if the girl had been a little over-generous with her dosage, which gave them plenty of time to decide what to do with him. But first, Hilda would need to know a little more about what he was, and why the poor girl had felt so threatened and frightened by him.

“Oh no at all, my love,” Hilda assured with a smile, taking the potion back and slipping it up one of her long sleeves once more. Always be prepared, that was the witch’s motto, and every single one of Hilda’s outfits had any number of hidden pockets to make sure she always had to hand whatever she needed. Except a Hand of Glory. It got a bit pungent carrying one of them around, and it was a bit awkward if it ever happened to fall out. Things were less dire now for witches than they were centuries ago, but a dead man’s hand was still hard to explain. 

“Now, why don’t we have a little chat in the back and you can tell me a bit more about him, eh?” Hilda encouraged, gently stepping around the counter to put her arm around the girl, gently guiding her to the back room. “Let’s start with names, shall we? I’m Hilda. And what might your name be, my darling?”

[katyswrites]

Nightmares

summary: At night, Peter has nightmares about Gwen’s death - they’ve been happening more often. The reader is there to comfort him, and some truths come to light.

pairing: tasm!peter parker / reader

genre: romance, hurt/comfort, fluff

wordcount: 2.6k

content warnings: angst, nightmares, canon typical violence, descriptions of death, reader is a bit insecure, allusions to sex (very mild), some fluff, mental health/grief struggles

It always starts the same. You were sleeping, peacefully. You rarely dreamed these days, especially on nights that Peter was there. That is, until, you’re pulled from your slumber. It starts as whispers, barely being breathed into the night. Soon though, it grows, until he’s loud enough to wake you with a start. Peter is thrashing beside you, shaking you into reality. He’s crying out, and it’s always the same.

“Gwen, no, Gwen no PLEASE-”

You know what to do by now. You never grab him, or try to shake him awake, at least not right away - you’ve learned the hard way that his strength could knock you from the bed, or even across the room. Instead, you opt to talk, coaxing him out of his nightmare. 

“Peter, hey - Peter - it’s not real. Peter, you’re dreaming,”

His hands are fisted in the sheets right in front of his face, as he screams into the pillow.

“I’m so sorry - please, I can’t do this without you-”

You raise your voice, attempting to overcome him. “Peter - PETER!”

He wakes with a jolt, snapping into consciousness. He’s wild-eyed, tears staining his cheeks as he tries to adjust to his surroundings. After a moment, he visibly relaxes, though he’s still heaving and shaking. He locks eyes with you, face still half-buried in his pillow.

“Oh God, it happened again, I’m so sorry-”

“Shhh,” you quiet him, reaching out to stroke his hair. “It’s okay -”

He shakes his head. “It just, it felt so real, it’s like it was happening all over again -”

“I know, I know -” you soothe, continuing to run your hands through his hair. “You’re here, you’re with me, it’s okay-”

He shakes his head again, shifting closer to you. You move with him, knowing what he wants. He settles his head on your sternum, melding into your chest. He’s listening to your heartbeat, feeling your breathing, needing to cling to the fact that you’re alive and well.

                                     ********************************

You knew about Gwen. It had taken a while for Peter to finally open up and tell you about her. You had seen her photos around his room - most were hidden away now, but it was impossible to miss her lingering presence in Peter’s life. Early in your relationship, you had asked him about them. You saw the pictures of the beautiful blonde girl pinned above his desk, and you knew instantly that he had taken them. You had assumed she was a family member, or an old friend - at least, you had hoped, because the last thing you needed was a guy who was hung up on his ex to the point that he kept photos of her hanging up.

You had asked innocently, after staying over a few times when you started seeing each other. His reaction was unlike anything you had expected - he drifted off, misty-eyed, looking past you. His voice was shaky, breaking. You hadn’t known him too well, not at that point, and you had never seen him like this before.

“That’s, uh - sorry, um - that’s G- Gwen. She was, um -”

You had put a hand on his arm then, steadying him. “Hey, hey - it’s okay. You don’t need to talk about it - I didn’t think -”

His mouth had formed a tight line, and he nodded curtly, placing his hand on top of yours and giving it a squeeze. You had decided to drop the topic then and there, knowing you weren’t there yet - you still had so much to learn about Peter, and so many wonderful and terrible days ahead with him that had yet to be experienced.

Still, he brought it up sooner than you thought - later that night, in fact. You were staying over, curled up on his chest in bed as he had an arm wrapped around you, rubbing his thumb up and down your upper arm. Something mindless was playing on the bedroom TV, the plot long abandoned. You were drifting off to sleep when he decided to break the comfortable silence.

“Her name was Gwen Stacy,” he said, only a hair above a whisper. 

Your eyes blinked open, brow furrowing. It took you a moment to even realize what he was talking about, only to realize he was referring to the failed conversation from hours earlier.

There was a beat of silence. All you could think to say was, “Oh?”

You felt him nod, and take a deep breath. “She was my girlfriend, back in high school. She was my first love. She really was the one for me, you know.”

Your heart sank. There it was. You knew it, Peter had seemed just a bit too perfect - no major red flags. So of course he was hung up on his ex, his beautiful, photogenic ex, the one -

“I was going to follow her, wherever she went. She was going to move to England, to go to Oxford - she really was brilliant.”

Ah, you thought. She didn’t want to do long--distance, and he’s still butthurt about it-

“She died,” he said, bluntly, after a long pause. The words tumbled out, as if he needed to push them out, or they wouldn’t have been said at all.

You had whipped your head up, finally looking at him. But he was looking forward unmoving. That’s when everything started making sense - his carefully measured words, his racing heartbeat, his tightening grip on you. 

He took another deep, controlled breath, before continuing, “There was, um - there was an accident. I - I saw it happen. I tried to stop it, and I couldn’t - and -”

He had started losing his composure then, his breathing becoming labored, his voice wobbling as the words failed to come.

You shifted up onto your elbow, placing a hand on his cheek. 

“Hey, hey - Peter, look at me.”

He turned, finally making eye contact with you. You ran your thumb along his cheek, wiping away the tear that had rolled down it. It had occurred to you that you’d never seen him cry before.

“You don’t have to say anything else,” you said. “When I asked earlier, I didn’t think - I just didn’t think. I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head, leaning into your palm. “No, don’t you dare apologize - I don’t really talk about her much. This might be the first time I’ve talked about her since it all happened, really.”

You nodded. “Yeah well, I understand why. But uh - thank you for telling me. I know that must’ve been hard to do.”

He nodded again, squeezing his eyes shut. “I just didn’t want you to think - I really like you, okay? I haven’t been in any kind of relationship since then, not for years. I mean, I’ve had, um, friends, if you know what I mean, but - I didn’t want to let myself get close to anyone again… then you came along.”

Your heart quickened at his words, and you cursed yourself inwardly. How could you be thinking about how much Peter liked you, like a schoolgirl with a crush, when he was telling you about his dead girlfriend?

“Look, Peter - I really like you too. I know we haven’t put labels on anything, or expectations, or whatever, but if you’re still not ready for this… I understand.”

He began to shake his head then, almost manically. 

“No, no, that’s not what I meant! I just - you deserve to know about her. And, I just hope you know - it’s going to take time, for me to go there again. But, I don’t want you to go, if you’ll still have me.”

You didn’t know what else to say, then. For the first time, you had felt like you were really seeing Peter, the beautiful boy who took your breath away, who you had so much more to learn about. Instead, you leaned in and kissed him tenderly, tasting the salt from his drying tears. 

“Of course I’ll still have you, Peter Parker,” you had whispered in the dark.

In the coming months, so much changed. You learned why Peter was actually always M.I.A., with bruises and cuts littering his face at god-awful hours. When you found out, you had thought about breaking it off with him - you hated being deceived, especially for so long. But you also understood why - how, exactly, does someone explain that they’re Spider-Man? With his biggest secret laid out between you, things became easier. At least, things made more sense - no more lies, no more wondering why he would disappear. Despite the fact that he was the superhero, you felt the intense urge to protect this boy, to be his comfort when he came home, battered and bloody. It was one night, when you were cleaning a particularly bad wound on his chest, scolding him for not being more careful, that he told you he loved you for the first time. You knew the weight that carried. Although you never broached the Gwen subject, you knew what that meant for him.

You saw a change in Peter, too. Since you had first met him, he began to smile more, to laugh more, to walk with less of a sagging weight in his shoulders. You knew, deep in your soul, that he was healing - but, you also knew that no healing process was easy. Still, the nightmares were a relatively recent development.

Now, you continue to card your fingers through his hair, waiting for his breathing to slow, for his heartbeat to regulate itself. That same old urge to protect washes over you again, the way it often did on nights like these. You never asked about the dreams, about Gwen, or anything they entailed. Sometimes, he offered up information. One time, about a month ago, he finally told you exactly what had happened to her. It was then that you understood why he was so hesitant to let anyone close to him again. 

“I’m here,” you keep whispering. “You’re okay.”

Aside from your comforting mantra, and the sound of both of your breathing, it was silent in the room. It’s Peter who finally says something.

“They’re happening more often,” he states, nuzzling into your chest more. 

“I know,” you reply. 

You had realized this a while ago, but didn’t question it, at least, not aloud. If you were being perfectly honest, your own insecurities had started creeping in. Was Peter not happy with your relationship anymore? Did he wish you were Gwen? Or, did he resent you, for trying to replace her? You did your best to push these thoughts away, but it was getting more and more difficult. Then again, how do you blame your boyfriend for being traumatized after going through something like that?

Your racing thoughts are interrupted by Peter, who continues, “I think I know why. I mean - it’s hard to know for sure, but -”

He shifts now, removing himself from your chest and sitting up in bed, his back against the headboard. You sit up with him, listening intently.

“Look - Gwen is always going to be a part of my life. There’s a part of me that’s always going to love her, to grieve her, to… to mourn what could’ve been. I know that may not be what you want to hear from me, but I can’t lie about that.”

You nod stiffly, sensing where this might be going. You begin to fill with dread - your worst fear is coming true, and you’re losing Peter.

“I try not to dwell on it, to keep pushing forward, because I know that’s what she would’ve wanted. And, I love you - God, I love you,” he said, his voice catching.

“When I first lost Gwen, I had these dreams a lot. And, after I met you, they got better. There was a while there that they were gone completely.” He’s wringing his hands now, looking down at them, avoiding your gaze.

“But lately - I mean, they’re almost the same as before. It’s a memory, mostly. I’m in that clock tower, she’s falling, I try to shoot a web, reaching for her… I hold her, I - well, you know, I guess.”

You nod, thinking about the agony in his voice as he cries out in his sleep.

“But,” he adds, “Lately, it’s like - some of the time, it’s Gwen falling, but sometimes… it’s you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Oh, oh. Peter lets it sit there a moment, taking in a deep breath.

“I can’t explain it, because dreams are weird, but like, it’s Gwen and you, if that makes sense? I think, you’re so important to me, and I love you so much, and I’m just so scared of it happening again -”

He stifles a sob then, his words becoming rushed and jumbled. You feel tears welling behind your eyes now. Peter isn’t breaking up with you; he isn’t unhappy with you; it’s the complete opposite.

“Oh, Peter -” you say, moving closer to him. “Look at me,” you say, coaxing him to meet your gaze. There, you see it - that same vulnerability, and fear, from the night many months ago that he first told you about Gwen, in this very room. 

“I’m okay, I’m right here. You’re not going to lose me. No, don’t,” you say, cutting him off before he can interrupt. “Look, I know the risks. You told me that you were Spider-Man, you told me about what happened to Gwen, and I stayed. Because I love you, Peter. Life is unpredictable. Yes, there’s a chance some enemy of yours could try to hurt me to get to you. But, you know what? I could get hit by a bus tomorrow, or get cancer, or choke on my dinner, or die a million other ways. Does that mean we shouldn’t be together?”

He stays silent, brow furrowing. You know he’s listening, but you also know how stubborn Peter can be.

“Peter - every night, you put on a mask, and swing through that city, defending it from god-knows-what. And every night, I sit here and wonder if I’ll ever see you again. Do you think that doesn’t scare me to death?”

Something unreadable passes his face then - is it guilt? Hurt? Fear? Or, perhaps, understanding?

You press on, saying “Peter… you deserve a shot at happiness. You deserve a life.”

You let the words sit there, feeling that there’s not anything else to be said. Before you know what’s happening, his arms are around you, pulling you into a tight embrace, his face buried in your shoulder. You hug him back, your hand running soothing circles between his shoulder blades.

“I love you, so much,” he whispers, pressing gentle kisses into your hair. Your finally let go, allowing the tears to fall freely.

“I love you too,” you whisper back. Peter pulls back, looking into your eyes. He’s taking you in, fully, and so sincerely. There he is, the boy you fell in love with, who drives you crazy, and who you wouldn’t have any other way. His hand comes up to rest on your cheek, cradling your face. He leans in, kissing you ever so gently, as if you might break. You kiss back fiercely, as if to say I love every part of you, Peter. He kisses your forehead then, pulling you into his arms again, your head over his heart now.

Later, as you feel yourself and Peter begin to finally drift back to sleep, you whisper, “We’re going to be okay.” 

“Yeah,” he says. “We are.”

****************************************************************************************

Hi all! If you enjoyed this one-shot, comments/feedback are always appreciated!