#what we do in the shadow-cursed lands

[missveryvery]

stuff from the D&D Live "What We Do In The Shadow-Cursed Lands" session

[thefallenangelsgang]

this is the MCM oneshot right?

[skimmingstoneswithwithers]

Saw the live BG3 D&D game with some of the cast at London MCM Comic Con on Sunday! Loved it so much!! They flowed together brilliantly, I laughed the entire time 😆

[ravennmad]

"don’t worry darling, i’ll be back soon to see you. until then…” -- vincent from d&d: what we do in the shadow-cursed lands, if you even care... i loved the oneshot neil, devora, sam, and theo did at mcm. everyone's interactions were great, astarion as the voice of reason was great, lae'zel being lighthearted and unhinged, her interaction with wyll, the way it was about vampires... neil asking if astarion knew the vampire in the jar and the creation of vincent became such a sweet moment that floored me. i want to do this run in bg3 now.

[namig42]

I fell so in love with the end of the "What We Do in the Shadow-Cursed Lands" one-shot that Neil, Sam, Theo, and Dev did, and that final scene left me wanting more.

So I made more.

Spoilers ahead for the end of the campaign if you'd like to watch it first.

Vincent (An Elaboration of a Memory)

Read it on Ao3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

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It was a dark, moonless night in the city of Baldur’s Gate. A thick mist coated the cobblestone streets, and there was a brisk chill in the air thanks to the autumn season. Vincent, a young vampire spawn, was making the trek down the streets of the Lower City towards Rivington, off on a quest of his own. His quiet steps left no sound on the cobblestones as he glided down the alleys of the city that he knew so well.

Vincent was on his way to Reithwin Village on request of his master. He was instructed to head to the Waning Moon Tavern to retrieve an arcane relic or something of the sort, then return to the Szarr Palace as soon as it was retrieved. There was someone who went by the name of “Thorm” that he was instructed to make contact with once he arrived at the tavern in order to retrieve whatever it was the master desired. After that, Vincent would return back to Baldur’s Gate. A simple task, really.

The night had been quiet and still so far, but as he was nearing the Lower City gates, Vincent felt a presence from somewhere nearby. The sudden sensation sent a nervous chill through his undead body. He wasn’t sure exactly where it was coming from, but the feeling of eyes on his back made him nervous. If he still had a beating heart, it would be pounding rapidly right about now, ready to burst out of his chest.

It’s just my imagination… Vincent thought to himself. He always had a nervous feeling of being followed whenever he was outside the palace. He was simply being paranoid.

Still, despite his efforts to ease his nerves, he still glanced behind him to make sure that he wasn’t being stalked by some heathen. One could never be too careful in the city at night.

There was no one behind him. No one in front of him either. The streets were completely vacant. Vincent took a deep, habitual breath before continuing his journey with a hastened step.

Suddenly, as Vincent rounded a corner of an alley, something cold grabbed his wrist. It was a gentle grab, but the shock nearly launched Vincent out of his own skin. He quickly turned around with a shriek and sighed in relief at the face he was met with.

“Astarion… darling, you nearly scared me to a second death. I know we need to be wary that the master doesn’t see us together, but my gods…”

“When will you be back?” Astarion asked with a small voice. That gentle grip of Astarion’s was growing tighter on Vincent’s wrist. Vincent looked at Astarion and saw the nervous crease in the elf’s brow.

“It won’t be long, I promise.” Vincent assured his companion with a soft smile. He turned towards Astarion and stood up straight, standing just a few inches taller than the pale elf.

“Where are you going?” Astarion asked again, his tense voice not easing in the slightest. That furrow in his brow didn’t soften either.

“It’s only to Reithwin Village, hardly a day’s travel. I’m only supposed to go retrieve something for the master.”

“You never leave the city though. Cazador only sends people away when-”

“Don’t say it.” Vincent cut Astarion off. He knew exactly what Astarion was going to say, and he would be lying if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind at least a hundred times since he received his mission from the master.

Cazador only sent minions outside of the city that he found expendable, and never expected them to return. If they did, well then they were the lucky ones.

The two spawn stood in the dark of night, close enough to one another to feel the fear radiating off each other. Vincent grabbed Astarion’s hand, and Astarion gripped it like it was his last lifeline.

“You will come back, won’t you…?” Astarion asked with a softer voice. His eyes fell when he asked the question, unable to look at Vincent’s handsome face. He looked instead at their entwined hands, squeezing only harder as the moments passed in silence.

Over the decades together, Astarion had come to mean a lot to Vincent. In their secret escapades together over the years outside the palace, the two spawn had made a few pleasant memories that shone through the darkness that was a life served under Cazador Szarr. Astarion was someone that Vincent thought the world of, and it seemed that the feeling was more than mutual. If he still had a heart that beat, Vincent was sure that he would’ve felt it skip.

With a soft, tender touch, Vincent brought his other hand to Astarion’s cheek. Astarion looked up in response to the cool feeling of Vincent’s fingers on his face as well as the shockingly cold feeling of Vincent’s silver ring on his cheek. He met Vincent’s gaze with those soft, wide eyes that were so sincerely vulnerable. “Don’t worry darling,” Vincent said sweetly, “I’ll be back soon to see you. Until then…” Vincent lowered his face to place a kiss on Astarion’s cheek. It was gentle, but the feeling of Astarion’s cool complexion left a tingling sense of excitement on Vincent’s lips. When he pulled away, he saw the pained expression on Astarion’s face and a tear pricking his left eye. Vincent gently wiped the tear with his thumb, then smiled once more at his dear friend.

Vincent’s hand gently fell, grazing down Astarion’s arm and the back of his hand before falling back to his side. His other hand slid out of Astarion’s tight grasp as well. He needed to get moving. He had lingered for too long and the master’s compulsion was urging him on.

Astarion’s eyes glared at Vincent as their hands separated, but there was no hate in that intense stare. The only thing in those glowing, radiant red eyes of his was fear.

There was always that fear when Vincent left for a mission in his own chest as well. If something happened to him, it wouldn’t be the first time a minion never returned, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

The only thing that gave Vincent hope was the fact that he knew he was different from the other minions. He had something worth coming home to: a friend. A dear friend that was a pocket of light in his frustrating existence. The other minions came to hate their vampiric existence over the years of servitude, just as Vincent had, but none of them had someone waiting for them back in Baldur’s Gate.

Those scared eyes, that urgency that flooded from the pale elf, it meant the world to Vincent. To know that there was someone that still cared for a scarred monster like him and could manage to want him to come home was enough motivation for Vincent. He would do everything in his power to come back to Astarion, if only for his friend’s sake.

Vincent offered one more smile and tucked his long bang behind his ear so that Astarion could see his entire face. As he hesitantly turned to leave, he heard a choked voice say from behind him, “you better come back soon, do you hear me?”

Vincent chuckled and turned to give his companion a flirtatious wave. “Of course, darling. I’ll see you soon.”

[effable-as-f]

Lae'zel calling him "Wyll of Ravengard" is so fucking good lmao like she calls herself Lae'zel of Creche K'llir, Gale calls himself Gale of Waterdeep, why wouldn't she assume

[vikingnerd793]

Sam is so friggin good.

this is a sitcom that writes itself.

[thatwillnotagewell]

Proof the only canonical relationship in Baldurs Gate 3 is a polycule.

[wellen-katze]

I love pumpkin - bg3 comic

Fancomic about the Baldur's Gate D&D show at MCMLondon2024 (Baldur's Gate | What We Do in The Shadow-Cursed Lands)

This is a little doodle Fancomic about the Baldur's Gate D&D show at MCMLondon2024 I loved the little pumpkin story, I just had to draw it!

[pseudowho]

Link to Furry Little Problem (where you, Nanami Kento's wife, are turned into a cat for a week) here!

And, a link to @yuutaguro's exquisite art for Part One

It had been almost a week since you had turned back into a human, and Kento had seen most traces of the four-paws-and-sharp-claws Cat You, bleed away.

Most, at least; what concerned Kento, was that you weren't completely normal. He could overlook the way you would turn, and turn, and turn on the spot before settling onto the sofa. He could forgive the way you would spin on a pinhead, phantom ears pricked and still as the grave, at every little noise past the front door.

Kento drew the line, however, when you shot up from the dining table mid dinner conversation, to run headfirst into the patio doors with a thud. The sparrow that had landed just outside twittered, and flew away, as you sat, dazed. Kento buried his face in his hands.

"I'm sure it's not that bad, Nanami," Shoko had tutted, inviting you both into her office. "I'm sure it will just...just take, uh..."

You had been forced to pause at the door, to bat and chew at the loping leaves of her little pot plant. As Kento, ever patient and gentle, guided you with whispered reassurances away from the pot plant, and to the sofa, Shoko's clipboard drooped.

You dug your nails into the couch for a few seconds, pricking it all over, before sitting down in your seat with a satisfied little wiggle, and a smile.

Shoko's eyes flicked from you, to Kento, to you, and began, awkward.

"Let's...get a baseline, shall we? See how much of the cat still remains." Shoko reached behind her, rustling in a bag, before placing something long and green on the table before you. "I have a cucumb--"

You shot into the air like you were on springs, landing with a crash behind Shoko's sofa. The room was silent. Shoko's cigarette idly smoked in her ashtray. Kento buried his fingers into his hair, his elbows on his knees.

"Tell me...uh...tell me some of your experiences from the Cat Week, please, Nyanyami--"

Kento glared at Shoko.

The top of your head rose slowly up from behind the sofa, staring at the cucumber with an unhealthy amount of suspicion.

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"Stop that," Kento snapped at you, pausing the movie. You, toe-beaned and glossy and sweet, tilted your furry little head sideways. Kento could almost see the question mark over your head as you stared at him, unblinking and eerie.

The room was dark, save for the little lamp in the corner. The movie sat, inanimate. Kento felt a prickle up his spine; the shadows were thrown long and the room felt many-eyed and still. Kento stared you down. You stared Kento down. Kento narrowed his eyes. You tilted your head to the other side. A clock ticked.

"Meow," you said.

"I mean it," rumbled Kento, stern, "stop it."

You blinked, and chirped, and turned back to the movie. Kento breathed out a shaky sigh, and restarted it.

Five minutes later, Kento dropped the remote with a clatter, cursing.

"Stop staring behind me-- there's nothing behind me-- that's it, we're going to bed--"

Your unwavering gaze into the gloom behind Kento, was interrupted by him picking you up and slinging you over his shoulder. You chirped in protest.

"Mew-- meooooow--"

"I warned you, stop being creepy. It's bedtime for you, madam."

"Meow."

"Yes, I'll rub your tummy, just stop doing the thing--"

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"I'm recommending Ino for the initiative. I think it would be good experience for him, in his plan to progress to--to...darling, please--"

Kento's face on the computer screen was obscured first by furry little face, then a body that dragged hair across his chest, and finally a jaunty little tail, raised and flicking. The other Zoom call participants were silent as Kento lowered you to the floor, where you fizzled up at him in tiny irritation.

"I apologise," Kento sighed to awkward silence, "just my wife--"

Clatter-- clatter-- clack.

The screen flickered. The Zoom call expanded, and shrunk, and expanded, and shrunk, and finally ended. Kento leaned back in his chair, watching you settle on his keyboard. You batted at the mouse, until it landed with a sad little clatter onto the office floor.

You looked at Kento, all pink nose and innocence. Kento's eyes narrowed. He looked into your eyes, looking past the cat to the you within.

"...you know exactly what you're doing, don't you, you absolute terror--"

"Meow," you replied, rolling onto your back to keyboard clatter, and showing him your belly.

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"Meow--"

"--no, you listen to me-- you did that on purpose--"

"Mew--meow, mrrrrow--"

"--don't give me that, you always hated that tie-- awfully convenient--"

"Mew, mew, meow--"

The neighbour watched, slack-jawed and confused, as his neighbour argued with a cat over a brandished, shredded red tie.

What was stranger, was when the cat seemed to argue back. The neighbour's little pot plant overflowed, the watering can slack in his hand.

"--we shall have words when I'm home," Nanami clipped, handing the tie back to you with a glare. You took it in your teeth, imperious as you turned your furry little back to him.

And so began the rumour amongst the neighbours, that Nanami Kento had gone mad.

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"Meow."

You bopped your head against Kento's shin. Gojo watched the vein throb in his temple.

"Meow."

You bopped your head onto Kento again, brushing up against his legs, and brushing, and brushing, and bopping your head. Kento ignored you, utterly steadfast. Gojo gulped.

"Ah, Nanami, I...I think she's hungry--"

"--she is not hungry, she's only just eaten breakfast--"

"Meow," you said. You dragged a plate to your usual spot at the dinner table with your teeth. You nosed a knife and fork into place next to it. You sat by it, staring at Kento. A few seconds passed. You pressed your paw to the middle of the plate, more insistent now, ticked off. "Meow."

Gojo felt a bead of sweat drop down his soul.

Kento spoke, uncharacteristically mild.

"You know, this is one part of her that's really not all that different to when she's human."

"Meow--"

"--yes, I'll get you a snack, give me a minute--"

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"Yo, Nanamin! A package arrived for you."

"Ahh, Yuuji. Good. Bring it to the staffroom, please."

A rip. A rustle. You, circling round Kento as he rummaged in a box. Your tail twitched, and flicked, excited, excited, excited--

Boff.

A big, glass fishbowl was placed onto the staffroom table. Thrilled, you sprung up, and promptly poured yourself into the bowl, your form melting to fill the space perfectly. Your head peeped out of the top of the bowl. You purred.

Kento looked delighted. Yuuji tried not to laugh.

"How, er...how much was that fishbowl, Nanamin?"

"It doesn't matter how much it cost. She likes it, don't you? Yes, you do. Yes you do."

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"Ex-excuse me, uhm...would you mind not hanging around outside the womens' bathrooms? We're starting to feel, uhm...uncomfortable."

Kento raised his eyebrows. He pushed his glasses up his nose. He bowed.

"I apologise. I assure you, I'm waiting for my wife--"

A toilet flushed behind closed doors. A scritch-scratch-scritch-scratch at the handle. The door edged open.

"Ah, there she is-- my apologies-- good afternoon--"

A cat ran out with toilet paper stuck to its back foot. Kento followed.

A small crowd of women turned to watch them leave, utterly perplexed.

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Kento arrived home with a sigh. The day had been long. His shoulders ached, heavy with the burden of work and worry, missing his wife, and he walked through the corridor, calling for you and--

"My lov-- Jesus Christ!"

You leapt out from the staircase, all four paws out in a clawed jazz-hands of death, and yowled at Kento, before skittering away.

Kento leant back against the wall, holding his chest, his glasses askew. He sounded so desperately weary, when he spoke.

"...please stop jumping out at me, you are ageing me--"

From somewhere deep inside the house, "Meow."

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Kento couldn't remember the last time he ran around his garden like this. But he did, running, panting, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his tie abandoned in the flowerbeds and a quirked little half-smile on his face.

He hid behind a forget-me-not blue Hydrangea, trying to silence his breaths, listening, and listening, and--

"Meow!"

Kento laughed, deep and husky, as you shot through the bushes, finding him in seconds. He burst out, running across the garden, and feeling you catch up fast, and jump onto his back, and--

Kento grabbed you, his hands huge and warm and gentle. He fell onto his back on the grass, holding you aloft, where you gazed down at him with as much love as a cat could gaze at a human. Except you weren't a cat, were you?

The sun shone your fur into effervescence. Kento sighed, suspending you in one hand and stroking your cheeks and whiskers with the other.

"This is...nice," he whispered. "Fun. We should...we should do this again. When you're back."

You dropped down onto his chest. You nuzzled your nose against his, over, and over, and over, your two front paws clutching his cheeks with joy.

Kento accepted your feline kisses with a faint sting of tears in his nose.

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"Perhaps there's something about her that always connected on a spiritual level with cats?"

Kento glared at Shoko. "Are you suggesting my wife is more feline than human?"

Shoko smirked. She looked over to you, curled up on the sofa, fast asleep, with Kento's tan suit jacket covering your body.

"She'll come back. Maybe she'll get her comeuppance one day, for all the trouble she caused you. But in the meantime...she's kind of cute."

Kento scoffed, stroking your hair behind your ear. He could have sworn he heard you purr.

"Nonsense. She was always cute."

[mac-tirs]

the usage of different types of english in elden ring

most human/tarnished NPCs we meet, like rogier, ansbach, and nepheli, use late modern english:

"a sorcerer, as you might have guessed. i'm looking for a little something, here in the castle. when i'm not hotfooting it from the troops, that is." - rogier, first meeting "general radahn. a pleasure to see you, after all this time. but those remains do not belong to you." - ansbach, upon summon for PCR

but older demigods like messmer, ranni, and morgott use early modern english:

"thou'rt tarnished, it seemeth. mother, wouldst thou truly lordship sanction, in one so bereft of light? yet… my purpose standeth unchanged." - messmer, pre-battle cutscene "thou needst not indulge them unduly, but they too wish to appraise thy worth. it hath been a passing long time since a newcomer entered my service, after all." - ranni, after agreeing to serve her

then there are the younger demigods, like miquella, malenia, and potentially melina, who use a later variant of modern english, similar to the tarnished NPCs we speak to:

"if we honour our part of the vow, promise me you'll be my consort. i'll make the world a gentler place." - miquella, post-PCR cutscene "the scarlet bloom flowers once more. you will witness true horror. now, rot!" - malenia, phase 2 transition cutscene

finally, the hornsent NPCs like the hornsent, hornsent grandam, and the hornsent spirits such as the one outside the whipping hut, who use late middle english similar to the english found in shakespeare's sonnets:

"fie, another? ... then, as that woman would surely say, we are in our purposes well aligned. but understand. your kind are not forgiven. the erdtree is my people's enemy. by marika long betray'd, set aflame." - hornsent, first meeting "all your resentment lingers yet... the raw stuff from which i shall surely forge a curse. upon the dastard messmer's head. upon marika's children each and all." - scorched ruins hornsent spirit

i find it interesting how different the usage of english is in the game, and i feel that it can be a hint on how to properly date an individual's occupation in the lands between/land of shadow. the hornsent, being a people much older than many in the lands between, use the most archaic version of english, while the tarnished and younger demigods use a form of english more closely related to our own in the current period. older demigods (and marika herself, as heard from melina's recounts of marika's spoken echoes) use a form of english more closely related to the period of transition from middle english to early modern english.

additionally, another interesting thing to me: mohg is almost certainly nearly the same age as morgott (since they're referred to as twins), yet he speaks a little differently compared to morgott:

"tarnished, thou'rt but a fool." - morgott, post-battle dialogue "dearest miquella. you must abide alone a while." - mohg, pre-battle cutscene

this makes me wonder if it's possible that, assuming that miquella's verbiage is indicative of his younger age in comparison to the older demigods (aka the demigods born before the marika/radagon union), miquella's charm altered mohg's perception enough to also alter his manner of speaking and carrying himself in some way. if his pursuit of finery (dressing in embroidered robes and handling himself with poise, juxtaposing his bestial growls and strength) was mainly done in an effort to fit into miquella's ideal of a consort. of course, mohg could just be as vain as he seems to be all on his own accord, but i find that it's interesting to entertain the idea that even his current state of being was due to miquella's charm.

i'd love to hear what others think about this. i'm not very learned when it comes to english (it's not really my first language), but i find this all very cool to think about.

[yourcutelittlegayfriend]

✦✧✦ CHAPTER 5 ✦✧✦

Poor Goldilocks, Nothing Is Just Right

Warning this part contains: Mania, Self- Harm (wanting to remove your skin), Body Pain, Blood & Bleeding, Pain, Cursing, being held down, minor drugging (just to make you eepy) Dark Theme, becoming pwd , mentions of being crippled or disabled, manipulations/manipulative actions, platonic kisses(?), tons of typo, barely proofread and Evil Reader

Note: I forgot to mention but In the previous chapter MC is 8-9 and in this one MC is 10-11 years old, The scary part is only in the first part, second is me just giving you a Victor treatment and a very nice sort of closing for Bruce's part, also again forgive me if Bruce is OOC it's hard to see Bruce/Batman as a cold person when the batman I knew in my childhood is selfless and compassionate and yes batman cries he cried plenty of times before what do you mean?.

MASTERLIST pages ↻4 , 5.....➢

NOW PLAYING ↻◁ ||▷↺ 4ÆM - Grimes ılıılıılılılıılıılı

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My body aches, bones feels like they're breaking and healing again, my skin is so heavy and itched, it itches, it's itchy, I want it off, I want to rip it off, I GET IT OFF, GET IT OFF ME!!!!.

My eyes opened with a sharp jerk of my body I screeched out in disgust, jumping from where I was laying as I used my hand to scratch and scratch and scratch till my nails dug through my skin and let blood seep out from the wounds.

'EVERYTHING IS WRONG! RIP IT! RIP IT! RIP IT! WE DON'T WANT THIS! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF!' We scream and yell as the room reverberates from my voice and the pounding in my head. The shadows rush, bouncing off the walls, and it seems like there's a shift in reality as I feel my soul and body splitting up into many, many pieces.

I can feel my veins pumping too much blood, traveling around and not being received properly, my eyes almost pop off from how hot, searing, and boiling my new blood is inside of me.

'I DON'T WANT THIS! IT'S WRONG! WRONG! WRONG!' They yell out more as they use my hands to hit my head and try to pull the hair out of my scalp.

The room kept spinning and everything seemed to glitch out in my brain as I fell off from something high and landed smack on the floor their hand gripped the back of my head and pulled it back preparing to smash my head on the ground.

As my forehead nears the hard surface, a sudden force tackled me. I become aware of a pair of hands pinning my wrist on the floor making my legs kick out in the absence of my hands in retaliation and raging out trying to twist their hold as my spit mixed with blood foams on my mouth as I yell for them to not touch me.

Another pair then reached out to trap my legs down, hearing someone else voice whisper to me as I slowly became weary and groaned in the ache of the harm caused to my body, focusing up as my vision came back clearer, as air fills up in my lungs and settling my breathing again, my eyes make out the head of Bruce as he stares down at me while my vision gets better.

He was peering down at me wearing a look of fear and guilt on his face as I caught the movements of his mouth realizing that he was talking directly to me, I calmed down, and slowly my body slacks on fatigue as he let go before moving to scoop my body up.

He lays my head on his chest making sure it won't move before standing along with me in his arms and laying me back to something soft and cushiony under my form, I stare back at him with my eyes half-lidded and tired while he sits on the side from what I can discern as a bed.

'It's too fluffy and silky for my taste, this isn't my bed, it's not right' I thought as I watched Bruce study me with a look of sadness as someone was moving behind him, Alfred holding a tray of glass with a pitcher of water walk towards Bruce's side -noting the patchiness of my throat- and setting it down as I observe the two talk, the pounding of my head muffled their voices to the point it's the only the vibrations of my eardrums I can hear.

I kept eyeing them until Alfred moved, pouring the water, and reached out to tilt my head before slowly tipping the glass assisting me to drink and feeling my body weight like lead.

Bruce then leans down and lays a kiss on the top of my brows surprising me even when I'm deep on falling asleep as he holds my limp hand and holds it under his warmer one, gripping it and squeezing in broken rhythm with a thumb over the pulse on my wrist, either to count my heartbeats or maybe to make sure if I'm still alive? I couldn't care less.

'You aren't supposed to notice me, you're not a part of this, you shouldn't be anywhere near me, you don't belong in my new family'

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Staring at the beautiful wooden handcraft cane, I reach out and caress the squeaky clean polish to the head where soft leather wraps around its handle along with a cute carving of a tiny baby bat on top.

Picking it up from the opened box with the fancy brand name printed over the cover where it was situated on top of a black cushion, I held it on my lap and tested its weight on my palm.

A brand new cane made just for me he said, to help me walk around since after the dip in that pit only my right leg was the casualty in the accident, it was all new, and with no study from what it truly is, it's hard to know what really causes the damage on my leg.

Which was confusing since from my basic understanding and knowledge from before, The pit was filled by Lazarus and weirdly enough it's the Joker who found it, even more suspicious is the location of the pits are only a few and the one I was tied to was never near the original one here in Gotham before.

Not only that Lazarus was supposed to heal, to resurrect the dead even give someone powers or just the simple physical enhancements, so why did I become crippled instead? why did it become the opposite instead?!.

Gripping the cane tightly, I huffed and screamed as I threw it away from me proceeding to thrash everything on the table.

"This isn't supposed to happen!! I didn't want this! all I wanted was a normal life and I ended up becoming a handicap!" I punched the wooden surface before kicking myself off the chair.

As I try to get even just one step, My right leg completely fails to carry my weight causing me to fall and painfully drop on the carpeted floor ending me just curling down and wailing in anger.

In the corner of my eye, I pick out their form standing in the corner of the room just staring at me blankly before blending back in the shadows when Bruce entered the field of my vision and kneeled in front of me.

"Hey hey hey you're ok, everything we'll be fine". He lifts up my upper body and hold me close.

"I'll find away to fix this, ok?" He said as he tried to comfort me but I just snap at him and tried to push me away.

'Liar' they slither out behind him and sneer lowering their head on the side of his face and going back like the way they came out as my vision glitched before me.

"Fix? Fix me?!" I shout slapping his hand away. "How?! huh? Tell me how?! This wouldn't even happened if you just listened to me in the first place!".

"I never wanted to have a stupid debut! I never wanted to be kidnapped by that goddamn clown and this is what I get?! becoming a fucking limping idiot for the rest of my life?!"

"Because of you! It's because of you I ended up having my leg practically useless! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!". I spitted out as I balled up my fist and started hitting him anywhere my hands could land.

As I holler and shriek at his face, he just closes his eyes and takes my hits head on not even trying to defend himself.

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I wish I never stayed here! I wish I never met you! I wish you just left me in that orphanage and let me rot ther-".

"That's enough! I know it's my fault that I was too late to save you and I shouldn't have forced you to do anything". He cut me off by grabbing my hands and stopping me as he looked me in the eye.

"But I promise to do anything I can to make sure you live a better life, you're my child and I am your father, you are my responsibility and my only priority from now on". He declares as he lowers his head and lays his forehead on my small knuckles.

They sneak in there and put their hands on top of his as they shake their head 'no' to me before moving out of my sight.

"Don't hate me for only doing what's right for you, I only want to do what's best for you because I am your father, so give me one more chance to make things right". He pleads as I feel small droplets drip on my skin and I see him quietly crying.

I watch him in disbelief, listening to his words and seeing him cry in front of me, for me. He never did that before, not ever Ha! Not even once in any of my resets! this is different, everything about this is different.

'Somethings not right'

✦✧✦✧✦

Bruce was acting more and more strange these couple of days, He kept checking up on me, staying or lingering around me and where I went, and even smiled more often when he went out as Batman.

Not the typical Brucie shit smile but a genuine one, a simple soft looking one, and the scariest part it's always on his face when I'm anywhere near him.

'You can't stay here anymore' I hear their voice again in the back of my head but I barely see them anymore.

What's more weird is that the voice keeps getting quieter each time I hear them, the little drawings and the hallucinations start appearing less and less.

I don't know what's happening and I don't have any idea what to do, I lived through many lives before and nothing like this ever happened, What the fuck?

✦✧✦✧✦

Staring dumbfoundedly at him and then back at the wrapped present in his hand, I blinked in bewilderment at his words.

"W-what? A portrait? For what?". I asked him as he gently placed the box on my lap as I sat on the leathered couch located in the more private living room in the mansion, A family room I think?.

"An official portrait of just the two of us since the old one with your grandparents looks a little bit lonely by being on that wall alone," He says as he sits on the other cushy armchair next to me.

I follow where he is looking and see the large portrait of a younger him wearing the equivalent of a boy's suit and a big boyish smile on his face in the tapestry with him was his mother, Martha Wayne wearing a simple yet fashionable creamy white dress as she wears her iconic pearl necklace around her neck and lastly was a man behind them, Thomas Wayne who just like Bruce was wearing an expensive black suit and an award-winning smile even for a doctor.

The three look so much like how a happy family should be, all smiles and comfortable just being together and complete.

"As for your present, you can take a look now if you want," He said as he leaned over to look at my reaction I carefully opened the box but not before sending him a weird look.

"It's something for you to wear for the portrait next week" He stated before standing up and standing next to the end of the couch near me.

"I know I might be asking a lot but a portrait is one of the things that comes in tradition for this family" Kneeling down as he lays a hand on top of my head.

"Something that lasts longer, to remember the memories again and I want you to be a part of it, a memory we can always look back on, something nice and has a great sentimental value for us". He disclosed to me before leaning down and pecking the top of my head before ruffling it, walking away, and leaving the room afterward.

Looking down at the clothing on my lap I rub the fabric together and deduce that it's an expensive one based on the silky feel then back at the painting again and study the old portrait on top of the fireplace, the fire's light illuminating the brush strokes and their still faces.

"How funny, I never was in any of your portraits before, was I?" I whisper a smirk curling on my lips as make the decision in my head.

"Well then, maybe this won't be so bad". Grabbing my cane, I get off the couch and slowly walk till I'm standing directly under the painting in front of the fireplace.

"After all a family needs a father right?"

"I'll just have to make sure you become the perfect one first, my new family, my rules". I smile looking at the younger version of Bruce before walking out as well.

"You're not the only one good at manipulating, Bruce".

✦✧✦✧✦

Patting out any dust or wrinkle on my clothes I stare at my reflection on the new dresser in my new room that Bruce renovated near his -do I have to call him Father or maybe Dad now?.

Observing my appearance as Alfred was fixing or checking anything on my clothes, I noticed a sudden change in my look, I was the same as always between from before but healthier and less drained, upon inspecting closer I caught a brief glow of something green under the real color of my irises.

'Lazarus Green'. I hear their voice making me smile as I spy them in the mirror, they stand just behind the large bed curtain over my new bed peeking their head over then vanishing in the blink of my eye.

After that, Alfred handed over my cane and led me to a studio-like room a little bit further inside the mansion we entered and saw Bruce talking with someone who I guess might be the painter seeing a large canvas along with some paints and brushes beside them.

Smiling I headed towards Bruce as he introduced me to the painter who greeted me with a hello and a nice compliment in their French accent, I looked at Bruce with a raise of my brow as he just chuckled and smiled down at me.

"What? I wanted the best painter to make our family portrait". He remarked before sitting on a fancy armchair with a red cushion back and cushioned seating fixed on it.

He then pats a stool with a similar design and red cushion seat that perfectly partnered with his chair and helps me sit on it, an exception for me since I can't stand for too long, The painter then walks forward and fixes our poses as we talk.

"And there are many incredible painters here in Gotham as well-" I countered before hesitating and gripping my cane when the painter positioned in over my lap to hold.

"F-......Father, if you wanted to start making Gotham a better place, maybe you should look into the lives of the people as well, it's only fair after all" I convey what I meant then look into his reaction.

There he sat with his eyes widened in fascination and surprise before changing it with a large smile and reaching out to caress my cheek.

"Smart thinking kiddo". He then held my small hand in his as the painter asked for us to look at him to start with the painting.

A perfect Father looks out for his Family, Batman looks out for Gotham and this city is my first family, won't be too selfish of me to use you right, Father?

I'm just making sure everything is just right

✦✧✦✧✦

✦✧✦✧✦

yeesh the plot is leaving my head but yes this is the end of Bruce and MC finally now we can head to the rest of the fam.

I don't like some yandere fics out there that straights up just let's MC be captured or under control of yandere's I want to have something different for a change, No hate to the other yandere writers out there y'all are amazing because I know yandere genre is all about that I just want a little twist in mine.

In the end, Y/N will be using what the fam did to them and use it against them to get what they want, Like I said I wanted Y/N to be mature, and calculative and use people to their advantage, their old and hopeful version is no longer with us.

Taglist are still open my peps.

[krosiefics]

i worship you • bang chan

MDNI 18+

Synopsis: Chris comes home from work insecure about himself after trying a new style of makeup at work. So you show him just how beautiful and perfect he is in your eyes.

WC: 1.5k

Tags: SMUT!! afab!reader, sub!chan, softdom,reader, BODY WORSHIP, cunnilingus, face riding, hickeys, grinding, piv, unprotected sex (wrap it plz), hair pulling(?), breeding kink, creampie, petnames (baby, babe, love, good boy), chan is insecure (*cue WMYB by 1D*), probably forgetting some sorry…

It’s almost midnight when your boyfriend arrives back home to the dorms. You’ve been waiting since ten for him to come home. Knowing that Jeongin would be gone, staying the night at Felix and Seungmin’s, you decided to lounge around in just one of Chan’s t-shirts.

Suddenly, the door of the dorm creaks open. Your beautiful boyfriend walks through the door. You turn your head with a smile, but it’s quickly wiped off when you see the scowl he wore. “Baby, what’s wrong.” You pout, brows furrowing. “Nothing, we just tried a different makeup style earlier today…”

“And?”

“And it looked so bad on me,” Chan groans, his hand flying up to his face, “everyone said it looked good, but that was only true for the kids. I looked horrible.”

It’s not often Chan openly is insecure, but weirdly you like that he’s able to tell you his insecurities. It shows just how much he trusts you. “Baby,” you rise from the couch, engulfing him in a hug, “you’re so handsome. It couldn’t have been bad. Do you have a picture?” Chan’s scowl deepens, “Yeah, but I don’t want you to see me like that-” You give him a look and he quiets, handing you his phone.

You unlock the device and go to the photos app. And there behold was the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your life. Chan had a faux lip ring, smokey eye shadow, his plump lips stained a nude pink, and his nose contoured perfectly. God you could eat this man up, you wanted to do badly.

Chan avoided watching your face, pouting over the thought of you disgusted by the makeup.

You slowly place the phone on the counter before taking his hand and leading him towards the couch. “It’s bad, I kno-” You cut him off with a kiss. When you pull back, you cup his cheeks in your hands. “You’re so fucking hot and it’s so fucking frustrating that you don’t see it!” Chan’s face flushed bright red, down his neck. Your hands still cupped his cheeks as you stared into his eyes. “You’re just saying that cause you’re my girlfriend.”

You raise your brow at him to which he slightly cowers.

“And being your girlfriend means I should be honest and tell the truth…no?” Chan gulps, his eyes glancing quickly to your lips. He goes to lean it but you stop him by pulling away. “Tsk, tsk,” you shake your head, “why didn’t you like the makeup?” Your tone suddenly shifts. Chan very clearly feels vulnerable but he trusts you. “The eye makeup makes my eyebags more evident, and the nose contour makes my nose look even bigger than it is.” Chan frowns, eyes looking anywhere but you.

This time a frown makes its way onto your face. “Babe,” you sigh. Your eyes scan his face, traces of makeup that hadn’t been properly removed still lingering on his soft skin. A small bit of eyeshadow smudged along the corner of his eye messily. Fuck he looks hot. You think to yourself. Chan flinches when you suddenly press a kiss at the corner of his eye, down his cheek and back to his lips. You nudge him onto the couch. Tumbling over when the back of his knees hits the cushion causing you to land on top of him.

“What are you?” He asks before you start lifting the hem of his shirt up. Chan goes to slip it over his head but you stop him, leaving the material to rest just above his pecs. “Fucking hell.” You curse under your breath at the sight of your beautiful boyfriend under you, face, ears, and chest flushed, as you stared down at him with hungry eyes. “Oh fuck,” Chan groans when you lean down and pepper kisses along his chest, your tongue flicking at his hardened bud every now and then. “Love,” his hands reach for your face to pull you away, but you don’t let him. Simply staring up from your position, “Channie, I’m gonna take care of you tonight…yeah?”

Chan swears his heart stops. Not in a bad way. But in an “oh my god I love this woman so much” kind of way. You’ve never been shy about showing him love, whether that be through kisses on his body or simply just being with him in every moment. Excitement floods through Chan’s body as you roll your hips on top of his. “You’re gonna be the death of me you know that?” He chuckles breathily. You smirk to yourself, Chan growing needy and desperate under your touch.

Suddenly, you swing your legs over off his lap. Chan goes to pull you back but you stop him, telling him to stay still. You shimmy your panties off, tossing them somewhere to the side. “Can you close your eyes for me baby?” You quip. The curly haired boy blinks up at you with confusion, though nonetheless obliging. Chan trusts you, and you know that.

With his eyes being closed all his other senses are heightened. Chan feels how the sofa cushion dips slightly by his head, hears the rustling of your shirt coming from above him, smells the scent of your arousal. The feeling of your throbbing cunt teasing his mouth prompts him to dart his tongue out, licking a stripe up your leaking cunt. “Woah,” you whimper at the sudden feeling. “You gonna let me ride your face and show you how much I love you?” Chan whines against your heat, the vibrations coursing through your pussy.

You set a pace, grinding against his face, his perfect nose poking at your clit each time you thrust yourself. “Fuck, I love your mouth.” You throw your head back in ecstasy, “How you’re licking me clean- oh my god…your nose- ugh, rubbing against my clit- oh my fuck.” You manage between moans, that familiar knot growing in your abdomen. Chan is a whimpering mess under you as you tug in his curly strands. His eyes still shut tight. Your body enveloping him, his senses overloaded. God he could die between your legs.

You near your climax but force yourself off of his mouth before you could let go. Chan pouts at the loss, his eyes fluttering open. Fuck. You bite your lip. His chin is smothered in your arousal, eyes glossy, chests heaving up and down as he tries to catch his breath. God he looked ethereal. “You’re so pretty baby, all mine.” You hum, positioning yourself on his thighs. Your hand slithers down his sweatpants, tugging him out of his boxers. Pumping his throbbing hot cock in your hand, you feel as it twitches in your hand.

You glance up at the boy. Chan’s already staring down at you, his eyes full of anticipation. You drag your thumb along his slit prompting him to buck his hips upwards. “Sorry.” He mumbles, his face turning a slightly darker shade of pink- if that's even possible. You grin teasingly at your boyfriend. As much as you want to drag the teasing on, you’re quickly growing needy. You settle back up on his hips, rutting your wet folds along his shaft, coating it with your arousal, smearing the precum that’s leaking out of him.

“Baby please.” Chan breathes shakily, the feeling of his dick twitching against your core emits a grunt out of you. You sigh at the pleading boy, “You’ve been a good boy for me yeah?” Chan’s body stiffens under you, you feel like you’ve crossed a line- well not until you notice how he bites his lower lip and how more precum leaks from his cock. You smirk. “I guess you can get what you deserve.” With that, you slide his long cock inside your soaking cunt, sucking him in.

Chan groans as your warmth surrounds him. Spews of pleas and whimpers flood from his mouth as you bounce up and down his cock. His hands fly to your hips to keep you stable and offer some support. Chan’s head is slanted slightly, his clean neck and exposed. “Ah, fuck.” He hisses, a sharp pain tingling at his neck where you just bit him. You suck the spot, licking over it before continuing to mark up his neck. “You’re so handsome, gorgeous, fucking beautiful.” You mewl, his cock hitting your g spot directly.

“God I’m gonna cum.” He whines from underneath. “Yeah, baby? You’ve been such a good boy, I’m gonna let you fill me up yeah? Gonna fill my pussy with your seed?” You babble as your orgasm hits you like a truck, legs shaking besides Chan’s. The feeling of you clenching around him causes Chan to spill over the edge. His warm cum filling you to the brim.

The two of you lay on each other, catching your breath. You rest your chin on your chest and you can hear his heartbeat. “I love you.” Chan peers down at you with a grateful smile, “Love you too. Thanks by the way. I really needed that.” You hug him tightly, leaving a soft peck on his cheek. “It’s true, you know. I really do think that about you.” Flustered, Chan looks away again, though, a small grin shines on his face as he holds you closer.

🔖 @katsukis1wife @pixie0627

[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 3 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 4.0k (i know)

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), much cussing, some adult themes (again, no smut y'all), bkg and reader go through one stage of grief: bargaining, the plot thickens!

a/n. wrote all this in one day—i couldn't put the doc down until i finished it. this chapter is jam-packed and has lots going on, but we're only at the beginning. i hope you have as much fun reading it as i did writing it!

links. masterlist, ao3

“…Though I trust you’ll understand if we set some—” he pauses, and you’re 99% sure it’s for dramatic effect, “—precautionary measures in place?”

“Waddya have in mind?” asks Bakugou, his rough tone laced with unmistakable skepticism.

“Well, for starters…”

Their leader glances back at the bionic woman. “Sayaka, are they ready?”

Sayaka nods. “Ready for installation, Masaki-san.”

You scramble to take a mental note of their names—as well as try to ignore the fact that the robotic girl sounds like a robot, too—as you watch Masaki gesture to the escort from earlier who’s standing at the sides and in the shadows.

He emerges into the dim lights with a wide stride, but to your surprise, another leg steps forward right beside him. Your eyes trail up until they land on the other person, widening in confusion because they look just like a carbon copy of the intimidating escort—tall, ginger head, pale skin—only it’s a girl.

There’s no mistaking it.

They’re twins.

Twin bodyguards. In a quirk supremacist group.

You fight the urge to let out a dry laugh.

But apparently, neither of the two finds the situation funny, because they’re nothing but serious as they approach Masaki and bow politely, before heading to Sayaka and taking what looks like tiny…metal pieces?

You don’t get the opportunity to wonder about what those were, though, because, in the blink of an eye, the twins are already stalking straight toward you and Bakugou, glaring daggers.

“Those are bugs,” Masaki explains just as the twins arrive right in front of you, with the guy from earlier towering over Bakugou and the female staring you down a few inches away from your face, decidedly a little too close for comfort. You barely manage to stop yourself from gulping and looking away.

“They’ll be tracking your speech and movements 24/7. And don’t worry, they’re waterproof.”

You sense Bakugou’s about to spit some smart-ass comment, judging by the way he puffs up like he tends to do when he’s about to drop a curse-riddled quip, but he doesn’t get the chance to deliver the blow because the twins are on you in an instant.

You accidentally let out a yelp as the woman grabs the hem of your tank top so roughly you think it’s gonna tear, before she stuffs her right hand up. Mortified, you struggle against her hold, but her left has a death grip on you.

“Relax,” she seethes, obviously very much already done with you. “I’m just installing it.”

At her words, you manually will yourself to calm down, and it quickly dawns on you that she’s not touching you violently or inappropriately. You tamp down a shiver as her cold fingers come into contact with the center of your chest, right at the dip of your bra and between your breasts, feeling the surface before sticking something that you promptly identify as the tracker.

And as she retracts her hand and steps away from you, right at the same time as her twin like they’re wired for synchrony, you reflect on how it’s so light that you barely feel an added weight to your body. It’s circular, too, and you debate for a second whether or not to peer down at your chest to see what it really looks like, before ultimately deciding against it.

You can do that later, in the privacy of the (hopefully not downstairs) bathroom.

If such a concept even exists.

“Thanks, you two,” comes Masaki’s gentle voice, before shifting to regard you and Bakugou. “You can get to know your designated guards later on, but for now, let’s continue.”

As if on cue, the twins take a further step back before eventually returning to their dark corner.

“What we just affixed on your chests are special devices, again, designed to monitor any sound you make as well as your specific locations. They’re not your ordinarily engineered trackers—they’re Sayaka’s thanks to her quirk—which also allows her to directly receive the feedback and project it for others to see and hear.”

Ah.

You don’t know how that works exactly, but you bet the expensive ass perfume that you got for your birthday last year—the very one you wear for special occasions like now—that it’s got something to do with her robotic parts.

“Does everyone in your group get one, too?” questions Bakugou, who’s now looking a bit miffed. You’re sure he didn’t enjoy getting felt up by a stranger who he just called someone’s little lackey.

“Only the new members,” Sayaka answers succinctly, her voice sounding like it’s filtered with autotune.

But especially you two, you finish for her in your head. And really, you can’t blame them. Taking in a pro-hero, let alone Japan’s #2, is a huge gamble, and Bakugou quite literally can make or break their whole plan to attack. This level of precaution is not at all uncalled for. You’d even go so far as to say it’s not enough.

Bakugou must be thinking the same thing, too, because he doesn’t offer a follow-up question.

Masaki takes your silence as a sign for him to go on.

“Of course, that’s only the first layer of protection.”

Shit.

You hope you didn’t just think that into existence.

The plain-looking leader puts on that prudent smile of his, before turning to look at the old man. “Kouki-san here has a very handy quirk. Teleportation,” he glances at Bakugou, “A sought-after power in the hero world, isn’t it?”

Bakugou shrugs, although you’re guessing the answer is yes and that he’s just too stubborn to admit it.

Figures.

“Well, he’s gone and mastered his quirk, and has since been indispensable to our organization. Essentially—” Masaki huffs, like he’s preparing for the bomb he’s about to drop, “—the very moment you even hint at betraying us, we’re gone,” he snaps his fingers, “Just like that. And you won’t be able to trace us.”

“Really?” drawls Bakugou. “You’ll abandon this cushy, not at all seedy ass headquarters of yours?”

“This is only one of many, Dynamight,” Masaki responds, seemingly unbothered by Bakugou’s taunt. “And this is actually not our headquarters.”

He picks up his glass of alcohol and lightly twirls it around in his hand. “I also trust that you’re aware of what a distinguished group such as ours entails? Naturally, we need to have somewhere safe where we can conduct all our activities under the radar.”

“As you can imagine, it’s not just us five. We have many, many members who share the same principles, and this club can’t possibly be large enough to host all of us.”

“Where are you going with this?” Bakugou demands.

“What I’m saying is that we have a separate place as our headquarters, a place much bigger than this. And—” he cocks his head toward Kouki, “—we get there via teleportation.”

“Obviously,” sneers Bakugou, “Otherwise that’d be a huge waste of the old man’s quirk, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, but that’s only one of the reasons. You see, it’s also so that you won’t know where it is located,” Masaki pauses once again, which you decide in a split second is warranted because of what he’s going to say next.

“And for that to work, we’re also going to have to lock you inside.”

Your breath hitches. Bakugou bristles.

“The fu—”

“We’re going to have to make you stay with us—” the plain-looking man interjects with a slightly louder voice, “—at least until the day of the attack, as we cannot risk you two being seen constantly going in and out of this club every night.”

You’re about to contribute to the conversation for the very first time but Bakugou beats you to it. “Fucking stay in? Isn’t that gonna cause even more suspicion?”

“It wouldn’t if you both come up with a good excuse to disappear,” Kouki retorts with a smidge of attitude. He eyes Bakugou with a raised brow, “Wouldn’t now be a great time to have a top-secret ‘mission’ overseas? And I’m sure your friend here can whip something up.”

You brush off the annoyance that shoots through you at the dismissive mention. Instead, you finally bring yourself to speak up. “I thought you just said we’ll be stuffed in a secret hideout?”

“Ah,” Masaki sounds out, “You are, but this is our gateway, so to speak. You go here to get teleported to the headquarters, and from there, get teleported back here to return to the outside world. We won’t hesitate to teleport away from both places the second we have to, but that doesn’t mean our HQ is easily disposable to us, hence all these measures.”

“All this to say,” he furthers, his timid tone juxtaposing the threatening words you’re sure he’s about to utter, “You two better think twice about betraying us.”

There it is.

He smiles again. “Do either of you have any questions?”

Beside you, Bakugou mutters to himself for a second, before clearing his throat. “You’re yapping on and on about what you’ll do if we betray you and shit. Ain’t that such a warm welcome for your new members?”

—A rhetorical question, because he doesn’t let anyone get a word in. Instead, he presses on.

“But what if we don’t? What’s in it for us?”

“You get to live out your ideals, boy,” comes the old geezer’s snappy reply.

Bakugou snorts, and you’re sure it’s not because he found the guy hilarious.

“That’s a shitty deal on our end, don’t ya think so?” the pro-hero shifts his weight on his other foot. “How ‘bout this, you guarantee protection for my…friend here, and we’re even.”

You hold your breath.

Looking past the way he just so awkwardly referred to you as his friend, that segue just now wasn’t exactly the smoothest.

Still, you have no choice but to roll with it. So, with much conviction, you morph your face into that of shyness—one that you hope is charming enough to win their graces.

“Just her?” asks Masaki, placid as ever.

“I can get by,” comes Bakugou’s confident response.

Once again ignoring the mildly degrading remark, you ready yourself to use your quirk. You closely examine the leader’s features as they transform into an expression of contemplation, even as he turns to the other two and engages them in quiet conversation.

You and Bakugou stand there for a few moments, waiting, before Masaki finally turns again.

And all that preparing to utilize your quirk goes out of the dilapidated windows once you catch a glimpse of his face.

“I guess that’s settled, then.”

Called it.

Masaki then raises an eyebrow at the two of you. “Any more concerns?” he smiles to himself, “Heartwarming requests?”

Neither of you says anything.

“None?” he asks again, before patting his thighs in a gesture of finality. “Well, then, I believe it’s time for you to see your new home! Kouki-san?”

At the mention, the old man slowly gets up from where he made himself very comfortable on the couch, and walks leisurely towards you, planting himself in front of and between you and Bakugou.

“Hang tight,” Kouki smirks, reaching out for both of your hands, and you’re just about registering how eerily cool his are when the ground that was perfectly carpeted and steady just a second ago suddenly collapses from beneath you.

A violent wave of nausea instantly hits you as the room completely vanishes before you, replaced by pitch-black darkness in a second. You scramble for purchase—tightening your grip on the person responsible for whatever the fuck this is—as the noise instantaneously gets sucked in a vacuum, leaving you in full silence. Your legs are jelly as you stumble on your feet, and you’re convinced you’re going to fall to your death down to the abyss below you when—just as fast as the lounge disappeared—a warmly lit hallway materializes in front of you.

But it’s too late, you’re already out of balance and lurching forward—inch by excruciating inch—right until you feel a hand grab your forearm and you’re unceremoniously yanked back into an upright position.

You whip to look at Bakugou as you wobble on your feet, and he’s staring at you with such alarm that makes you feel so…vulnerable. He retracts his left hand a beat later when you eventually steady yourself, his serious and unrelenting gaze fixated on you before shifting to study the place you just got teleported to.

You follow suit, eyeing the hallway as you place the hand Kouki was holding into your pocket to warm it up.

Similar to the club and the room you were just in, the area is barely illuminated, but it’s bright enough for you to make out the dark wooden doors that line both sides. You’re right in the middle of the hallway, and at one of the ends you think are staircases leading both to a lower and an upper level, while at the other end is another door.

If these lead to what you think they lead…

Then, damn.

They weren’t kidding about lodging.

From the corner of your eye, you see the old man look at you and follow your line of vision, shifting to study the aforementioned door at the end of this hallway.

“That’s your room,” he offers curtly, like this job of chaperoning you to your place of residence for who knows how many days is beneath him.

Room, you parrot in your head.

Room singular.

“Well?” he asks, not even bothering to hide his impatience when neither you nor Bakugou makes a move. “Aren’t you going to check it out?”

You hesitate, glancing at Bakugou to find him frowning at Kouki, before turning to look at you.

“We don’t have all day, you two,” Kouki adds on with a sigh at the same time you raise your eyebrows ever so minutely at the pro-hero, as if asking for confirmation. “Go on, I’ll wait here.”

It only takes a small nod from Bakugou to pull you out of the paralysis, and the minute that he does, you’re already moving to the spot beside him, matching his pace as you trudge towards the door.

As inconspicuously as you can, you check the corners of the room along the wall facing you for cameras, only to find none.

And so you do it.

With your backs turned against the Teleportation master, you finally let your emotions show on your face.

You also chance a peek at Bakugou, only to find him already eyeing you with the very same expression you’re sure is written all over your features.

The one that says you’re fucked.

You don’t get to dwell or comment on the shared sentiment, though, mainly because they’ll hear every word you say, but also because you arrive in front of the door. Bakugou looks at the knob and then at you warily, and you can only nod in encouragement.

That seems to be enough of a push for him, because he reaches for and turns the handle, pushing past the entryway so you can walk in from behind him.

Now, the first thing that registers after you startle at the door closing is the fact that the room is small. Tiny, even. There’s another door at the back, which you think leads to the comfort room.

But that’s pretty much it.

That, and there’s only one bed.

To your credit, though, you’re able to refrain from gasping in horror at the sight of it, which you can chalk up to the next thing that you see—a couch.

It doesn’t seem like it’s foldable or can be converted into a larger bunk, but it’ll have to do. It’s brown and hopefully real leather this time, and is crammed right next to the bed. You remind yourself that they were only expecting Bakugou, and so you can’t really complain and that you’ll have to make do with sleeping on the couch for the next n days.

Aside from all those, though, the room is relatively bare.

Well, apart from the cameras with the blinking red light at the upper, four corners of it.

But you don’t get to wordlessly warn him about it, let alone come to terms with the fact that they’re deadass going to be watching your every single move, because something seizes your wrist, spinning you around, leaving you face to face with Bakugou.

You’re too preoccupied with the sudden motion and the fact that you’re just a breadth’s width away from each other to notice the darkened look in his eyes.

Which, in hindsight, you should’ve noticed.

If you wanted any chance at bracing yourself for what he’s going to do next.

“Wha—”

You yelp—cutting yourself off—when Bakugou, the Bakugou Katsuki—Japan’s #2 Pro-hero, Vogue Japan’s Hottest Bachelor of the Year, and the dickhead who used to be your biggest, fattest crush—grabs at your neck and smashes his lips against yours.

You involuntarily jerk away from him, but his free hand shoots up to roughly clutch your hip just as his grip on your neck tightens, pinning you in place and right against him.

And you don’t know how the fuck it happens, but he does something with his tongue, or his mouth? His teeth? You don’t know at this point, and frankly, you don’t want to know, because coupled with his scalding hold on your body, it causes you to do the unthinkable.

You moan.

And again, you don’t even get the opportunity to feel the utter humiliation, because just as quickly as he pounced on you, Bakugou pulls away, but not before scowling at the cameras as if he just noticed them—which you doubt—then taking your hand, dragging you out of the door and into the hallway.

The old man glances at you. “Are you don—”

“Take us the fuck back now,” Bakugou spits as he pulls you right beside him.

At that, Kouki’s eyebrows furrow. “You ought to know better than to speak to an elderly like that.”

But the man who just fucking kissed you apparently can’t give a single flying fuck, because he retorts without missing a beat. “Take us back now.”

That must’ve been the final straw, because Kouki’s face finally morphs into the scowl that you think he’s been trying to suppress this entire time, but to your surprise, he moves closer to the two of you and once again, reaches for your hands.

You don’t know what the fuck is going on, but what you do know is that Bakugou’s onto something here, because he wouldn’t have pulled that stunt just now without any reason, which means the last thing you should do is resist.

And so you take Kouki’s hand, just as Bakugou snags the other, and when you do, the floor gives out from underneath you.

You’re still overcome with a sense of dizziness as your surroundings shift and the noise dissipates around you, but as you find the lounge slowly appearing before your eyes, you find that it’s not as bad the second time.

Bakugou’s still holding your hand when you arrive at the second floor of the club, right back where you stood from a while ago.

Sayaka is the first one to notice you, most likely thanks to her quirk and the goddamn device stuck to your chest, but it’s Masaki who speaks up when he catches wind of your arrival.

He puts down the deck of cards you think he’s just been shuffling before shifting to look at you. “Back so soon?”

Kouki turns around to face him, “Bakugou demanded to—”

“Why the fuck are there cameras in our room?”

Offended, the old man whips around again to glower at Bakugou, seemingly ready to unleash the sermon of the century. “Young man—”

“Turn them the fuck off,” the pro-hero interjects, “And the mics, too.”

Bakugou hesitates, as if unsure of how to properly say the next few words. He glances at you, expression inexplicable, before turning back to face them. “…At least at night.”

Silence.

“Oooh, I see where this is going,” comes Masaki’s reaction a moment later, a knowing smile creeping on his face. You feel yourself flame. “You weren’t being clear with us earlier, Bakugou. You didn’t say you brought your girlfriend.”

“Didn’t think it was necessary to point out,” comes Bakugou’s terse reply.

“Yeah, well, I’m afraid it doesn’t matter either way. The surveillance is for our safety, which comes above everything else, even the privacy of our esteemed members.”

“You promised you’d protect her at all costs,” Bakugou counters. “Protecting her modesty from the perverts you call your surveillance people is part of that.”

Now, you’re not a hundred percent certain, but you’re pretty sure he just shot the cyborg a look at the latter half of the sentence, which you think would’ve been a noble gesture—if it weren’t for the fact that it’s not just her, judging by the sheer number of cameras in this room alone.

Your attention drifts back to Masaki, however, when he heaves a sigh, leaning against the couch with a tired expression on his face. “Tell me, then, Dynamight. How do you propose we make sure you don’t brew something behind our backs off surveillance?”

“I can turn off the bugs,” Sayaka pipes up before Bakugou can answer, her mechanical voice drifting across the room. “They emit a blue light at their circumference that shuts down when I turn the device off.”

“As for the cameras…” she drones on, “The blinking red light should be gone when they’re offline.”

“That shit won’t do,” Bakugou declares decisively, not even letting the suggestion simmer. “There’s no knowing for sure that they’re actually off and aren’t just hacked to seem like they are.”

“The cameras should also face down. And—” he huffs, “—We get to remove the tracker.”

A chorus of protests erupts from the group—particularly from Sayaka and Kouki—but even the twins who are still stationed at the sides. Masaki, in contrast, only sits in silence as he studies the pro-hero, but there’s no missing the uneasiness decorating his features.

“It’s only at night,” Bakugou reasons, voice now a bit louder to be heard amidst the sea of complaints. “You can set up guards around the perimeters of our room. We’ll surrender them at the door before entering, and we can’t go out beyond the doorway until they’re attached again.”

And when no one says anything, Bakugou pushes. “How does that sound?”

You chance a glance at Masaki, who does not seem to be getting anywhere near convinced.

Bakugou must be noticing it, too, because he squeezes your hand so imperceptibly that you almost miss it.

But you don’t, and quite honestly, you could have and be okay with having done so, because you were on it, anyway.

You quickly scan the room.

One, two, three, four, five.

Five.

You can do five.

And so with the most innocent tone you can muster, you speak up.

“That sounds reasonable to me.”

All five whip to look at you, and the second that they do, you pull—swiftly and in succession—eyes jumping from Sayaka to Kouki to Masaki to the male twin and then to the girl.

Your gaze darts back to the leader right after to make sure you got him, but his remarkably serene countenance is enough to tell you that you’ve successfully done it.

You did it.

You just won Bakugou and you the window of time to discuss the mission in the privacy of your own room.

And Bakugou must be seeing the palpable shift in their demeanors because he squeezes your hand once more, only this time you think it’s in gratitude.

You feel a surge of pride swell in your chest.

Let the games begin.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

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[namig42]

Alright, Vincent gets an epilogue. I want some closure for him too, so please enjoy.

Vincent (Together Again)

Read it on Ao3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Summary: Astarion brings Vincent back to camp and finds a way for them to speak.

---

“Well?” Astarion’s voice rang from nearby.

“If my hypothesis is correct…” A friendly, intellectual voice spoke. Through his glazed stare and dirty jar, Vincent saw a man with a well groomed beard come close to the glass and examine what was left of himself.

“Spit it out, Gale!” Astarion said impatiently.

“If my hypothesis is correct,” the man named Gale said slowly only to spite Astarion, “then he should be able to communicate at the very least if there is a consciousness left in that skull.”

“Well then? What are you waiting for?”

“You do realize it’s only a temporary solution,” the wise man spoke softly as he stood up straight to face Astarion. “The tadpoles won’t be around forever. We need to be rid of them eventually.”

“I’m well aware, thank you.” Astarion said with a harsh glare and a sharp tone. “I just…” That gaze of his softened and looked towards Vincent. “I need to know if he’s truly gone.”

The Gale man sighed and placed a gentle, friendly hand on Astarion’s shoulder. “Alright, then let’s give it a go.”

Vincent watched the man in purple leave to go talk to a large half-orc on the other side of the camp shrouded in darkness. They were still in the shadow-cursed lands it seemed, and Astarion’s party consisted of more friends than just the ones from the tavern. It made Vincent glad to know that Astarion had found companions, though he still didn’t quite understand how he had escaped Cazador or what this talk was of tadpoles.

While Gale spoke candidly with that terrifyingly large half-orc that smiled down at him, Astarion squatted next to Vincent’s jar and stared straight into Vincent’s dazed red eyes. Will I really be able to talk to him? Vincent thought, thinking about what Gale had just told Astarion about being able to communicate.

“I hope you’re still in there…” Astarion whispered to the jar. It was likely meant to only be heard by him, but the soft sound came through to Vincent. He hoped desperately that this would work.

After a minute, Gale returned with something in his hand. A few of the other party members came around as well, curious to see if Astarion’s old friend was still in there. The large red tiefling and the other, smaller devil man came along with the half-orc and a massive wood elf. There was a crowd for the show, and Vincent was the headline.

Astarion looked up as Gale tapped him lightly on the shoulder. With a nod of recognition, Astarion stood up and took a hesitant step away from Vincent so that Gale could come close to the jar. Vincent saw Gale hold something above the tank and heard the man say, “If you are indeed in there Vincent, then I apologize for this. It’s a tad uncomfortable, but you will adjust.”

More uncomfortable than being severed from my body? Ha… that’s hilarious.

Gale gently dropped something into the jar. Vincent heard a soft squeak directly in his ear and felt something swimming around him. It was a bit nerve-wracking, and when the culprit came into sight, Vincent saw a tadpole from his worst nightmares. If he had seen that while fully himself, he would’ve squealed and flailed to get the horrid thing away from him, but he was frozen and filled with disgust and fear as the thing came close and latched onto his eyeball. The freakish thing crawled its way into his eye socket, and then Vincent felt something latch onto his brain.

“It took…” Gale said softly.

Ahhhh, that’s disgusting! Vincent thought in horror as he felt the thing digging into his brain. What in the hells is this?! What was that thing?!

Despite his terror, Vincent saw Astarion cover his mouth with a gasp. The rest of his companions seemed shocked too. “Vincent?!” Astarion bent down and smiled at Vincent’s head. “Is it really you? You’re still in there?”

Vincent was perplexed as he adjusted to the odd, wriggling feeling in his head. You… can hear me?

“Yes, we all can.” Astarion said with that wide smile of his. If Vincent could, he would have felt his face go slack and tears stream down his cheeks.

Astarion… You’re really here? You can hear me?

Astarion held the tank between his fair hands and beamed at his old friend. Yes Vincent, I’m here. We’re together again.

The rest of the party smiled and cheered as they watched the sweet spawn reunion. “Fascinating!” Gale exclaimed. “We’ll need to do some research then to see if there’s a way to return this Vincent to a body next…”

“Perhaps I may be of assistance,” the giant wood elf said kindly to the short human man.

“Wonderful!” Gale beamed. “Between the two of us, there’s bound to be something we can do for the poor fellow!”

“That’s so wild!” the big tiefling said with a huge smile. “I’m so happy for you, Star! You’ve got another friend!”

It looked like the tiefling was about to scoop Astarion off his feet in a tight hug, but the smaller tiefling grabbed her by her strong arm and pulled her back. “Karlach, they might want a moment.”

The woman named Karlach’s face dropped at the prospect of no hugs, “But-!”

The half-orc that seemed much kinder than she looked gently took Karlach’s hand and gave her a soft kiss on her lips. “Come on, my love. Let’s leave them to their reunion.”

“But I’m just so happy for them~!” Karlach sobbed into her partner’s shoulder as the half-orc wrapped her arm around Karlach and led her back to their tent.

The party began to disband, leaving Astarion bent down next to Vincent. It was just the two of them now outside what Vincent could only assume to be Astarion’s tent. In the brief glimpse he caught of it earlier, he saw blood-stained rags and a silver mirror (a cruel irony) that felt like something only Astarion would have.

“You’re still alive…” Astarion said breathlessly, like he still couldn’t believe.

That’s one way to put it… Vincent said with a bite of sarcasm.

“Right…” Astarion sat on his knees and leaned his arms on the table that Vincent rested on. His eyes moved along the tubes that were still lodged into Vincent’s neck. The party had decided to leave those just in case they were integral to keeping Vincent alive. Astarion stared at them and resisted the urge to fiddle with the tip of one as he asked, “what happened that left you like this?”

I… I don’t know if I can talk about it. It’s difficult.

“Well, perhaps you can show me?” Astarion offered with a soft, supportive smile. “That’s a neat little trick these tadpoles offer.” Astarion demonstrated by showing Vincent the memory of when he first woke up after the nautiloid crash. The feeling of the sun on his skin without being turned to ash and how incredible it felt to feel alive again. Vincent could feel the astonishment and the joy that Astarion felt in that moment and could see the sight of a beach surrounded by burning alien debris so clearly.

The memory faded, and Astarion looked back at Vincent. “Funny, isn’t it? I’m infected with something that will turn me into a monster if something isn’t done, and yet I haven’t felt this good in centuries.”

There was a small part of Vincent that felt envious of Astarion for a moment. He had left the city and found freedom and friends, while Vincent had remained in a dark dungeon, trapped for years all alone with nightmares and shadows.

How long was I gone…?

Astarion sighed and slumped over on the table. “About fifty years… maybe sixty.”

Ah… What an insignificant amount of time that sounded like to an immortal. Only a handful of decades, and yet it felt like an eternity to Vincent.

“What in the hells happened, Vincent?”

With a heavy heart, Vincent recalled that day at the Waning Moon, making sure to think clearly so that Astarion would see it as well. He remembered Cazador’s command, the Sharran woman, the shadow-cursed land, Thisobald Thorm and his terrible drink, and the dreadful feeling that came when the master’s compulsion wouldn’t let him flee. The last, dreadful scene of Thisobald cutting into Vincent’s neck only flickered as the memory faded away. It was too much for Vincent to deal with.

Astarion looked at Vincent with a mix of feelings. Behind those sharp eyes was anger as well as sadness.

“Cazador…” Astarion spat. One more reason to kill the bastard, the rogue thought softly.

Ha, if only… Vincent said, recalling the times Astarion would offhandedly mention the same idea on their secret rendezvouses in the past.

“Actually,” Astarion said with a vindictive smile. “As fate would have it, I am now the person best suited to killing our old master.”

What? Are you serious?

“Oh, extremely. Thanks to our wriggling friend, I can resist his commands with ease, and with these companions I’ve found, killing a vampire lord is no longer a dream I have to lull myself to sleep with.”

A life without the master. Incredible…

“I’ll kill the master, and maybe even with these tadpole powers, become even stronger than my wildest dreams could have ever imagined.”

Vincent would have laughed if he could. Despite everything that had happened, Astarion hasn’t changed all that much. Those hypothetical scenarios he once said absent-mindedly were now something that could come to fruition, and yet that same spark in his eye from the old days was still there, only brighter and more lively now.

So you lead this party? Vincent inquired.

“Oh, of course~! They all follow my every command.” Astarion said dramatically with a flourish of his hand.

“Ha! In your dreams, Astarion,” a half elf girl called from a nearby tent.

“You may be quick, but I would gut myself like a fish before following a deceptor’s orders,” the green woman that licked sludge off the floor earlier spoke sternly.

Quite the crowd you’ve found, Vincent thought lightly.

“This group is full of weirdos,” Astarion said playfully as he looked around the camp, “but they make for interesting company.”

Perhaps you could tell me about them?

Astarion gladly obliged as he began to give his thoughts and opinions on everyone in camp. He moved next to Vincent and sat on a pillow as he spoke of each companion and thought of their faces to give Vincent a better glimpse of each of them.

He started with the companions that accompanied him to the tavern earlier that day. There was Lae’zel, the githyanki warrior who was coarse and crude, but one of their best fighters by far. Her tongue was as sharp as her silver sword and she had no sense of sensibility, but that’s what made her such a delight to be around. Her intense sincerity became increasingly laughable the more serious she was.

Next was Karlach, the friendly tiefling who had a body that burnt like the hells and a spirit that burned even hotter than that. “She’s even stronger than the gith and clingier than ever these days.” Astarion gave a short summary of Karlach’s story in regards to her engine and her time in the hells, along with how annoyingly lovey dovey she and the half-orc were recently. Despite the disgust he feigned, he thought it sweet how happy the two giants were together. Vincent always knew Astarion was a bit of a romantic in his own way and found it sweet to see that side of him again.

Then there was Wyll, the handsome devil that originally was hunting Karlach down, and now the two of them were as thick as thieves. He wasn’t always a devil, that was only a recent development. “The horns suit him though, in my opinion.” Astarion showed Vincent a memory of Wyll when he was human, and Vincent had to agree. A handsome devil indeed. They shared a soft, coy chuckle before Astarion continued on.

There was Gale, the wizard who had a propensity for verbosity. “He’s set to explode any day now, but hopefully he’ll find a way to help you before detonating himself for his goddess.”

He laid with the goddess of magic? Really?

So he claims, Astarion thought softly. Personally I can’t imagine him being quite that charming, but events have proven him to be honest time and time again on this little quest.

Next was Shadowheart, a Sharran that had practically no memories and was an absolute delight to annoy. As the image of her face appeared in Vincent’s mind, he thought for a moment that the nightmares had returned and the Sharran from fifty years ago was back to haunt him. It took his mind a moment to find the difference between the two women; Shadowheart’s eyes were green instead of black, her ears had a soft point to them instead of normal human ears, and there was a scar across her nose.

Vincent wondered if Shadowheart was some reincarnation of the woman he once knew, but his mind was blissfully brought back to the present at the sound of Astarion’s soft snickering. It seemed that Shadowheart had been watering a plant by her tent and was knocked over by Lae’zel as the gith trained with a broadsword. The two began bickering and getting into each other’s faces, almost intimately close in their frustration. “They've already tried to kill each other once,” Astarion commented while watching the show, “but Wyndolyn interrupted them before it could become interesting. I'm still waiting for them to either kill each other or kiss.”

I'll bet you five gold that they kiss first, Vincent thought playfully. “Hm, I'll take that bet,” Astarion accepted with a grin.

Next up was the massive wood elf Halsin, a recent addition to the party. He's dreadfully in love with nature, almost annoyingly so, and even more frustratingly friendly. Not so bad in the looks department either, Vincent flirtily joked.

“Oh hush, you,” Astarion smiled as he waved Vincent's comment away, “but you're not wrong. He's quite taken though with our leader. It would take a blind man to miss the look he gives her.”

I thought you were the leader? Vincent teased.

“Well of course!” Astarion chirped charmingly, “but there's one person that everyone seems to trust for some odd reason.” Astarion thought of Wyndolyn’s face as she smiled at him and his compliment-seeking banter the other evening.

Wyndolyn, their half-orc leader that Astarion hadn't gotten along with at all at first. She seemed too brutish to do anything besides smash down doors back then, but with each decision, he realized that she was much more clever than he gave her credit for. She had a sensibility and kindness to her that the party seemed to lean on, even if she could still be brash and impulsive.

“She's the one who makes the important decisions. I spend my time on more important matters  like being the most beautiful one in camp.”

I'm sure you do more than that. Vincent thought as he recalled the sight of Astarion’s friends holding him back at the tavern as he wept. Astarion cringed at the memory of his vulnerability and hid his face in his hands. “Ugh, don't remind me about that.”

You're loved, Astarion. You've made good friends.

“Oh please,” he waved off the idea of “friends.” “These freaks just need someone with an ounce of common sense to keep them from exploding or killing themselves for some goddess.” Despite Astarion’s insistence though, there was a soft, sincere smile that spread on his face as he looked around the camp at his companions. 

There was a quiet moment then between the two spawn as Astarion scanned the camp for a moment, appreciating everyone going about their time, then eventually slumped over onto his round wooden table like a cat lazing about. His eyes were half-lidded as he turned his head to look at Vincent’s face and that hair of his that miraculously was still the same length as the day he left.

“You’re still just as handsome as ever,” Astarion said in a low voice.

Vincent managed to scoff in his mind. Darling, you must be joking.

“Well, you might not have those great legs anymore,” Astarion spoke with a teasing smile, “and you might not be as expressive as you once were, but despite everything, it’s still you.”

If Vincent had the hands to do it, he would’ve put one on Astarion’s head right then and pet those soft curls, then maybe even left him a kiss on his temple. To think that after all he endured in that darkness, Astarion still saw him as that same man he once was that went off around Baldur’s Gate, fetching things and acting out small requests for their dreadmaster. Taking a bauble here, committing a petty vengeance against some snide noble there; simple, small tasks that any fool could’ve done.

Do you think your friends will be able to help me? Vincent thought nervously as he was reminded of that insignificant life.

“I do,” Astarion said as he lifted his head off the table, “but don’t let them know I said that,” he whispered while hiding his mouth from the camp theatrically.

Vincent wanted to laugh, but he was still worried. Gale had said that this tadpole was only a temporary solution. How long was temporary? A day? A week?

Don’t worry, Astarion’s voice rang through Vincent’s woes. Even if the tadpole is removed and we can’t talk like this anymore, I’ll fix you. Magic, science, a deal with a devil, whatever it takes. We’ll see it through together.

Astarion… Thank you.

“Don’t thank me, darling. I just don’t like being in debt to others.”

Debt? Vincent thought, trying to recall what in the hells Astarion could’ve owed him at this point.

“You don’t remember our last little adventure back in the city?”

Memories are… a bit fuzzy these days. The thoughts of the nightmares mixing with reality intruded on Vincent’s mind.

Then let me show you. Astarion cut through the horrors by replaying the memory from his perspective that night half a century ago.

Vincent saw himself from Astarion’s eyes. He was tall and thin with that soft smile that he used to smile often with Astarion. His eyes looked soft and concerned as he held Astarion’s face in the memory. Astarion was panicking, and his vision was blurred slightly by tears that he refused to let fall. They were on a dark street that the moon didn’t shine on somewhere in the Lower City.

“I can’t go back. Not again.” Astarion spoke quickly in the dream, like he couldn’t breathe despite the fact that a vampire doesn’t need air in their lungs. Vincent softly rubbed his index finger along the cheek he held.

“Darling, the master won’t do anything to you. We can still salvage this.”

“I can’t bring someone back looking like this!” Astarion had spoken harshly and quietly through his teeth. Vincent couldn’t see Astarion’s face in the memory, but he began to recall this night in his own mind as he watched it play out.

Astarion had been beaten by a brute that he tried to lure back to the palace and looked worse for wear. His cheek was red and swollen, his eye a dark purple stain on his fair skin, and his hair dirtied and ruined from filthy, vulgar hands that gripped it tightly in the midst of everything. It had only been a coincidence that Vincent had found him on his way back from his own task after the attacker had abandoned Astarion in an alley.

“Yes you can. I’ll help you. If we work together, the master won’t have to be the wiser.”

“No, Vincent. I can’t ask that of you.”

“You don’t have to ask. I’ll do it for you, my friend.” Vincent had rested his forehead against Astarion’s, and the soft point of contact allowed Astarion to finally calm his nerves somewhat. Vincent’s large, delicate hands tore his own shirt to wipe at the dirt that was smeared on Astarion’s forehead, and he gently ran his fingers through Astarion’s hair in order to tidy it into its usual presentation. Once he was presentable, Vincent took Astarion’s hand and led the two back into a nearby tavern.

Together, they entered the Elfsong and sat on both sides of a poor, intoxicated woman at the bar, then easily seduced her with the prospect of having two handsome men all to herself. Vincent had taken charge of the endeavor with his sincere charm, and Astarion had only spoken a word or two to help move things along. He spent most of the night watching Vincent work and stared gratefully at his friend. Once at the palace entrance, Vincent left Astarion to make his delivery alone, and Astarion was spared punishment from their vindictive master.

Astarion, Vincent thought back in the present, you don’t owe me a debt for that.

“Of course I do,” Astarion said as he buried his face in his crossed arms on the table. “If not for you, I don’t know what Cazador would’ve done. He was especially awful at that time and waiting for me to slip up. He would’ve taken any excuse to punish me…”

Vincent tried not to think it aloud, but a part of him thought for a moment that this - him being a head in a jar now - maybe that was Astarion’s punishment. Despite how careful they were, maybe Cazador knew that Vincent had helped Astarion and wanted to keep Astarion isolated. He sent the one friend that he knew away with the intention of never coming back.

Gods… Vincent felt a chill run across the top of his head and down the remains of his neck at the realization of just how awful the master really was.

“What?” Astarion asked as he looked concerningly at Vincent.

He couldn’t tell him the truth. Astarion already had enough reason to hate the master, so telling him his theory might only make him blame himself more for Vincent’s current condition.

I… I just can’t believe you managed to find me. After all that time.

“Of course,” Astarion moved to hold Vincent’s jar. “You are here now, and you will get through this. You’ve got this, and I’ve got you.” After his encouraging words, Astarion placed a soft kiss on the jar right where Vincent’s cheek was. Vincent felt a phantom of a tingle where the kiss should’ve been and wished for the contact of Astarion’s lips on his skin, to feel alive and whole again, but he still admired the gesture nonetheless.

Afterwards, Astarion smiled sweetly at his friend, and the two sat by Astarion’s tent all night reminiscing about their pleasant memories from the past, talking about their present, and dreaming about their future; a future where Vincent has a body once more and a face that could express the joy of being alive once again after an eternity of darkness.

[frantic-fiction]

Shattered Glass 18+

(Gif: leopardmuffinxo)

Astarion x f!reader

Summary: Astarion finally makes do on a promise.

This is part 2 of Secluded Evening. (Could be read as a stand alone)

Warnings: Smut, MDNI, oral fem receiving, PnV sex, unprotected sex, biting (of course) Astarion being a lovesick fool

Word count: 2.6k

Astarion threw another log on the fire; a flurry of embers took flight, dancing in the cold night air. The rest of the camp had already settled in their tents. You were nestled between his knees about five feet away from the flames. A throw blanket cascaded down your shoulders—a notebook on your lap. 

He studies the rapid strokes of your hand from over your shoulder. The rough lines of charcoal were blooming into an identical copy of Laz'eal. Astarion pulled a strand of hair away from your eyes and began to weave your locks into a simple braid. He doesn't have a hair tie, and knowing you, you've lost yours. So, he twists the pieces, and once done let's go, kissing the crown of your head. 

You barely acknowledge him, and when you suddenly shove the pencil over your shoulder, Astarion chuckles, taking it from you. He watches you begin smudging the charcoal with the pad of your finger. You're adorable when your art consumes you. Every time, it captivates Astarion.

This was how most of your nights were spent. Not always precisely like this; sometimes Astarion brought a book, and sometimes your hand got too sore to draw, so Astarion read to you as you curled on his lap. But as long as it was spent in each other's company neither of you cared much for the activity.

Astarion adored these nights the most, primarily because he could feast his eyes on your beauty without you shying away or throwing a stupid joke at him to break the tension. You were perfect in every way, and when he opened his heart briefly and confessed the broken pieces of himself and the motivations that led him to you. All you did was look at him with unspoken love and hugged him. 

Your relationship became something more after that. Sex was not what drew the two of you together. For the first time in 200 years, Astarion had someone he trusted with his every sense of the word. Someone who wanted more than his body and showed their love for him without words. Someone he wanted to spend every moment of his life with despite the fear that thought causes him. 

Astarion thinks he loves you but can't find the words when his mouth opens. He's always struggled with expressing his true feelings, but he wants to try with you. He wants to bear his heart to you and show you all that you mean to him. And with all the trust you and Astarion have established, one thing has become a very big problem. 

You have begun to treat Astarion like glass, as if one sexual touch will break him. And frankly, it's pissing him off. Astarion finally has complete control over his body and a partner who he trusts. A partner that can bring him to his knees with a simple giggle and to put it bluntly, gods you were fucking sexy. 

He's frustrated, horny, and has no idea how to ask for anything he wants. And for fucks sake, if he wakes from a meditation to have you grinding against his erection again, he just might explode.

In his frustrated musing, he didn't notice that you had placed your sketch pad away. He only noticed when you cupped his jaw and moved his eyes to meet yours. "What are you thinking about, handsome?"

It takes a moment for Astarion to collect himself as he stares at your soft smile. "I was thinking it's about time we get you, my sweet, to bed," he pecks your lips before grabbing your wrist and entwining your fingers. You nod and press a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

Astarion holds the flap open, and you duck inside. Kicking your pants off and into the corner, you unceremoniously plop down into the pile of cushions. You began sharing a tent in the shadow curse lands. Astarion found out pretty early on that nightmares of Cazador were less likely when you were in his arms. And thankfully, you slept better, too. 

You prop yourself on your elbows and silently watch Astarion move about the small space, removing his outer clothing. He seemed to be stalling, almost like he was silently debating with himself. Astarion is in his underwear when he seems to come to a conclusion. He takes a deep breath and moves towards you. Kneeling by your feet, you watch as Astarion hesitates, his hand resting softly on your shin. Hesitation is soon replaced with a devilish smirk that stretches across his lips.

"Whatcha thinking about pretty boy?" 

Astarion doesn't say anything, just slowly begins to crawl up your body before capturing you in a breathtaking kiss. His knee is between your legs; your hands are around his neck, pulling him flush against your body. You sigh softly into his mouth, moving your hands to caress his cheekbone.

He tongues the seam of your lips, and you are quick to gasp, giving him access to lick deeper. Astarion's hands are caressing up and down your curves, cupping your breast and tugging the metal bars of your nipple rings. His mouth moves to your throat, sucking hard at your jugular. 

"W-wait!" You choke out, causing the elf above you to freeze. He's quick to remove himself from you, putting some distance between your bodies. 

"Shit, did…did I do something wrong?" Astarion's voice cracks; you've never heard him so unsure of himself. You pant hard but are quick to sit up and fall into Astarion's lap, his arms instinctually wrapping around your waist.

"No, gods no," you sigh, cupping his jaw and pressing your forehead against his. The tension in Astarion's shoulders drops, and he squeezes you a bit harder.

"Then what is it, my sweet?"

That has you pausing to figure out the best way to say this. "What was your plan?" Shit, that didn't sound good

"My plan! Are you serious?" He's already pulling away, shutting off completely when you pull him back tightly.

"No! Th-that's fuck, that's not what I meant, Star," at least he's not trying to run, but he's as stiff as ever. "Astarion, I will be as blunt as possible because I care about you. Were you trying to have sex with me because you felt obligated?"

This isn't what Astarion expected you to say because he can't mask the look of surprise. He opens his mouth to speak before clamping it shut. He does this twice more, but you don't rush him, you push stray curls behind his ear and wait. 

"No." His voice is small. He clears his throat before speaking again, stronger this time. "No, I want this, and I would appreciate you stop treating me like fucking glass."

“What?”

You're flipped over, and suddenly, on your back, Astarion's body pressed closely against yours. He ruts against you. His cock was hard, feeling painfully constricted in his underwear. "I appreciate your patience with me, darling, but I need to clarify one thing to you right now."

Astarion licks a long stripe up your collarbone, ending just under your ear. You moan softly, trying desperately to roll your hips up into Astarion. "I have never wanted someone more than I wanted you. So, if it's okay with you, my sweet, I'm going to take the rest of our clothes off, and you're going to finally let me feast upon the sweetness between your legs."

You whine and buck, trying to get anything from Astarion's unmoving body. "Tsk, no, no, my sweet. Use your words." He purred, nipping your ear.

"Please! Yes! Oh gods, Astarion," 

Once the words leave your lips, you're tearing at each other's clothes in desperation. After you are both fully undressed, Astarion shoves you back onto the cushions. You expect him to pounce but he hovers staring down at your naked body.

Astarion's deft fingers grab your foot, and he presses a soft kiss to your inner ankle. A pang of heat flared through your lower abdomen. He kisses up to the top of your calf before giving a playful bite. You release a soft yelp, and Astarions lavishes the bite with his tongue. He slowly moves up to your inner thigh, leaving various bruises in his wake.

 You're gasping as he ghosted over the spot you wanted him most. His breath fans over your dripping cunt, and you swear he's about to give you what you want. Then he kisses you. Just one small peck on the public area just above your clit, before he retreats. You cry, and one of your hands card into Astarion's white locks. 

“No! Please!”

 He begins the same slow ascent up your other leg, paying just as much attention. "Now, as much as I love those beautiful noises you make for me. Remember that our camp members are trying to sleep; you can be a good girl for me, right?" He gazes up between your parted legs, and you nod and swear if he asked at this moment, you would have given him anything.

"I thought so," Astarion purred before licking up the entire length of your pussy. You moan out and swiftly clap your hand over your mouth. Then suddenly Astarion is a man starved.

His hand grips the underside of your thighs hard and pulls you down the bed as close as physically possible. He sucks, and licks, piercing his tongue sloppily at your dripping cunt, and you're a mess of pleasure. Your grind against Astarion's face, his nose rubbing beautifully against your clit. If it weren't for Astarion's hands keeping your thighs parted, you probably would be crushing his head in your desperation.

A low groan rumbles from Astarion's chest, and he focuses his attention, sucking tightly on the bundle of nerves. He slips his first and middle finger into your cunt and curls up, causing you to gasp for air. 

"S-star…oh gods!" You cried, and he was ruthless with his assault. Astarion pumped his fingers quickly, the sloppy sounds of his mouth mixed with your muffled moan. Your stomach was coiling with pleasure, and you were embarrassed with how fast Astarion was picking you apart. "I'm close." you whimper, rolling your hips against his face. 

Astarion, after a moment, releases your clit. Still pumping you with his fingers, he looks up at you, chin glistening with your arousal, a smug grin lazily plaster on his lips. "Come for me, love, be a good girl."

With the last few slips of his fingers, the coil snaps, and you're falling apart. Eyes unfocused, muscled tight, the silent gasp of ecstasy stuck in your throat. Astarion watches in amazement and arousal as you come apart so thoroughly with just his mouth and fingers. His cock is aching pre, now dribbling down the shaft. 

Once your orgasm slows, you feel the immense need for more. And with Astarion still nestled between your legs, it has you moving without thought. You push Astarion back and plant yourself on his lap. You mash your mouth against him, chasing the taste of yourself on his tongue. 

Astarion groans and cups the back of your head, deepening the kiss. Your palms roam down his chest, smoothing down his abs until you come to his neglected cock. It's swollen and red, and when you grip it softly, Astarions hisses into your mouth, bucking into your palm. 

Smearing the pre-come around, you slowly work your hand up and down Astarion's dick in long, languid strokes. His eyes glaze over, and he moans, head dropping to your shoulder. Astarion's cold hands fondled your breast, and he leaned down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. He pulls the metal piercing softly with his teeth. 

You whine and tug on a fist full of Astarion's hair, rubbing your thumb over the head of his cock. "Fuck, darling." Astarion moans, moving to give your other breast equal attention. Your positive marks will be littering your body for days following. And the thought alone causes you to clench your thighs. 

You pump your hand faster, and Astarion meets everyone with thrusts of his hips. He claims your lips again in a sloppy dance of wet tongues. Then suddenly Astarion stills your hand.

"If you keep this up, I'm not going to last much longer." Astarion's pants, nudging your nose with his.

"Isn't that kinda the point, handsome?"

"Not if I want to come apart feeling you clenching around me," Astarion's voice is breathless, and you moan at the thought. He kisses your cheek, then your jaw. Trailing his way to your neck. "Would you like that, my sweet," 

Whatever power you had over Astarion had just turned to dust. You bite your lip and nod quickly, letting Astarion push you on to your back. You part your hips, and Astarion slots right in. 

"Words, my love. You do know how much I love your voice." Such a fucking tease.

Linking your arms around his neck, you pull him down, hitching one of your legs over Astarion's hips. "Please…I need you to fuck me." 

"Shit…" Astarion groans. Taking himself in hand, he smears his dick with your arousal before filling you agonizing inch by inch. 

The two of you let out a collective cry of pleasure, and you feel complete. Astarion pulls out and slams his hips back, ripping the oxygen from your lungs, and sets a steady pace. You clutch at his shoulders, digging your nails into exposed skin. The slick sounds of Astarions pumping in and out of you were depraved and did nothing but fill your lower abdomen with molten lava. Astarion wholly consumed your senses. 

The coolness of his lips left lingering kisses on your arched neck. The smell of bergamot and rosemary flooded your nose with each shaky inhale. The saltiness of any skin you could taste. It was too much and not enough all at once. 

The scrape of Astarion's fangs graze his favorite feeding spot, and you grab the back of his head. "Yes! P-please…" and soon, the icy pierce of his teeth is followed by the cool tingle of pleasure that flows through your body. 

Astarion grunts as soon as the blood touches his tongue. He ruts faster against you, grinding you into the blankets. He has to clamp a hand over your mouth to keep your voice from waking the whole camp. 

But what can you do? Nothing. Not when his other hand begins to roll your clit in tight circles matching his thrusts. Your hands trail down his back, legs hooking tightly around his torso. The angle of your hips changes, and Astarion is pounding into the spot that has you seeing stars. You're close, and you try to say so, but Astarion hand is still tight around your mouth. 

After a last mouthful of blood, Astarions peppers kisses over the bite. "I know, my sweet, I'm…fuck I'm close to." 

His fingers are rubbing your clit faster, and his hips aren't letting up the brutal pace. Your legs are quaking, and you feel like you might faint. You clench tightly around him, and then you fall apart. Suddenly, Astarion's hand is gone, and his tongue is in your mouth, capturing every whimper of pleasure you give. And with a few more swallow sloppy thrusts, Astarion falls over the edge with you, filling you with his spent.

Astarion continue to languidly kiss you, both hands cupping your face like you are the most precious creature on the plane. He barely grinds his hips, feeling the last of your orgasms fade until you are both too sensitive. 

And it's like someone cut the puppet strings. Astarion falls limply onto you, blanketing your body with his. You comb softly through his hair, gently pulling out any knots. Astarion kisses your shoulder before rolling off of you. 

It is silent for a while as you stare into each other's eyes. Astarions is the first to speak. "I love you," His words were barely above the whisper, and if you weren't staring intently at the man, you might have missed it. 

You're speechless. Were you dreaming?

"I still believe you deserve more than the broken man before you. But you've chosen me, and I have felt true happiness for the first time since waking up in my grave. And well-"

You don't give him a moment to finish before you're in his lap and tackling him into an embrace. "I love you, Astarion." 

The dopey grin on his face has you breaking into your own. You press your forehead to his, and he hugs you tightly. You don't know what tomorrow brings. But being here, seeing Astarion's smile, and knowing he loves you just as much as you love him. It feels like you can do anything. 

Okay, friends, this was just so fun to write. Let me know what ya thought. I swear all the love and support I've received from my last few posts have been so amazing. I'm so excited to show you more!!!

If you liked this, maybe you'll like one of these?

Happy Birthday (fluffy)

Reoccurring Nightmares (hurt/comfort)

Tag list?: @heartfully10